#in any case I do think that if I were to write more Law poems they would follow this type of format more than the other one

[naturecalls111]

i love law's peom, it's so silly but now i'm curious about the original version if you're okay with sharing it!

Totally! This was the original, I was going to add the doodles around this one too but I figured I’d manage the poem first before drawing

To me this was quite funny and dramatic as is, and edged juuuusst on the line of ‘almost can be taken seriously’ which made it even funnier for me (like oh. Oh dear he’s so close but he’s also so desperately… a dramatic teenage boy that’s heart broken over his crush LITERALLY JUST TALKING to another person that all of this just seems smarmy to himself, if that makes sense) 🤣 in any case I like the poem that I went with - I agree with my friend that perhaps this one seems a little too serious for what I was intending, but it makes me giggle anyway!

[acespaceacepilot]

Genuinely the academia fic makes me want to read every poem you cited!! Oh my god. Obviously I looked up Staying Quiet and I had a moment of stunned silence and wonder that you specifically knew the poem and exactly where it would be at home. Insane. Also reminded me of other great academia AUs in that now I almost want to write my english lit end of semester essays, thank you for the motivation. Anyway I'm here and not in the AO3 comment section because in the author's note at the start you mentioned having planned out what the characters would be doing and since you were on point with what you showed I am so so curious what else you've got for this setting 👀 in any case thank you so much <3

up top, thank you so much!! amongst my friends, i am a known poetry heaux. i go to poetry readings and feel my feelings; my partner got me a necklace that's engraved with a buddy wakefield quote. i have one of his collections signed to me. i fucking Love poetry.

hieu minh nguyen is one of my personal favorites and something was pinging around in my skull being like "hey! listen! there's a poem from them that perfectly fits astarion!" it fell Perfectly into place, shout out to my adhd background thoughts that were So Sure that hieu minh nguyen's poem should be there.

i'm going to put the rest below the cut, because. i have A Lot of thoughts and feelings

let's start with what i directly used in all my visions converted to blurs:

wyll is a low-rung english professor at a state school when he Could be at an ivy league bc of his dad’s nepotism. but wyll doesn't want a position his dad gets him, obvi. i want wyll to want to be out of his father's shadow, damn it.

(ulder is dean of a business school at an ivy league in my mind. it just fits. as a person with an english/linguistics degree: ulder ravengard has hella business major energy.)

astarion has taken a year or four off from school at this point. i hinted at substance abuse being the main reason that it's taken him so long to graduate from the law program? when he was the same age as his classmates, i think he partied A Lot and ended up having to retake some classes during his undergrad. i think i landed on coke being his chosen vice? idk it's vague for a reason. he's trying to get his life back on track

wyll and gale share an office space.

now here's what i left on the cutting room floor:

astarion is Still older than wyll, but not by more than six years

mizora is head of the english department. wyll has to play nice bc he's waiting to defend his dissertation and she'll be on the panel. she uses this to push her work or responsibilities onto wyll

lae'zel is doing her doctorate in anthropology/paleoanthropology. she's researching ancient war strategies and how social norms impacted them.

minthara is lae'zel's advisor because they'd have a Great dynamic. she specializes in biological anthropology. she can ball park which century any given human skull comes from.

shadowheart is working on her doctorate of psychology and specifically writing her dissertation profiling the susceptibility of cult victims mixed with religious studies to compile information about modern worship

1000000000% there are rumors about shadowheart's personal experience with cults. people say she goes by shadowheart so the cult she escaped from can't find her. she's heard every joke in the book about midsommar. there's some frat boy in the greek row that swears up and down that she bit his buddy hard enough to draw blood when they hooked up.

halsin and jaheira do ecology and agriculture, respectively. environmental sciences people. they both have tenure. halsin runs an internship for wetland management in the summer. jaheira is like a leading expert in soil science.

jaheira told mizora she was a bitch during a whole university department head meeting once and that's why halsin's the department head now.

minsc is literally just a coach. he does not teach Any classes and hangs out with the university's mascot Constantly. he coaches rugby and crew in the summer, basketball in the winter.

gale is a double discipline professor for history and cultural anthropology. So Close to getting tenure. his rate my professor score is mid as hell bc students either love or hate him because boy does this man drone onnnnnnnnnn

he's been on like four different digs in egypt and will talk about them at length but does that thing of "my second time in cairo. wait.... no. it was my Third time in cairo."

i posted this on twitter, but here's the couch lore: the couch in their office is a hand me down from gale's apartment because tara scratched it to hell on the corner of the armrests + the reason why the couch doesn't have any throw pillows is because gale didn't want to be tempted to nap and he already has a terrible time maintaining a work life balance

karlach is in sports medicine. she coaches the track team and works with weightlifters that have olympic aspirations. she was good enough to go to the last summer games for weightlifting, but an accident with a treadmill that she doesn't like to talk about prevented her from going.

she still has beef with gortash because he was on the shortlist for open spot availability.

she's Convinced that he's on steroids

[franklyautistic]

Autism: correct versus useful

Every definition of autism, ever, has been incorrect.

What do I mean by that?

I mean that autism is not a thing that you can describe.

This is actually true for most things. It’s not possible to describe the colour “green”. You can try to do it with reference to wavelengths of light, but at some point you run into a version of Xeno’s Paradox - if you change the wavelength by a miniscule amount, you don’t suddenly stop having green.

I am sure you can think of examples from your field of expertise. In biology, species. In chemistry, the difference between ionic and convalent bonds. In literature, what is a poem? In music, what is a song? In law, what is pornography? In history, who was the first reigning Queen of England? (There are at least three correct answers)

What I am describing is probably postmodernism, but I cannot say for sure. There is probably lots of better writing by smarter people on the inability of humans to define seemingly simple things, but it is 9am on a Sunday and I didn’t sleep at all last night, so I am not going to show my working.

Autism. We were talking about autism.

Autism is the way we categorise a set of brains based on the shared personal characteristics of those brains, particularly as manifested in observed behaviour.

This categorisation is inevitably incorrect. The real world is messy. Thousands of variables go into making you who you are. You cannot draw a line around a group of people and coherently, definitively say that these people are autistic and these people are not. There will always be edge cases and arbitrary decisions.

We could simply choose not to bother. No more categorising people. Everyone is an individual, judged on their own merits. And, yes, this is both correct and moral.

The issue is that it’s entirely unpracticable.

The whole reason we tried to categorise some people as autistic was because we have common issues that can be addressed together. Saying “everyone is an individual”, while true, probably only makes it harder for people to access support and gain self-knowledge. The label is flawed, but it is useful.

Any perfect description of autism would be so precise as to not be possible for humans to understand. Any useful description of autism will be wrong. The challenge is to make a description that is the least wrong it can be while still being useful.

[aiartawareness]

🛑 AI ART: NEW COPYRIGHT LAW CHANGES EVERYTHING

In this video, artist Marc Brunet discusses a new policy made by the Copyright Office concerning AI and copyrights in the US. It’s a bit overly positive of a take, I think, since the wording of the policy is vague and could lead to loopholes and everything is on a case-by-case basis--but the main takeaway is that the updated policy adds some clarity that AI artwork cannot be copyrighted unless the prompt writer makes significant changes to it, and then only the modifications they made can be protected by copyright. Copyright requires human authorship. From the official document (emphasis added):

If a work's traditional elements of authorship were produced by a machine, the work lacks human authorship and the Office will not register it.[26] For example, when an AI technology receives solely a prompt [27] from a human and produces complex written, visual, or musical works in response, the “traditional elements of authorship” are determined and executed by the technology—not the human user. Based on the Office's understanding of the generative AI technologies currently available, users do not exercise ultimate creative control over how such systems interpret prompts and generate material. Instead, these prompts function more like instructions to a commissioned artist—they identify what the prompter wishes to have depicted, but the machine determines how those instructions are implemented in its output.[28] For example, if a user instructs a text-generating technology to “write a poem about copyright law in the style of William Shakespeare,” she can expect the system to generate text that is recognizable as a poem, mentions copyright, and resembles Shakespeare's style.[29] But the technology will decide the rhyming pattern, the words in each line, and the structure of the text.[30] When an AI technology determines the expressive elements of its output, the generated material is not the product of human authorship.[31] As a result, that material is not protected by copyright and must be disclaimed in a registration application.[32]

I love the association between someone writing a prompt for AI and someone giving instructions to an artist they are commissioning. In other words, prompt writing does not convey creative authorship, it is just giving instructions to the machine.

The problem is, art is already protected under copyright law, but this does not stop art theft because you have to notice the theft, you have to have the resources ($$$) to pursue legal action, and the ruling has to be in your favor. It’s just a pain and the internet is a very big place. I don’t see how AI art misuse will be any different in this aspect.

But the fact that AI generated artwork currently cannot be copyrighted is good, because it makes it non-exclusive content and thus cheapens the images.

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

Love Letters

I have no idea how this turned out, I opened a word doc, blacked out and ended up with this. 

Master List

~~ “I would write you poems until my hands worked no more. Would play you music until my fingers bled. Shakespeare himself would have to rise from his tomb to stop me writing you sonnets. No words will ever convey the love which spills from my heart, but I will try to do so every day.” Johnny reads the letter loud, a smile on his face as he looks over at you. You’re certain your face conveys the sheer horror you’re feeling, and judging from the laughter that bubbles from him, it does. You’re frozen in the doorway of your own dorm room, staring at the man lounging in your desk chair, the man who’d just found your second best kept secret. “So, how much does it cost to get one of these letters?” 

“What are you doing?” His eyebrow hikes up at your question, and he gestures to the stacks of envelopes and the typewriter sitting on your desk. 

“You’re the one writing all the love notes around campus right? What if I want to send one to someone?” You blink at him a few times, still in shock, but step into the room properly and shut the door. 

“How’d you find out about this? Who told you?” You question, dropping your backpack on the floor and crossing your arms over your chest. He mimics your pose, though still in your chair. 

“Who said anyone told me?” He challenges, “I figured it out.” 

“Bullshit. I’ve been doing this for almost two years and no one’s been the wiser. The only people that know are my customers, so who told you?” He’s silent for a moment, not pretending not to size you up. You can feel your heartbeat in your chest, and part of you wants to celebrate having your crush alone in your dorm room, but the other part of you remembers he’s here for a love letter, not you. 

“Are you going to stop writing for them if I tell you?”

“Maybe, or maybe I’ll just revoke their long term customer pricing. Who was it?”

“Yuta.” Your eyes roll automatically at the name, you should have known it was him. 

“Of course it was. Did he refer you, or did he just tell you?” Johnny shrugs, clearly loving how annoyed you’re getting. 

“Maybe both. You haven’t answered my question.” 

“One time letters to someone are 25, self letters are 35. If you’re wanting a long term contract it depends on the frequency of the letters, contents and subject.” You finally relent, trying not to let the disappointment cloud your voice. 

“What’s the most expensive contract you have?” You motion for him to get out of your chair, which he shockingly does, so you can grab your clientele binder and find your contract sheets. He flops down on your bed while you work, watching you flick through the almost shockingly thick binder. 

“Someone pays me 75 dollars every other month to write three page long letters to send to his girlfriend overseas.” You tell him, pulling out a contract, “This contract is legal, by the way, I had a friend of mine in law school draft it. I only write the letters, I don’t deliver them and I am not responsible for the reaction of the recipient. You can’t get me in legal trouble if things backfire, nor can you demand a refund. You cannot ask for personal information about other clients, and no I won’t tell you if you’re giving a letter to someone who is already receiving letters. Any questions?” You finally look up from your contract, locking eyes with the boy sitting on your bed. 

“Would you handwrite a letter for me, or is it typewriter only?”

“I try not to handwrite letters, just in case someone might recognize my handwriting.” He smiles again, and you have to look away, trying not to blush. God, how did you get so unlucky? When you had started writing these letters, it was because of your crush on Johnny. Your roommate freshman year had found a letter you’d never planned to send and asked if you would write one for her to give to the girl she liked. From there, your little business blossomed, and now you had upwards of 30 clients, all paying you to write about Johnny without knowing. 

“Do I have to tell you who my letter is for?” 

“Nope, all you have to tell me is whether you know them personally or not, and if there’s something about them you want me to talk about.” You drop your binder on the desk, turning to face him once more. “I’ll also need your contact info, phone number or email preferably. I take cash, venmo, and cashapp, you have to pay before your first letter, and if you make it a long term thing, then you pay upon receiving the letter.” He nods, his lower lip sticking out slightly. 

“OKay, lets do one letter for now, and depending on their reaction, we’ll see about sending more.” 

“No problem, just fill this out for me, and we’ll get started.” You pass him the contract and a clipboard to write on. “For the first letter, I always have my clients tell me about the person they’re wanting me to write about, that way if you meet face to face, the letters still sound like you.” 

“What’s your major again?” 

“Psychology, with an English Lit minor.” 

“Makes sense.” The two of you are quiet for a moment while he fills out the form, and you take the chance to package some letters, ironically, one was for Yuta, who was definitely getting a scolding when he came to pick it up. “Alright here.” You don’t look at him, only extend your hand for him to place it in. You can feel him watching you as you finish up your work, marking who still has to pay for your work. “So, have you ever written a letter for someone, like from you?”

“Yes and no.” You weren’t sure why you even answered. 

“What do you mean?” You sigh, putting your papers away so you can move the typewriter front and center. 

“Every letter I write is about the person I like, that’s how it started.” You explain, “Yeah, it sounds like I’m writing about someone else, but it’s always about him.” 

“Ever had to write one for him?” You can tell he’s actually interested in this, but you shake your head, not wanting to talk about it more. 

“Don’t worry about my love life, Johnny, lets work on yours.” You grab a notebook, spinning to face him, ready to take notes. “Tell me about your person.” 

If you told me you were Eros, I would believe you. From the moment I saw you, the arrow of love had pierced my heart and rendered it useless to all others. Were you a god, I would be your most devoted priest. My lips would sing your prayers and praises until there was no oxygen left at your altars. Your mind rivals that of Shakespeare and Einstein, and I wish on every star that one day I may be privy to your innermost thoughts. Your eyes hold the universe, and your hands: my heart. You fill my dreams, and soothe my nightmares. Had I an ounce more courage, I would say these words to your face, but in truth, no words could accurately depict the love I have for you. It bubbles from my heart, courses through my veins and clouds my mind. I would give you the world, the moon and all the stars in the sky if you only asked, but now I can only give you this letter and hope you will not think ill of me. Yours ever, Johnny

“Here, all done.” Johnny barely has the chance to knock on your door the following day before you’re shoving the lilac envelope in his hands. “It’s not super long, but it’s pretty expressive, if you want more just let me know, I hope they like it.” You don’t give him the chance to reply, instead just shut the door and try not to start crying instantly. Every word you had said was true, and he was about to give it to some rando. You wanted to cancel every other letter people had asked for, so tired of writing about a love you couldn’t have. A knock on your door makes you huff, just wanting to lay down for a while. “What?” You demand, swinging the door open to find Johnny still standing there. He holds the envelope out to you, his other hand deep in his pocket. 

“Here.” 

“Do you not like it? I can rewrite it.” You offer, hesitating to take it. No one had ever hated what you’d written, to say it was a bit of an ego crusher was an understatement. 

“No. No it’s amazing, its everything I wanted to say. You did an amazing job.” He extends his hand again, not looking you in the eye. “But its for you.” 

“What?” 

“When I learned it was you-” He huffs, “Look, I’ve had a thing for you since English 101. You’ve always been super smart and gorgeous, but I’ve been too scared to say anything cause you were always writing these sweet things, and I figured they’re for someone else, so I didn’t want to pressure you into something. But I might not get accepted into my Masters and I didn’t want to leave without saying-” 

“Johnny.” He stops speaking the second you say his name, his eyes snapping up to yours. Your face is warm, and you can feel your eyes watering. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“You.” The bewilderment on his face is almost funny. 

“Me?”

“Yes you. Every single letter I’ve ever written has been about you. Even this one. I wrote you a love letter only to have it be for me.” You can’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. 

“Wait, really?” He’s laughing a little as well. 

“Yes you idiot. I’ve been so scared Yuta had told you, I was even gonna go cry once you left.” You admit, wiping at the tears that were falling. 

“Oh no, don’t cry.” He pulls you close to his chest, his head resting on yours. “Let me take you for lunch. Then maybe you can tell me some of those sweet things you’re always writing about me.” You both laugh at this, pulling away from him. 

“Don’t think I’m going to let this ruin my business, Johnny Suh, I’ve still got to pay for my coffee habits.” 

“Only if I get to read the letters first.” 

“Deal.” 

“And I get to see your client list.” 

“Not a chance.” 

[foreverlogical]

Donald Trump’s descent into madness continues.

The latest manifestation of this is a report in The New York Times that the president is weighing appointing the conspiracy theorist Sidney Powell, who for a time worked on his legal team, to be special counsel to investigate imaginary claims of voter fraud.

As if that were not enough, we also learned that former National Security Adviser Michael Flynn, who was pardoned by the president after pleading guilty to lying to the FBI, attended the Friday meeting. Earlier in the week, Flynn, a retired lieutenant general, floated the idea (which he had promoted before) that the president impose martial law and deploy the military to “rerun” the election in several closely contested states that voted against Trump. It appears that Flynn wants to turn them into literal battleground states.\

None of this should come as a surprise. Some of us said, even before he became president, that Donald Trump’s Rosetta Stone, the key to deciphering him, was his psychology—his disordered personality, his emotional and mental instability, and his sociopathic tendencies. It was the main reason, though hardly the only reason, I refused to vote for him in 2016 or in 2020, despite having worked in the three previous Republican administrations. Nothing that Trump has done over the past four years has caused me to rethink my assessment, and a great deal has happened to confirm it.

Given Trump’s psychological profile, it was inevitable that when he felt the walls of reality close in on him—in 2020, it was the pandemic, the cratering economy, and his election defeat—he would detach himself even further from reality. It was predictable that the president would assert even more bizarre conspiracy theories. That he would become more enraged and embittered, more desperate and despondent, more consumed by his grievances. That he would go against past supplicants, like Attorney General Bill Barr and Georgia Governor Brian Kemp, and become more aggressive toward his perceived enemies. That his wits would begin to turn, in the words of King Lear. That he would begin to lose his mind.

So he has. And, as a result, President Trump has become even more destabilizing and dangerous.

“I’ve been covering Donald Trump for a while,” Jonathan Swan of Axios tweeted. “I can’t recall hearing more intense concern from senior officials who are actually Trump people. The Sidney Powell/Michael Flynn ideas are finding an enthusiastic audience at the top.”

Even amid the chaos, it’s worth taking a step back to think about where we are: An American president, unwilling to concede his defeat by 7 million popular votes and 74 Electoral College votes, is still trying to steal the election. It has become his obsession.

In the process, Trump has in too many cases turned his party into an instrument of illiberalism and nihilism. Here are just a couple of data points to underscore that claim: 18 attorneys generals and more than half the Republicans in the House supported a seditious abuse of the judicial process.

And it’s not only, or even mainly, elected officials. The Republican Party’s base has often followed Trump into the twilight zone, with a sizable majority of them affirming that Joe Biden won the election based on fraud and many of them turning against medical science in the face of a surging pandemic.

COVID-19 is now killing Americans at the rate of about one per minute, but the president is “just done with COVID,” a source identified as one of Trump’s closest advisers told The Washington Post. “I think he put it on a timetable and he’s done with COVID ... It just exceeded the amount of time he gave it.”

This is where Trump’s crippling psychological condition—his complete inability to face unpleasant facts, his toxic narcissism, and his utter lack of empathy—became lethal. Trump’s negligence turned what would have been a difficult winter into a dark one. If any of his predecessors—Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George H. W. Bush, and Ronald Reagan, to go back just 40 years—had been president during this pandemic, tens of thousands of American lives would almost surely have been saved.

“My concern was, in the worst part of the battle, the general was missing in action,” said Maryland Governor Larry Hogan, one of the very few Republicans to speak truth in the Trump era.

In 30 days, Donald Trump will leave the presidency, with his efforts to mount a coup having failed. The encouraging news is that it never really had a chance of succeeding. Our institutions, especially the courts, will have passed a stress test, not the most difficult ever but difficult enough, and unlike any in our history. Some local officials exhibited profiles in courage, doing the right thing in the face of threats and pressure from their party. And a preponderance of the American public, having lived through the past four years, deserve credit for canceling this presidential freak show rather than renewing it. The “exhausted majority” wasn’t too exhausted to get out and vote, even in a pandemic.

But the Trump presidency will leave gaping wounds nearly everywhere, and ruination in some places. Truth as a concept has been battered from the highest office in the land on an almost hourly basis. The Republican Party has been radicalized, with countless Republican lawmakers and other prominent figures within the party having revealed themselves to be moral cowards, even, and in some ways especially, after Trump was defeated. During the Trump presidency, they were so afraid of getting crosswise with him and his supporters that they failed the Solzhenitsyn test: “The simple act of an ordinary brave man is not to participate in lies, not to support false actions! His rule: Let that come into the world, let it even reign supreme—only not through me.

”During the past four years, the right-wing ecosystem became more and more rabid. Many prominent evangelical supporters of the president are either obsequious, like Franklin Graham, or delusional, like Eric Metaxas, and they now peddle their delusions as being written by God. QAnon and the Proud Boys, Newsmax and One America News, Alex Jones and Tucker Carlson—all have been emboldened.

These worrisome trends began before Trump ran for office, and they won’t disappear after he leaves the presidency. Those who hope for a quick snapback will be disappointed. Still, having Trump out of office has to help. He’s going to find out that there’s no comparable bully pulpit. And the media, if they are wise, will cut off his oxygen, which is attention. They had no choice but to cover Trump’s provocations when he was president; when he’s an ex-president, that will change.

For the foreseeable future, journalists will rightly focus on the pandemic. But once that is contained and defeated, it will be time to go back to focusing more attention on things like the Paris Accords and the carbon tax; the earned-income tax credit and infrastructure; entitlement reform and monetary policy; charter schools and campus speech codes; legal immigration, asylum, assimilation, and social mobility. There is also an opportunity, with Trump a former president, for the Republican Party to once again become the home of sane conservatism. Whether that happens or not is an open question. But it’s something many of us are willing to work for, and that even progressives should hope for.Beyond that, and more fundamental than that, we have to remind ourselves that we are not powerless to shape the future; that much of what has been broken can be repaired; that though we are many, we can be one; and that fatalism and cynicism are unwarranted and corrosive.

There’s a lovely line in William Wordsworth’s poem “The Prelude”: “What we have loved, Others will love, and we will teach them how.

”There are still things worthy of our love. Honor, decency, courage, beauty, and truth. Tenderness, human empathy, and a sense of duty. A good society. And a commitment to human dignity. We need to teach others—in our individual relationships, in our classrooms and communities, in our book clubs and Bible studies, and in innumerable other settings—why those things are worthy of their attention, their loyalty, their love. One person doing it won’t make much of a difference; a lot of people doing it will create a culture.

Maybe we understand better than we did five years ago why these things are essential to our lives, and why when we neglect them or elect leaders who ridicule and subvert them, life becomes nasty, brutish, and generally unpleasant.

Just after noon on January 20, a new and necessary chapter will begin in the American story. Joe Biden will certainly play a role in shaping how that story turns out—but so will you and I. Ours is a good and estimable republic, if we can keep it.

PETER WEHNER is a contributing writer at The Atlantic and a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center. He writes widely on political, cultural, religious, and national-security issues, and he is the author of The Death of Politics: How to Heal Our Frayed Republic After Trump.

[patheticlittleguy]

People-Watching

Masterlist. This is the third of a series.

Content warnings: hospital settings, not much else. (This chapter is pretty short and mostly recovery and setup.)

“Good morning, Leo,” Miss Sarah says. Her pale blue shirt and white pants blend right in with the hospital’s color palette. Her wings, which are shaped like a swan’s and thrice as big, look almost fake. If Leo hadn’t seen them in action before, he’d think they really are fake.

He waves awkwardly, and writes, “Good morning.” It’s only been a few hours since he was taken off of the breathing tube, and his throat is still sore.

“I’m sorry the mission went so… roughly,” Miss Sarah says with a tight-lipped smile.

“I knew what I was signing up for,” Leo writes.

Miss Sarah nods, and says, “Well, what intel did you get?”

Leo, feeling very clever, flips back a page on the legal pad he’s been writing on. He’d thought ahead, and wrote everything down an hour or so ago. Miss Sarah reads through it with an unreadable expression, and then tears out the page. Leo can’t tell if he’s done something wrong, but his stomach is all twitchy just in case.

Miss Sarah suddenly tears the page out, folding it neatly and tucking it away. “We will make good use of this.”

Leo nods. He gestures for the pad with what limited mobility he has, and when it and the pen are in his reach, he writes, “I don’t think I’m going to be of much use anymore.”

“Not in the field, no. But, if you’re willing, there are other options. Our top scientists have been working on a new power suppressant formula. They’re doing their,” she falters, “third or fourth human trial, I think, soon.”

Leo writes, “Being a lab rat doesn’t sound too bad.”

Miss Sarah nods, and says, “It’s valuable work. Once you’re well, I’ll have all the paperwork sorted out and you’ll be transferred to the appropriate room.”

Leo thanks her, and they make their concise goodbyes. Miss Sarah’s wings go unexpectedly intangible as she turns, and one clips through the door frame like a poorly rendered video game. The room is once again empty, and Leo doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Outside, Leo can see a few buildings, and lots of cars on the road. He thinks of a poem he read once, in school, about how cars must look to aliens. In it, the aliens had thought the cars themselves were alive, and, watching the roads from afar, Leo totally gets it.

A nurse materializes at his bedside, and if he wasn’t, as his dad would’ve said, high as fuck, he would have been startled. (His dad was a very blunt man.)

“Hullo,” the nurse says, doing a routine check on one of his machines. She chatters away, partially narrating what she’s doing and partly just rambling. The ambient sound is relaxing, and Leo finds himself drifting.

He suddenly feels himself melting away. Everything is fuzzy and confusing. The hospital room disappears, like someone’s turned all the lights off.

There is another hospital room that looks much the same, or the same hospital room but very different. Leo is on the floor, his sweaty palms leaving prints on the cold tile. He’s shivering with heat, and his head pounds like something is trying to crawl out of his skull. His eyes won’t focus. Every joint creaks and aches.

Leo wakes to a world that is not his own. He can’t be sure of what day it is. Every time he looks out the window, he is struck by how light it is outside. The cars on the roads look like mice, the people barely bugs. A nurse comments offhandedly that it’s unseasonably warm out today, and Leo wonders what season it could be.

Dinner is a chalky milkshake and jello for dessert. Diego helps Leo sit up enough to drink without choking, and then he has to help steady Leo’s hands so he doesn’t drop it. It’s a relief when he can finally lay back down and try to sleep. He just wants to fast-forward to the part where he’s better. Thankfully, he swiftly falls asleep, aided by painkillers and the exhaustion of a healing body.

The next day, Miss Sarah is back. She brings with her a Manila folder and a strange man. His dirty blonde hair reaches his chin, and his glasses are rectangular but have the sort of wire frames you’d expect from a librarian. The nurses see him and stand a little straighter.

Miss Sarah says, “Leo, this is Doctor Aloysius Cadaver. He’s spearheading this hospital’s human trials of the new power suppressant formula. Cadaver, this is Leo.”

The doctor waves politely. “Hi. So, I hear that you’re going to volunteer for the next trial?” He pauses, and waits for Leo to nod. “That’s good to hear. How much of the study did the Angel explain to you?”

“Not much,” Leo writes honestly.

“Well, I’ll spare you the technical jargon. I doubt you’d understand it anyways. The gist of it is, the current formula used by law enforcement and hospitals is unrefined. It cannot be administered safely in a large enough dose to be effective. The new formula is more effective, and, as far as we’ve observed, utterly non-lethal. Knock on wood.”

Miss Sarah waited until he paused to take a breath to say, “And the details of the trial itself?”

“Now, what we’ll do is we’ll do a few initial screenings and things, then give you the appropriate dosage. It’s a simple injection, administered once every morning. We’ll keep that up for around three days, see how you react, and then if all goes well, we’ll stop and see if there are any lasting effects.”

Miss Sarah sets the Manila folder down at Leo’s bedside, where flowers and get-well-soon cards would normally sit. “All of that is written here. Because of your previous contracts with me, you won’t have to bother with any paperwork. I’ll handle all of that for you.”

Leo nods, and writes, “Thanks.” He’s glad they’re making this easy for him. He doesn’t think he could do paperwork in the state he’s in.

“You’re very welcome,” the doctor says. “I look forward to having you as my test subject.” His smile is polite, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

—-

taglist: @lave-whump @whumper-in-training

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

[demivampirew]

Say no to this.

Henry x Reader (wife) x Reader (the other woman)

Triggers: Angst; cheating, breakup, divorce (and crying).

A/N: This was inspired by two songs from the musical Hamilton: Say No to This and Burn, and it’s told from the perspective of the characters (Henry, Reader (Wife), Reader (the other woman)

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist 

Having the chance to portray one of his favourite characters is an honour for which Henry will forever be thankful. Yet, he must admit that having to spend time apart from his family was not an easy task. 

He sat on the bed in the dark hotel room, only enlightened by the moonlight. On his phone screen, he saw the picture you’ve sent him earlier that day of you and your daughter playing, you dressed as a princess and the six-year-old as a dragon. “Oh, your mighty witcher, come and save me, please,” read the message under the picture. Henry missed dressing up in costumes and running around the house with his little angel, who would laugh uncontrollably every time he caught and started to tickle her.

It’s been over two months since he left for work; 60 plus days without feeling the lovely touch of your hands on his face, too much time without feeling the warmness of your body against his.

He laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour, unable to sleep when his phone announced that he had a new message.

“Are you awake? I can’t sleep,” y/n wrote. She was a friend he made on the set of the show - she worked as a personal assistant for one of the recurrent directors of the show and she was staying at the same hotel that Henry. “Yes. Can’t sleep either. Come if you want,” he replied, thinking that some company would help him to feel less lonely.

Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door. Henry opened the door and invited y/n to come in. Once inside, she faced him and smiled as she showed him the content of her bag: a PS and The Witcher 3 game. “I know you’re more into pc, but l don’t have a gaming pc here, so we will have to play with this, okay,” she said grinning.

“I remember you saying that you were good at this,” y/n while rolling her eyes, teasing him. “I am, but in the pc,” Henry defended himself with a playful smile.

They played the game for two hours before she suggested that it might be time for her to leave. Henry tried to disconnect the console from the tv but she told him to keep it, for now, so he could keep practising.

“Well, good night. I hope you can have a good sleep and tomorrow enjoy your free day,” y/n told him. “Same for you,” he said goodbye, but neither of them moved. They stared at each other for a long minute in silence. Henry’s hands reached for her face bringing it closer to his, culminating in a passionate kiss, while her arms embraced him.

Her naked body, covered only by the bed-sheets rested on the mattress as she slept. Henry looked at her for a moment and then walked towards the bathroom. He washed his face on the sink and then stared at the mirror, finding it hard to recognize the person that was reflected in the mirror. “I promise you that I will be forever faithful to you, my love” he once promised you, his lovely wife, and now the words echoed inside his mind, as stabs on his heart.

How could had he broken the promise he made you? Did he not loved you any more? No, that was sure of that, he loved you more than he had ever done. You no only made him happy and supported him through tough times, but you also gave him the thing that he treasured the most in the world: his daughter. But, he had to be honest with himself, for the first time in a long time and admit that things were not as they used to be. Before the birth of the little girl, you used to be inseparable. You would go with him everywhere in the world, game and laugh and made love every second you could. Now, you were parents; your lives centred on the precious angel and work and were often too tired and since the kid would like to sleep with you, often lacked intimacy.

The worst part of all: he wished that he could say that it was a one time mistake, but it became an affair that lasted for months.

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You hated yourself. In the past, you’d constantly criticized “the other woman” for being malicious women who stole men from others. Now you had become one of them. Well, no completely. Sure, you were carrying an affair with a married man, but you weren’t a fool, you knew that you would never be able to “stole” anyone and he would never leave his wife for you; he never made such a promise and you knew him well enough to know that he loved his family more than anything in the world and he was being vulnerable due to the distance between his true woman and him. Were you a bad woman for being with a taken man knowing that he was in such a delicate emotional position? Maybe, but to be completely honest, so were you. Months before you met Henry, your fiancé cancelled the wedding because he had fallen in love with somebody else. You were feeling lonely and undesired and you had developed a crush on him before that first night. So, you didn’t find the strength to fight the desire and succumb to the temptation.

Every night you’ve spent together, with his strong arms embracing you as his lips caressed your body, felt amazing no matter how wrong it was. And, even if your heart ripped every time you remembered that he wasn’t truly yours - and you were reminded of that constantly, since there was no a single time in which he hadn’t unconsciously said his wife’s name as he reached climax, you couldn’t find it in you to put it a stop.

You knew that this would have a bad end. No matter the outcome, someone would get hurt. 

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

That day, your sister offered to take care of your six-year-old so you could have some time to yourself to process things.

Desperate to get some distance and to be alone, you rented a small cabin outside the city.

The sun was coming down when you lifted a bonfire outside the place and sat in front of it with a box that you’ve carried there moments before.

Your fingers caressed every picture - of your first date, your first anniversary as girlfriend and boyfriend; vacations, birthdays and even your wedding. Every photo would get wet with your tears before you threw them into the fire. All objects that reminded of the love you once shared, ended up becoming ashes. Letters, poems, teddy bears, roses that you dried; everything. The only surviving things were the pictures you shared with your daughter, but you would make sure to send them to his mother because you didn’t want to see them any more, the pain was too great.

Finally, you took from your pocket the pictures you printed before to look at them for one last time. They were screenshots from a celebrity news website and the headline read “The Witcher star Henry Cavill is seen kissing a mystery woman”, followed by paparazzi photos of him with someone on the balcony of his hotel room. Angrily, you crashed the prints and let them burn into they became nothing.

With nothing more to do, you watched the flames, as you let your tears fall, feeling completely and utterly broken.

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The production was over. After the news crashed, Henry had to continue filming, pretending that nothing happened, while some people looked at him as if he was a monster. Could he blame them for that?

When the article about his affair was published, his brother Charlie was the one who delivered the bad news - his stepdaughter had seen it and told him about it.

He didn’t know what to do. He called his wife over and over, but she never answered. All-day long he tried to communicate with his love, but every time without luck.

 Y/N tried to call him, too, but this time he was the one who ignored the call. He had nothing against her. Henry knew that she could no be blamed for his mistake, but he couldn’t talk to her right now. His wife was his priority.

Unfortunately, the only response he got from her was from her sister, two days later, letting him know that she was going to file for a divorce and she never wanted to see him or talk to him again. That she would only allow him to contact her, through her or another family member and elusively for things related to their daughter. She was going to share custody with him, but he would have to pick up and leave the girl on her sister or parent’s house.

Now, months later, he driving to his sister-in-law’s house to pick up his daughter and to leave the divorce papers that he had to sing.

There were no words to explain how much it hurt him to lose the woman he loved deeply. The only consolation was that his family continued to show him love and support as they always did. And, his daughter, unaware of the reason why her mommy and daddy decided to go separate ways, still love him enormously and would fill him with joy every minute of every day that he had her.

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

It was obvious that there was no going to be a good end to the affair - it never does. You knew someone would get hurt, but you’d never imagined that it would be all three of you.

Terrible didn’t even begin to explain how bad you felt. Of all the three of you, you were the one who got it the “best”, since luckily the pictures only showed your hair in a bun and your back, so only a few close people knew that it was you and they were polite enough to keep the secret to avoid you getting harassed. Although, just in case, you dried your hair and got a new haircut.

Henry’s wife filed for the divorce after she found out about the affair. He let you know via text when he put an end to things and told you he could no longer see you. Even if there was no chance to get back with her, he couldn’t be with you because he loved her too much and you reminded him of the mistake he made. As he suggested, you continued working for a few more weeks there to avoid people finding out that it was you, but later quit.

That was by far the worst mistake that you’ve ever made. So much people got hurt; a girl now has two parents that can’t be in the same room, two people who loved each other who can’t be together because the ghost of you would always be present to remind them of the mistake and a person who’s affection was never truly corresponded and caused the break of a family.

Therapy has been truly beneficial in helping you heal and leaving the past in the past.

Today a new article about Henry was posted online. It consisted of pictures of him and his cute girl buying a Christmas tree and he was laughing at his daughter's funny faces.

[miracle-sham]

Long for Who You Could Have Been.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 4, Day 19: Mistakes} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

———

| They might be monster hunters and that might mean their lives are fraught with chaos and danger. But there were moments in between the contracts and courts, fragile and wavering like the dying embers of a flame; where pasts, and hopes, and dreams were shared in the refuge of the campfire. |

| Word Count: 1,764. |

———

| A/N: So this is my second to last Jasonette July fic but the last to actually be posted in July since the other fic (Prompt: Loss) is taking longer than expected to write, whoops! Anyway here's a shorter Witcher au that's mostly fluff with a tinge of sadness here and there. Definitely feels weird to be using/needing so few tags for the first time in a long while! Lastly, thanks to my friend Saf whose reactions to the snippets I send her, absolutely fuel my will to write! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

The fire crackled gently, flames flickering in soft almost hypnotising patterns. The light and warmth were all that was keeping the chilling coastal mist at bay, from reaching their little makeshift camp.

Crescent moon and stars twinkled above, shining their silvery light down to mix with the ghostly mist below.

It was almost haunting, in the precious silence, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of waves against the cliff rocks not too far away. And the low hum of the local nocturnal bugs and other such creatures; the flap of bat wings, the cry of an owl, the flutter of moths and beetles, the scuttling of hedgehogs, mice, and foxes. The air was still, not even the faintest sea breeze and yet the fret rolled and crept and seeped into every nook and cranny outside of the protective glow of the campfire.

Jason sat on one side of the fire, on his bedroll and worked on cleaning his silver and steel swords with a rag, not quite humming as he quietly mouthed the words to a jaunty little tavern song, the Fishmonger's Daughter.

On the opposite side of the campfire, on her own bedroll, Marinette had a cloak splayed out across her knee with a needle and thread in hand. Tongue sticking out slightly, in concentration, carefully she darned away at the numerous little holes that had formed from walking through the thorny bush filled forest that their current contract had led them into entering.

With a huff, Jason threw the cleaning rag at the saddlebag on the ground beside him. He sheathed his swords and pulled out his favoured weapon, the crossbow with steel and silver-tipped bolts. Immediately he began checking the bolts for any potential damage and ensuring the shooting mechanism on the crossbow hadn't jammed.

“Something on your mind, Blue Jay?” Marinette asked, glancing up from her needlework for a moment.

He tipped his head back and sighed. “I've been thinking…”

“That's new.” She responded, mirth glinting obviously in her eyes and the bubble of laughter in her tone.

Jason gasped in faux offence, mindfully dropping his crossbow and scrambling for the cleaning rag just to throw it at her face.

Before it could hit her, Marinette plucked it out of the air with two fingers. She hummed mock-thoughtfully. “Your aim's off.”

“You take that back! My aim is impeccable. Alfred said so!” He argued back.

She snorted. “Alfred is biased because he's your grandfather figure. And I'll take it back next time we get through an entire contract without you missing a single shot.” To punctuate her point, she tossed the rag back at him.

He half-dived for it, grabbing it with both hands and with it safely in his grasp, placed the rag inside the saddlebag beside him. Throwing his arms up in mock-exasperation, Jason scowled playfully at her. “C'mon! That's not fair, you've never gone an entire contract without messing up or missing with your magic either!”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed with a nod of her head and a smirk on her lips, “but I've never claimed to be perfect at magic!”

Her words caused him to falter slightly. “Right,” he swallowed a breath of air thickly, “That reminds me of what I was going to say before we got distracted.”

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows and putting on a softer tone. “What is it? As much as we joke, I'd never actually judge you for missing shots or anything else, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know… I just.” He huffed in frustration. Hesitantly, he held her gaze with his own but not a second later, winced and shifted his to stare down at the flickering embers of the campfire pit. Avoiding eye contact with her. He clenched his fists. “D'you ever, I don't know, feel like this was all… a mistake?”

Scrunching up her face in confusion, she squinted at Jason. “What do you mean? As-as in taking the contract?”

“No! Well, yes but no. I mean…” He waved an arm, gesturing vaguely around them, “just everything. Becoming a Witcher. Or I guess in your case, a Sorceress. Do you regret it?”

When she didn't immediately respond, Jason huffed again, hunching his shoulders up and practically bristling like a particularly grumpy and grizzling moggy. “Look, never mind. Stupid question.”

“It's not stupid!” Marinette retorted, “I just… wasn't expecting a question like that at this moment.”

He stared at her expectantly. “Well?”

Tipping her head back slightly, she fiddled with the needle still in one hand and sighed. “I suppose I do, I know I shouldn't… but I miss the easy days. Like before I knew what I was capable of. Before I knew what horrors the world could bring. Back when my only worries were getting stitches right and not messing up when dealing with expensive materials. Or maybe having to worry if the Alderman's daughter was going to harass me at some point during the day.”

Marinette tilted her head forwards again, a frown gracing her lips, and shrugged. “What brings this up?”

There's not an immediate response, as Jason casts his gaze away from the fire—towards where the sea could be heard but not seen. His fingers twitched midair, almost as though plucking the strings of an instrument. “I never wanted to be a Witcher. I was a Child Surprise, dunno who was the one that offered the Law of Surprise though.”

“Ah, I sorta get that. I'm also a Child Surprise, didn't get to choose to be a Sorcerer either.” As she spoke, she nodded in solidarity.

Jason jolted, gaze immediately snapping up to stare at her, completely taken aback. “Wait seriously? You're a Child Surprise too? How'd that happen?”

“Well, my parents' bakery was attacked and Félix, y'know my mentor, saved them. He invoked the Law of Surprise, expecting to get bread or some other baked goods.” She snorted, “he was awfully surprised to end up getting me instead. And when I accidentally cast my first ever spell trying to escape the Alderman's daughter, I ended up teleporting to Félix.”

“So, wait Félix fucking invoked the Law of Surprise to get food? And got you instead. Holy fucking shit that's hilarious!” He wheezed, doubling over in raucous laughter.

Huffing, she cast a spell, causing a vine to sprout up out of the ground beside him and slap him on the knee. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

“Ouch! Hey, no fair!” Jason mock scowled, choking back any further laughter. Quickly, in retaliation, he cast a weak Aard.

The telekinetic wave knocked into Marinette, pushing her onto her back from the weakened force.

“Wha—! Oh, so the vine isn't fair but throwing me to the ground is!” She griped, crossing her arms (carefully as to not prick herself on the needle) but made no attempt to get up.

Half-shrugging and grinning smugly, he replied, “you started it!”

She made an exaggerated groaning noise in response before slowly shifting her position to push herself back up into sitting cross-legged. “Well, now you know how I became a Sorcerer. How'd being a Child Surprise tie into you ending up a Witcher, if you don't me asking?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged with both shoulders this time, “I tried to steal the infamous Bat of Gotham's horse, he asked me my name. Reluctantly and after some bribery of hot food, I told him. Didn't think to give a fake one, at the time. He made a face, invoked the Law of Surprise owed to him and dragged me back to the Bat Witcher school.”

“Huh,” Marinette responded, “so if you hadn't… what would you have done with your life?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? This is me we're talking about. I'd have gone to Bard College, obviously. I'd have written poems and shit. And books, I'd have written books.”

Scrunching up her face once more, Marinette glanced down at the needle in her hand. “We're by the coast.”

“What?” He asked incredulously, giving her a bemused and questioning look. “What does that have to do with poetry and books?”

In a rush of words, she rambled, “we could take a holiday. I could find out about the spell to disguise your eyes… and uh hair too. That way no one will know you're a Witcher. And we can go to the bard college-town that's down the coast from where we are. We can scavenge together enough gold for you to attend, and you can write your poetry and books.”

Jason stared at her in shock, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Softly, as though anything louder than a whisper would cause the offer to shatter like his childhood dreams once had. “Oh, oh, could you really?”

As warmly as the fire between them, Marinette smiled, “of course! I'd have to ask Félix first of course. But he fell in love with Bridgette and she was a Witcher and he came up with a spell to disguise her whenever they weren't doing contracts or courtly politics. So I don't see why he wouldn't show me how to do it!”

Shakily, he wiped his eyes and smiled back. “Fuck, I'd love that!”

“Okay then! I'll contact Félix on the xenovox tomorrow.” As she spoke, a yawn slipped past her lips. “I think I'm gonna head to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning!”

“Good night, Marinette. I'm gonna stretch my legs real quick first.” He answered, hefting himself up and stretching his arms. “Sleep well, though.”

“Be careful!” Marinette yawned again and packed away her needlework for the night. She then wriggled into her bedroll. “And I'll try, g'night!”

“Night,” he whispered once more.

Quietly, so as to not disturb her, Jason slipped away from camp. Following the direction of the fret, he made his way down the safest cliff path he could find in the dark until his boots hit the sand. Step by step, he walked across the beach until the sea spray spattered against his clothes. He's close enough that the waves gently lapped at the toes of his boots.

Clutching one hand to his chest, just over where his heart was, Jason sighed and gazed longingly at the mist-shrouded sea.

“I never thought I'd get to continue my dreams after becoming a Witcher.” He whispered to the wind. “And now I can, thanks to her.”

He sighs again, heart warmed. And silently in the quietude of the beach at night, he cries alone. For his heart is too full with the kindness of another to contain the feelings any longer.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[100gayicons]

Oscar Wilde was one of the best known celebrities of the late 19th Century. He was a prolific writer, from prose, to poetry, to playwrighting. He often incorporated themes of beauty, decadence, and hiding ones true feelings in his writings. These were all incorporated into his novel, “The Picture of Dorian Gray” (1890).

It’s three main characters clearly based on Wilde himself. In fact he was quoted as saying:

“Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry is what the world thinks of me: Dorian is what I would like to be—in other ages.”

His masterpiece, the farce “The Importance of Being Earnest” also features autobiographical elements. In the play, the two main characters practice “bunburying" (keeping two different personas, one for town, the other for country so they can escape the conventional Victorian social rules).

Wilde married Constance Lloyd on May 29, 1884 and they went on to have two sons. She was an author as well, and the two maintained separate social lives. Wilde was said to have warned his sons about naughty boys who made their mamas cry. They in turn asked him what happened to absent papas who made mamas cry.

Like his characters, Wilde had a second life, he was a practicing homosexual. His most infamous male partner was Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, the son of John Douglas. (The elder Douglas is associated with the Marquess of Queensberry Rules of sportsmanship.)

Bosie was said to have been handsome and spoilt, and he often quarreled with his father.

Wilde was infatuated with Bosie and agreed to his every whim. In turn, young Douglas introduced Wilde to the Victorian underground of gay prostitution. Wilde and Douglas both indulged themselves with a series of young working-class male prostitutes. Wilde later described the debauchery as:

“It was like feasting with panthers; the danger was half the excitement... “

The elder Douglas’s hostility towards his son, soon shifted to Wilde. In June 1894, he arrived at Wilde’s home without an invitation and declared:

“I do not say that you are it, but you look it, and pose at it, which is just as bad. And if I catch you and my son again in any public restaurant I will thrash you.”

Their quarrels continued but in February 1895, the elder Douglas left a card for him at his club, writing, “"For Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite.”

The Younger Douglas encouraged Wilde to sue his father for slander and libel (sodomy was a criminal offense in England until 1967). Against the advice of his friends, Wilde proceeded with the court case against Boise’s father.

But private detectives easily gathered evidence about Wilde’s association with blackmailers, cross-dressers, and male prostitutes.

The elder Douglas won the court case and Wilde was liable for all court costs - bankrupting him. With all of Wilde’s sordid history made public, the British court issued a warrant for his arrest on charges of sodomy and gross indecency.

The criminal case against Wilde was grueling and unmerciful. On May 25 1895, Wilde was convicted and sentenced to two years of hard labour.

Wilde served his sentence, first at Newgate Prison known for its “hard labour, hard fare and hard beds”. In November 1895, he collapsed from illness and hunger, and ruptured his right ear drum in the fall. After two months in an infirmary, he was transferred to Reading Gaol. There he was simply identified as C.3.3 – the occupant of the third cell on the third floor of C ward.

While at Reading, another prisoner arrived to be executed for murdering his wife. Wilde was inspired to write “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”.

The poem describes the execution then moves to a more symbolic focus on all prisoners. He doesn’t justify the crimes nor laws that convicted them. But instead illustrates the brutal punishment that all convicts share.

When Wilde was released from prison, he moved to France. At first he lived on the meager allowance provided by his wife. She have him only three pounds a week to discourage the lifestyle that had led to his disgrace.

Wilde and his wife never divorced, but she changed her last name and that of their sons to Holland. She also forced Wilde to give up his parental rights then moved with them Switzerland. His sons never saw their father again.

Wilde was able to published the “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” poem and it sold very well, providing him additional income.

Oscar Wilde died of cerebral meningitis on November 30, 1900 at the age of 46. Some have speculated that the cause was due to Syphilis. But there’s evidence to suggest the meningitis was triggered from the fall and ruptured ear drum he incurred in prison.

[goldencuffs]

the tape

tw: a sex tape is filmed and released without consent.

Damen didn’t expect to wake up on Wednesday morning to the headline: Famous Football Player Caught in Tantalising SEX SCANDAL, Scroll for Video — but, well. He sort of knew it was a possibility.

 Julius had been a sweet little thing at Ernesta, the club Damen and his teammates frequented after a game or a training session or anything, really. Damen had caught sight of Julius’ blonde hair under the strobe lights, and had made his way over, tipsy and light, and just horny enough that he could last a full conversation with minimal wandering hands.

 Julius had been a ‘huge fan’ and pretty enough that Damen neglected his one rule: which was to never hook up with fans. They’d made it to Damen’s penthouse within half an hour, and Julius must have set up his phone to record them when Damen went to the bathroom after the first round.

It had honestly been the most average sex of Damen’s life — which was the only reason why he had been upset that Julius had leaked the tape at all. Damen hadn’t even tried very hard to make Julius cum, and he’d still been mostly hard throughout it all, his own release unsatisfactory.

 When he tried to explain this to Laurent later that day, during lunch at their favourite brunch place, Laurent’s face twitched. He looked furious, and then upset, and then both those expressions slowly absolved, until his expression was a flat, distant thing that unsettled Damen.

 In fact, it unsettled Damen so much, he began talking, without quite meaning to, “I just wish he’d told me he was going to film a whole tape, you know? That way I could have busted better moves. Or, made suggestions with the lighting or something. Look here — my entire body is blurry, so it’s like, what’s the point? What the fuck are we supposed to be looking at?”

 From his phone, Julius’ breathless voice panted, “Yes, harder, oh you’re so good for me.”

 It wasn’t loud enough to be heard by the other patrons in the cafe, but Laurent put his knife and fork down and hissed, “Will. You. Put. That. Away.”

 Damen did, swallowing. For the first time since he had read the article, seen the tape, and responded to the dozen or so text messages from friends about the tape, he felt embarrassment.

 Laurent wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes slid away, to the busy road outside, his mouth turned.

 Damen turned back to his food. Neither of them said anything else for the rest of their meal.

 *

 Damen genuinely didn’t mind the release of the tape. Julius had wanted his fifteen minutes of fame; Damen had wanted a lay — it was a win-win situation.

 No one else cared too much about it either; his teammates made sly jokes about it in the locker room, Makedon slapped him on the back with a shake of his head, and even Kastor let it slide.

 But there was one thing that did bother Damen — and it was that the love of his life, the man of his dreams, his soulmate, Laurent, was ignoring him.

Laurent had been downright hostile any time someone mentioned it; he’d eviscerated Nikandros verbally during dinner when Nikandros had made a joke about it, and he refused to look Damen in the eye.

 That was the worst part, thought Damen. Laurent was now skittish around him, like the thought of being around Damen too much nauseated him.

 He’d always known Laurent was reserved when it came to sex. He made jokes about it, talked about it as much as a healthy, twenty-seven-year-old man did, but it was never on a personal scale. When it came to Laurent’s own sex life, he was always tight lipped, even though sometimes Damen wanted to know, purely on a masochistic level. It honestly killed Damen when Laurent came in last summer to review his legal contract, briefcase in hand, and a bright red hickey on the white spot beneath his ear. It was the first time Damen had thought he might kill someone — rather violently, too.

 So, that was one of the reasons Damen used to justify Laurent’s behaviour. He was probably embarrassed about seeing… so much of his best friend. Damen wouldn’t have minded seeing Laurent naked, but that was only because he had been in love with Laurent for the last four years now.

 The second reason was that Laurent was so disgusted by Damen he didn’t want to be friends anymore.

 Damen didn’t like thinking about the second reason — so he didn’t.

 *

 A week after the tape, Damen invited Laurent over to dinner, at his family home. Theomedes was obsessed with Laurent, which Damen understood wholeheartedly; he was constantly wondering why more people didn’t fall in love with Laurent three seconds into meeting him.

 At first, it had seemed like Laurent might refuse. He was doing that a lot lately: skipping plans, cancelling so last-minute Damen couldn’t cajole him to reconsider, or in most cases, just flat out saying no.

 It seemed like today, the latter would be the possibility, so Damen said, panicked, “Please. I’ll make your favourite dessert.”

 Laurent perked a little at that. “Really?”

 “Yes!” Damen said, perhaps a little too aggressively, but it had Laurent nodding, a quick, stilted movement.

 Damen ruined the first three batches of chocolate mousse, but the fourth was decent, and the fifth was a bit better than that, so he went with it.

 Laurent arrived at seven sharp, straight from work. He had his favourite suit on, the charcoal wool suit that made everyone realise that Laurent was about ninety percent leg, and he was wearing the bright, spotty tie Theomedes had gifted Laurent about three Christmases ago.

He was so beautiful, Damen’s chest hurt. “Hi,” he said breathlessly, unexpectedly shy.

 Laurent’s gaze was unimpressed. His mouth did something strange; it compressed in on itself, until it sat in a straight line, and his eyes hovered over Damen’s shoulder.

 “You have something on your face,” he said.

 Damen tried a smile. “Well, get it off for me then, sweetheart.”

 He leant forward, very desperate suddenly for Laurent's touch, which in the past, Laurent had been very generous about.

 Laurent shoved the wine bottle he was holding into Damen’s stomach. Damen stepped back with a surprised oof, fumbling to catch it, and Laurent made his way past him, into the kitchen to talk to Theomedes.

 Damen stared after him, at a complete loss.

 He sulked in the bathroom for a while, and only came out when he was sure he could no longer avoid his father’s calls anymore.

 Laurent wasn’t looking at him when Damen returned, but he didn’t shuffle away as Damen took his usual seat beside him.

 Dinner was so pleasant, Damen almost forgot about how strange Laurent had been acting. Even Laurent had loosened, and he gave his first proper smile to Damen in a whole week when he tasted the mousse. It was a small smile, but Damen was going to remember it for the rest of his life, since they were so rare now, apparently.

 Of course, just as Laurent had completely relaxed, Theomedes said, “Do you think we’d have a case if Damen were to sue the tabloids and the man in the tape?”

 Laurent stiffened so much it was like he’d been propped up by invisible string. His shoulders tensed and pulled back, and his back was so straight Damen was sure he could run a smooth line down it.

 Haltingly, Laurent said, “I — don’t. I’m not quite sure.”

 “Why not?” Theomedes said.

 Damen said, “Dad. I’m not going to sue. He was just a dumb kid.”

 Laurent seemed to stiffen further at that.

 Theomedes frowned. “But surely —”

 “I’ll ask someone at the firm for you, sir,” Laurent said, in a polite, contrite tone that wasn’t like him at all. “I only deal with sports law so I — I’d have to ask.”

 That settled Theomedes. Damen relaxed a little too, until Laurent pushed away his dessert, despite having more than half of it left.

 It was such a depressing thing to see, Damen couldn’t finish the rest of his either.

 *

 With how jumpy Laurent was, Damen expected him to leave straight after their plates were cleared, but Laurent lingered, drinking his wine, and talking to Theomedes about the Lions chances of winning this season.

 Damen barely listened. He was upset, and his stomach had been rolling tumultuously for the last hour.

 He excused himself to his bedroom and sat on his small, single bed for a few moments, feeling sorry for himself.

 When that didn’t make him feel better, Damen went to his desk and pulled out a well-read book. Book was perhaps an overstatement; it was a small collection of poetry Laurent had written for him a year after they met. He had handed it to Damen after his birthday party, when everyone had left, and they could have some privacy.

 “You don’t have to read it,” Laurent had said, bashful, when Damen had paused in stunned silence. That was when Damen knew — and over the years that feeling had only solidified.

 The binding hadn’t been the best, so Damen had rebound it himself. Along the way he’d marked a lot of the poems too. The love poems were a source of both serenity and torture, since Damen daydreamed that Laurent had written about making love in moonlit sheets about him, but.

 He was surprised when there was a hesitant knock on his door. Laurent peeked his head through, and then he was stepping inside, wine glass topped up and his tie loosened.

 Damen’s heart lurched.

 “What are you doing?” Laurent asked, and the wine must have made him forget that he was mad at Damen, because he sounded curious, joyful.

 Damen gestured to the curling cover of Laurent’s book. Laurent flushed heavily, the colour vining his cheeks and neck and ears.

 “You kept that?”

 “Of course I did,” Damen said, affronted.

 “They’re terrible,” Laurent said, shaking his head, still red. “I don’t think I’ve even read enough poetry to justify writing so many.”

 “They’re wonderful. See.” Damen flicked through the pages and showed Laurent all his markings, scribbling along the columns of Laurent’s poetry.

 Laurent watched with hungry eyes. But he said, “Oh, Damen,” with so much sadness, Damen went, instinctively, to touch his shoulder.

 “Hey,” he said, unsure.

 Laurent stepped away from his grip, but he sat on the edge of the bed, facing Damen.

 “What is it?” Damen asked, because Laurent’s face was pale, haunted.

 “Nothing,” Laurent said, attempting a small smile.

 Damen tried to return it but couldn’t.

 They sat in awkward silence for a while — which was foreign, between them. Damen talked enough for four people at a time, and Laurent, though he said otherwise, liked that.

 Eventually, Damen said, “You’re coming to Nikandros’ party on Saturday, yeah?”

 “Oh,” Laurent said, surprised. He blinked. “This Saturday?”

 “Yeah,” Damen said, his stomach knotting when he realised Laurent was most probably going to say no.

 It was worse than that. “Ah, shit, I’d completely forgotten…” Laurent trailed off. “I didn’t realise when I — I have plans.”

 “What plans?” Damen frowned, because Laurent had approximately three friends, including him, and they were all going to Nikandros’.

 Laurent flushed again, a finger tracing the rim of his glass. “Armand from work — do you remember? I mentioned him a few times at — anyway. He. He asked me on a date and I said yes.”

 “Oh,” Damen said, so flatly he didn’t think he had even made it sound like a word.

 “Yes,” Laurent said, flushing even more, not looking at Damen’s eyes. “We’re going to Charls. You’ve been there, haven’t you? Is it any good?”

 “Hmm,” said Damen.

 “Oh,” said Laurent, awkwardly. “That’s good.”

 He left ten minutes after that. Damen smashed a penholder.

 *

 The days leading up to Nikandros’ party were the worst of Damen’s life. It wasn’t as though Laurent hadn’t dated anyone for the last few years, but the fact that he was going on a date with Armand, rich, successful, handsome Armand, who cracked dry jokes and said things like, My supervisor would kill me if I said this but did you know… He was just so boring. Laurent could do way better.

 Nikandros’ party was, thankfully, a wonderful distraction. It was as raucous as ever, and the cacophony of noises prevented Damen from thinking too much. Damen drank, he danced, and he thought of flirting with Naos’ sister, but decided against it.

 He was on the alfresco, smoking, trying to ignore the couple in the corner who were three seconds away from having sex, when Laurent opened the sliding doors.

 Damen was so surprised, he almost dropped his cigarette. Then he tried not to get his hopes up. He was either so drunk he was hallucinating, even though it had never happened before, or Laurent had ditched Charls to bring himself and Armand here.

 Laurent was drunk, or at least getting there. When he saw Damen, he smiled wide, his teeth showing.

 Damen swallowed, eyes following Laurent as he made his way over. Laurent surprised him even more; he sat close to Damen, until their thighs touched and rested his head on Damen’s shoulder.

 “Hey,” said Damen, his heart racing, confused and hopeful all at once.

 Laurent propped his chin on Damen’s shoulder. “Hello,” he said softly.

 Damen’s mouth was dry. Laurent plucked Damen’s cigarette from his fingers and placed it in his own mouth.

 Damen asked, “Armand?”

 Laurent exhaled. “He was a dick. And not in the nice, sexy way.”

 “There’s a nice, sexy way?” Damen said, amused and relieved.

 “There can be,” Laurent said, handing the cigarette back to Damen.

 They shared Damen’s cigarette for a while, fingers brushing up against each other. Laurent was still on his shoulder, and this was so achingly familiar, Damen had been afraid he’d lost it forever.

 A few moments later, Damen asked, “Was he a jerk to you, Laurent?”

 “Not really,” Laurent said.

 “Good,” said Damen.

 Laurent propped his chin on Damen’s shoulder again. “What would you do if I said yes?”

 Damen said, too seriously, “I’d kill him.”

 Laurent’s breath caught. His eyes searched Damen’s face, and Damen tried valiantly to keep his expression as neutral as he could.

 Laurent pulled back. His eyes flickered to the ground, then to Damen, and then away. “I should probably go. I have a huge headache.”

 “Okay,” said Damen.

 Laurent squeezed his hand quickly, then dropped it. He made to leave the alfresco, his movements unhurried, a little disjointed.

 At the doors, he paused. Damen saw him hesitate, and then Laurent turned around and asked, “Are you free tomorrow?”

 “Yeah,” said Damen, even though he had promised Kastor they’d have lunch together.

 Laurent nodded. “Good. Come over for dinner. I’ll make lasagna.”

 “Sure,” said Damen, now smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

 Laurent smiled too. “See you,” he said, before he stepped through the doors, into the crowd.

 Damen watched him go, his heart settled and his smile only widening.

[tester2080]

The Leaving Cert is an awful system.

09/09/21

In case you are not from Ireland, the Leaving Cert(ificate) is the exam system that determines which uni we can get into. Rather than having a GPA via continual assessments or any sort of entrance exam or letter of application we simply have one set of exams. There are obviously other exams (such as the christmas and summer exams in other years), however, the Leaving Cert exam is the only one that matters.

When you take a subject you can either do ordinary or higher level. Ordinary level is easier but rewards less points, and higher level is more difficult, but rewards more points. A H1 is worth 100 points (except for HL maths which is 125) and is given if you get between 90 and 100%. A H2 is 88 points and 80-90% and so on. An O1 is 90-100% in an ordinary level subject but only 56 points. There are some weird changes to the system when it comes to medicine but I won't get into that right now. Universities award places based solely on the points you receive. This leads into the first problem.

Whilst the education experience is a multi year process (6 years in secondary school in our case), what determines your uni course is a single event, often just a single week out of many years of learning. This is insanity and leads to so many obvious problems. A person could be getting H1s throughout the year and forgot to study just one topic and end up with a H3 in the leaving cert at the end, and a H3 student could get lucky and study a topic that happens to come up and get a H1. Even a single grade can be the difference between getting into the uni you want and losing out. The leaving cert does not measure you abilities as a student, your effort, or even sometimes your ability. The leaving cert measures your memory and how well you can perform on the day. You getting 100% in every single subject for the past 6 years and a family member dies a few days before the exams and it absolutely ruins your mental state? Too bad. In the eyes of the university you are not a good enough student. You are a perfect student but got a bit nervous and stayed up a bit late the night before to get some extra study in and are tired the next day? Too bad. You've been getting 625 in every set of mock tests but on the day your mind goes blank with the incredible stress, the knowledge that one test will determine the rest of your life? Too. Bad. There are no exceptions to the hand of the points system and claw of bad luck. You cannot explain to the uni. They. Will. Not. Care. Nothing else is taken into account. Students will have bad days. That's just life, we're all human. However that must be accounted for. Nobody should miss out on their life's dream because of a single day. That is absolutely absurd.

When you ask someone what education is about t. There is a filter type system for different categories of posts and all that, so if you're interested in what I have to say, I'd recommend going there for the better experience. I also have no fucking clue how to use tumblr sof you ask them what the leaving cert is about they will say it's about getting into uni. Clearly there is a disconnect here. Where has education become so distorted that now it is nothing more than a way for universities to quickly and easily judge us? Education must be about teaching children, not for some uni test, but simply so they can become more knowledgeable, so they can get a thirst for information, so they can locate their strengths and weaknesses, so future generations can live better lives than we will. University selections must be nothing more than an afterthought. It is even worse when the leaving cert is a horrendously stressful system. We put ourselves through sometimes 6 years of stress and bad quality of mental health to make it easier for universities??? What a ridiculous idea.

The leaving cert isn't even a fair way to judge students. Here, I'll be able to determine how good you're likely to do in the leaving cert with two simple questions. Do you have a good memory? Are you good at maths? If you answered yes to both, the chances of you doing well are very high and if you answered no to both - well - the chances aren't quite as good. A huge amount of the leaving cert is simply a memory test. I know the state will talk constantly about how rote learning is discouraged and all that, but realistically that's not the case. Take for example the English paper. You get to know which poets might come and which poems you can use before the exam. This mean your teacher can simply write you a good sample answer and if you can remember it, that's at least a H2 for that part of the exam. And as for being good at maths - if you're good at maths you already have 3 subjects which you can say with reasonable certainty you will be good at - maths, physics, and applied maths. Students who aren't good at maths have nothing like this unless they are fluent in several languages. A big problem when you arises most of the non maths subjects are based on memory, and the ones not based on memory are based on maths. History? Memorising essays. Irish? Memorising poems. Biology? A lot of memorising. Physics? A lot of maths. Accounting? A lot of memorising. This continues throughout basically all the exam subjects, with only maybe one or two exceptions. I know someone who hasn't even started 5th year, and yet they already know they're screwed and have basically given up on their first choice course because they have dyscalculia and a terrible memory. They can try as hard as they want, study as hard as they can, but realistically, they aren't going to come close to someone with a good memory and are good at maths who put in the bare minimum effort. It's bizarre too, given the amount of jobs that don't require either maths or a good memory.

The subjects you can study in the leaving cert is also extremely limited. You have to study Irish, English, Maths, and a third language. In public schools you then basically have the option of History, Geography, Accounting, Business, Economics, Art, Music, Religion, Chemistry, Biology, Physics and DCG. There are no electives to try out things similar to careers you might be interested or anything like that. Now those that plan to go into business will be happy I'm sure, however, for most other people, the subjects have very little in common with the career you want to do. You're doing law? I suppose a business subject might somewhat help??? You're doing computer science? Maths is kinda related. Medicine? Biology sure, perhaps a little bit of chemistry? But at most 2 out of your 6 subjects will actually be any way relevant to your career. To make it even worse, public schools have subjects in blocks. This means there will 3 blocks of subjects and you pick one from each block. You're super good at both physics, chemistry, and business? Well too bad, there's a very high chance you won't get to study all 3, and you'll have to pick up geography or some other subject you have no interest in. In some cases all 3 of the subjects you like may be in the same block, meaning you'll have to pick up 2 subjects you have no interest in and will likely be worse at. Once again, simple luck plays a huge part in the leaving cert. Going into 5th year, the subjects you're allowed pick will likely change your eventual points by around 30 or possibly more. Furthermore, private schools provide a massive advantage, often with your chance of getting good grades being around 4 times higher. You were born with well off parents? Congrats, here's an extra 100 points have fun. Absolute insanity. The leaving cert is really just determined by luck every way you look at it. Now obviously luck plays a part in everyday life too, but the leaving cert basically caters to the lucky, and a whole lot could be done to reduce the benefit they have based on luck alone, rather than quality of character, or time studied, or effort put in, etc.

I suppose I've reached the stage where I should stop complaining and start giving actual suggestions for improvements then. Fine. Firstly, remove the idiotic one exam process. Instead have some sort of GPA system with continual testing, so it shows how good a student is on average, not just on their worst/best day. Increase the amount of uni places available so that getting into the uni and career you want becomes more of an afterthought, rather than a constant stress looming over you. Add more subjects and electives that will be relevant to the career the student is planning to go into. Make learning and discovering your strengths and weaknesses and just enjoying life in general a main focus. Give students time to relax and do sports outside of school, even in 6th year (which is something basically impossible to do under the current system). Allow the tests that determine the GPA to be open book. Make understand more important than simply memorising. Remove the subject block system so students can do all the subjects they actually enjoy and are good at. I believe that the single test system is one of the reasons that private schools perform so well, by removing that, I believe the scores wouldn't be so far apart. However additions restrictions, or even total banning, of private schools could be implemented. After all, surely everyone deserves the same quality of education. These are children and teenagers for gods sake. There shouldn't be a heirachy of education based on their parents wealth. All students should be given the same opportunities. Private schools largely do better due to having better teachers. There currently isn't a large enough supply of very good teachers to go around, and the private schools can simply buy up the majority of good ones. We should pay teachers more, a lot of people thinking about careers may be dissuaded from teaching, despite having a passion, due to the low pay. Many good teachers also go to places like Dubai thanks to the better pay. Overall in society, teachers are sort of dismissed as a profession, and if we wish to improve the lives of the next generations, this must change.

[greylunar]

PLEASE do in depth analyses of all of the houses for your quiz I was enraptured reading the gryffindor one and I didn’t even get gryffindor

JUST FOR YOU ANON, I am going to compile the sort of Final Breakdown of every house, in my opinion, that you get at the end of the quiz now. Theres more in-depth analysis of specific questions under each house’s tag on my blog, and you can feel free to ask more specifics of course bUT here is the masterpost of that c:

A Hufflepuff is, unlike a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor, an internal house. I know what you must be thinking, “how can you be the house of loyalty if you’re an internal house?” Puffs have a small network, Their People, maybe friends, maybe family, maybe friends who are family, maybe an assortment of small pets or animated characters. While Slytherins also have Their People, they have resources and associates to draw from when their bored, whereas the term associates exhausts a Hufflepuff. Spending time with people they don’t love doesn’t ever sit quite right, although they will often do it in an attempt to make folks happy. Hufflepuffs yes, are a house of kindness and of love, but unlike Gryffindors when it comes down to it they don’t have to go out of their way for kindness and love. Gryffindors will seek out situations in which they can do good. Hufflepuffs good is smaller (not lesser) in which they will do as much good as they can for the people directly in their line of sight, but when granted with the great expanse of the world it is easy for them to shrink in on themselves and not be able to cope. That said, they have so much love to give out, and will often want all their love in one place, slightly selfish but mostly excited collectors of people. If your version of the ideal future is a vague image of all the people you love in your house for [insert holiday] that is a very Hufflepuff sentiment. Hufflepuffs, like Gryffindors, are inherent/intrinsic worth folks. Hufflepuffs know who they are, or at least how they define themselves. Their moral code may not be their local government’s law (and actually very often isn’t), but it does exist and is rigid, and puffs won’t go against it unless incredibly pressed. This is a point of contention with Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and even Gryffindors who feel like they have to perform/validate their identity and choices through others. Hufflepuffs are themselves, and no one else, completely and quietly. They love their People. They want to build a home for them. That isn’t to say that puffs are necessarily gentle pushovers. A huge component of Punk and Anti-fascists align themselves with Puffs because they are So themselves and So invested in the safety and well-being of their people and community. Like slytherins, hufflepuffs often know/feel they’re weird, and tend to relish in finding people as absurd and lovely as they are. They will forgive people, possibly too much. But quietly, they will shift the little orbit of the world around themselves to be a little kinder, a little gentler, for them and the people they love. Be kind to yourself. You do not have to be any bigger than you are.

Slytherins are linked to identity, changing themselves to meet their needs and the wants of the world around them. They have specific people that are Theirs, and their circle of Actual Trust may be rather small, even if their friend/associates/resources group is a wide network. Slytherins are tied to wanting, craving, and not necessarily in a bad way or in a way that’s “ambition”. Slytherins are a house made up of people who want something or someone or some goal desperately or are made up of a myriad of little wants, but also struggle with the idea of worth and whether or not they have done enough to deserve the things they want. Sometimes, these wants are secret. Slytherins are often caught up in this wanting and this worth, and cannot see that they are already loved, completely and wholly, for who they are. When you care for someone you care for them with all of you, you are inherently a protective house like hufflepuffs for those that you care about most, and for all your wanting so so so many of you are beautiful creators (the worlds and story ideas slytherins have just roaming around in their brains?? amazing!). My advice to slytherins, if I can give some without being asked hahaha oops, is to recognize that for all the shapeshifting of the self you do, you can be exactly who you want to be, if you just give yourself permission. Who would you be in a dark room without any mirrors? How would you dance? How would you dress, for just yourself? Of course, that doesn’t mean you have to change your life tomorrow. It just means, sometimes, starting in little ways, take back a little bit of ground from the world. “This part is me. This part is mine. You aren’t allowed to have it.” It can be quiet. But you are worth so much, and you are yours. You are just as much of a person as anyone else, and have already earned love, because you never had to earn it in the first place.

Gryffindors believe in innate worth, innate characteristics, sort of your personality is that way because That Is Who You Are. Similar to hufflepuffs in this way, anti-slytherin experience haha. Gryffindors, unlike Hufflepuffs, are an external versus internal change maker. Because of this, they are often more broadly idealistic than hufflepuffs (think range, although they both hold their core values very deeply, hufflepuffs are on a smaller more condensed scale whereas gryffs will spread themselves thinner. Puffs do not have to change the world, rather they create a Home in which to put their world into, whereas a lot of Gryffindors struggle with feeling that they aren’t doing Enough, not Enough good, not Enough love. That the failures of the world are in part because they haven’t done enough to help personally). Gryffindors are very solid with their identity. While slytherins/ravenclaws will see their body/their reflection in a mirror, a scientific fact of life or something they wish they could/can change and shape, Gryffindors (with some exceptions for gender, trauma, and mental illness) tend to be confused that there are answers other than “I see myself in the mirror.” However, Gryffs can be performative, because while they see themselves, they need to be told that they are going in the right direction, they need to be loved, they need to help. Gryffindors will lose themselves a bit in an empty room, in isolation, moreso than hufflepuffs or ravenclaws. They create and change the world around them FOR the world around them, and so the world can look at them and say “okay, you did it, its okay now.” In this way, they are closest to slytherins, seeking validation, seeking a legacy, even though they may not even do it/realize its for themselves. They do good, or they try to, based on how they have defined it for themselves. They will care for you with all of them, if you earn it. They will hold you. But the voice in their head says “am I sure that this is what good looks like. Am I sure that this is enough.” From your friendly neighborhood Hufflepuff, sometimes doing what you need to take care and save yourself is the best thing for the world. Maybe cook something, have a lil dance party. You are an important part of the world. Start small, and love that part the most. You can add on from there c:

Ravenclaws shape the world around them, and create, in order to create a world that better suits themselves and their goals, rather than Slytherins who shape and create/recreate themselves to suit the world, meaning they are an external house, creating and impacting in the world around them rather than in themselves. Unlike Gryffindors, the other external house, Ravenclaws do not feel as much pressure to be seen in a sort of grand legacy or entirely shape the world around them. They give and seek knowledge and creation because, in a very basic sense, they feel like they need to. In a way I’ve said it “I could not write poetry for 30 years and that wouldn’t mean I’m not a poet. I am a poet. That does not change.” But Ravenclaws will get restless if they don’t create if they don’t learn. Their legacy doesn’t mean that the whole world will remember them forever. Its that they will create/make/do something that will matter to even one person enough that they will be remembered. A lot of Ravenclaws feel tied to their Ravenclaw identity because they don’t quite know who they’d be if they weren’t the ‘intelligent one’ if you will. But Ravenclaws sometimes forget that they create beauty every day, learn things new and small every day, without even meaning to. Ravenclaws believe identity is created/forged/remade constantly as information is gathered, and often try to seem neutral, scared of sharing an opinion unless they’ve thought it through completely and are certain they should stand by it. Ravenclaws are often searching, looking for something bigger than them, as almost to prove they are small in comparison. Sometimes the best thing a Ravenclaw can do is realize that all those wonderful books and poems and pieces of art that make you dream of a fantasy world were made in this world. This place, so full of love, that gave them to you in order for you to love it back. A lot of ‘gifted kids’ put themselves in Ravenclaw, without realizing that it was the rest of the world that put them in Ravenclaw, and not something that they chose. If that’s the case, maybe now is the time to ask yourself who is it you want to be? The self is a construct loves, and a uquiz doesn’t define you. You define you. You’re so good at creating Ravenclaw friends. Create you. You’re already magnificent. You’re already worth it. Now its time to look at yourself and give some love to that self, to ask it what it wants to be. You are, more than anything else, your greatest masterpiece.

[yoursexysweetcadaver]

Justice for Matthew Rushin - Black Autistic Lives Matter! #BLM #Justice4MatthewRushin

Hello there I have not seen any mention of what happened to Matthew Rushin on Tumblr yet so, I’m making this post hoping it gains traction. PLEASE signal boost, take your time to read and donate if you can or share, because this is a MASSIVE injustice and it needs to be spread around more. I don’t have many (active) followers so I don’t know how far this will go, but I’m hoping more people see this so please if you do see this, share and follow their social medias we need justice for Matthew ASAP.  He is experiencing vision loss and other symptoms related to a cyst in his brain that required medical care when he was and still is in his cell. I am going to keep my words brief, to give more voice to the family as they speak and explain best about what has been going on. There is an email template in this post that you can use to send to Virginia representatives (also listed), a GoFundMe link.  This is all taken from the family’s Facebook post and photos.

Also please feel free to add more hashtags, I added what I came up with.

I’m not only fighting for my son Matthew Rushin but for all those who have been wrongfully convicted. Laws must change to protect those with disabilities and our legislators must be held accountable to make these changes. We have to protect those with disabilities and not let the police (Virginia Beach Detective Jessica Hosang)/prosecutors (Colin Stolle, & Michael DeFricke)take advantage of them! They have stolen the music from my life!

Entire Washington Post link: https://www.washingtonpost.com/video/local/how-a-black-autistic-man-is-serving-10-years-in-prison-for-a-car-crash/2020/09/10/7f86aed2-5a58-475d-a806-3957ee3bdb2c_video.html?fbclid=IwAR2UcNCjCELk1F-3YuwQodKTyhoKSnEA0ASnuvNqfoAgDUwtEE1U3_B0Cpc

MEET MY SON MATTHEW RUSHIN: Matthew is a black, autistic twenty-two year old male who was & is still a model citizen even in prison. He beat all kinds of odds against him: black, autistic, ADHD, anxiety, a traumatic brain injury(TBI) in 2017 that left him comatose for several days, & which required rehabilitation in order for him to re-learn life functions, including walking & talking. A pituitary cyst was discovered during evaluation & treatment for the TBI. The single car accident which resulted in the TBI has left him with PTSD.  Despite all of these challenges, Matthew graduated with honors from high school, was employed & was an engineering student at ODU.  He participated in numerous volunteer activities.  He is a gifted pianist, plays the viola beautifully, & he composes music and writes poems. Matthew was sentenced to 50 years (to serve 10) for a nonfatal, unintentional car accident involving no drugs or alcohol. If you are thinking there must be more to the story, there is. One of Matthew’s autistic processes is called Echolalia, which causes him to repeat words that he hears. After the car accident, Matthew stepped out of his car & was met by an angry driver who cursed at him and repeatedly yelled at him “are you f***ing trying to kill yourself?” In his distressed state, Matthew repeated these man’s words about suicide: words that were used to turn a car accident into a crime. Matthew was charged with 2nd degree murder with a claim that the accident was an intentional attempt to kill himself by deliberately driving head-on into another car. Officers did not exhibit any understanding of autism in their interpretations of Matthew’s comments and actions. Instead, they took advantage of his vulnerability as they handcuffed him, questioned him for nearly 4 hours at the scene, lied to him about evidence, isolated him from his family. A forensic engineer and traffic collision reconstructionist with 33 years’ experience has written a report detailing the ways the Commonwealth’s suicide determination as a cause for the accident is NOT a plausible explanation. Facing the terrifying prospect of a jury trial, Matthew was pressured to plead guilty to crimes he didn’t commit, led to believe it would allow him to go home. He was never properly treated or evaluated, and his health and disability were never properly considered. Today, Matthew sits in prison without an understanding of why he is there. Matthew and his family have immense compassion for the individuals wounded in the January 2019 car crash, especially the man with the most severe and sustaining injuries. Their thoughts are with these individuals daily. But Matthew is not a danger to society. He is highly vulnerable in the brutal prison environment as a man with a disability. And he faces the possibility of permanent blindness or even death due to an untreated brain cyst. Help Matthew's family bring him home. Ask Governor Northam to grant Matthew an Absolute Pardon and do whatever it takes to free him today!

************************* SAMPLE EMAIL************************** I am writing to you because I feel passionately that Matthew Rushin, a gentle young man with neurological processing differences that accompany autism spectrum disorder, should NOT be behind bars.   Please review his case. A nonfatal car accident that involved NO drugs or alcohol, a young man with autism who has never before been in trouble with the law.  This is someone who should NOT have been sentenced to 50 years and now spending a decade of his life in jail with violent offenders all because of a driving mistake.  Furthermore, it is highly likely that the accident even occurred because of his losing consciousness due to a seizure. A forensic engineer and traffic collision reconstructionist with 33 years experience has written a report detailing the ways the commonwealth’s suicide determination as a cause for the accident is NOT a plausible explanation: https://neuroclastic.com/.../2020/06/rushin-engineer.pdf...  This is also what Matthew repeatedly told officers during his interrogation, when he should have been receiving medical care. At the scene of the accident, Matthew repeated words that were screamed at him. Echolalia is a method many with autism use for processing situations.  This involves them repeating what someone has said to them. Matthew did this, and he was convicted because of it, rather than for the actual facts of the case that illustrated it was indeed an unintentional car accident. Please review his case.  He needs medical attention for the cyst on his brain. He is experiencing headaches and transient blindness, and his medical care for this is long overdue. Please do not let him die in jail. This young man has been criminalized and had his life destroyed. He has a history of being a model citizen prior to this accident - honors in high school, an engineering college student, a volunteer. He needs medical care for the cyst on his brain and is experiencing transient blindness and short term memory loss, further exacerbated by his recent assault in jail by another inmate. Please do what you can to help. Prison offers the VA community nothing in terms of betterment by keeping him locked up and potentially killing him because of lack of medical care and his vulnerability as a young man with disabilities in a brutal environment. Help his family bring him home. The injuries incurred to the victims involved, particularly the man with the most severe and sustaining injuries, are horrible. But the punishment is above and beyond inhumane and unproductive for Matthew Rushin to be sentenced to 50 years and serving 10 for a nonfatal car accident involving no drugs or alcohol.  

******************************************************************************************* These are critical points: 1. Matthew was not taken for medical (and mental health evaluation) the evening of the crash.  He has lost consciousness, had a prior serious brain injury, was banged up around the face and bleeding, was not making sense - yet, instead of taking him for evaluation and care, the police handcuffed and interrogated him for nearly 4 hours at the scene, then more at the police station (with lies and manipulation).  He still has not had the physical evaluation he should have had that day - despite the fact that he has a cyst on his pituitary gland that was due evaluation the month he was jailed (19 months ago), AND he is having severe headaches, dizziness and temporary blindness.                                                                     2. Virginia Beach Police Department has a CIT (Crisis Intervention Team) program that is supposed to divert people with mental illness or in mental health crises to treatment rather than the criminal system.  Not only did they not activate that team despite his history of PTSD, anxiety and his symptoms at the scene AND the fact that they were going to charge him with attempted 2nd degree murder on the basis of a suicide attempt (unfounded!), the woman how did much of the interrogation - which included lies about the evidence they had, and pretending that she was his friend - is a trainer for their CIT program.  Further, suicidology must be determined by psychologist or psychiatrist.  It was not - and wouldn't have been.  They were able to maintain that charge, because after 7 months of jail, when Matthew was told that if he signed the plea deal, he could go home - that was his understanding - he signed it.  From that point forward, the prosecutor, judge and press referred to the "fact" that he admitted he deliberately ran into the other car because he was trying to kill himself.                                                                       Officer Hosang only has 12 hours of Autism training, it takes psychologists years undergraduate education, graduate education and a whole lot of certification to even be able to practice. Officer Hosang told Matthew as heard in the interrogation, she hopes to arrest and charge him. What CIT does that? Is that descalating the issue? Um.. no way! 3. Mental health services have not been provided.  Medication for anxiety was provided after months, but not counseling/treatment.  Matthew has not had the required neurology follow up for his conditions identified prior to his incarceration.                                                                                                                     4. Matthew and his family have not been able to talk face to face for 19 months, let alone hug.  This 20 year old autistic man who had just been in a very serious car accident and who was clearly physically impacted was not allowed the comfort of his family.  His dad was at the scene for hours waiting to be allowed to see his son.  He wasn't even told when they took Matthew away from the scene.  Mr. Rushin found out 45 minutes later.     5. Matthew was ripped from his life on the basis of an unsubstantiated claim, denied his rights, taken advantage of and taken straight to prison for a charge that never should have been made.  Yet when there is overwhelming evidence of all of the wrongdoing, he remains in prison.  That is totally unbalanced.  He was judged guilty on sight.  But it is taking months to free him.  This is so wrong. ________________________________________________________________________________ (1) GOVERNOR RALPH NORTHAM EMAIL: Ralph.Northam@governor.virginia.gov CALL: (804) 786-2211 (2) COUNSEL TO GOVERNOR NORTHAM Legal Counsel Rita Davis Rita.Davis@governor.virginia.gov (3) Kelly Thomasson: Secretary of the Commonwealth EMAIL: Kelly.thomasson@governor.virginia.gov CALL: (804) 786-2441 Fax: 804-786-7441 (4) Tonya D. Chapman: Chair of the Virginia Parole Board EMAIL:  tonya.chapman@vpb.virginia.gov CALL:    804-674-3081 (5) PAROLE BOARD PARDONS@GOVERNOR.VIRGINIA.GOV (6) Brian Moran: Secretary of Public Safety and Homeland Secretary CALL:   Office: 804-786-5351 EMAIL: Brian.Moran@governor.virginia.gov (6) Mark R. Herring: Virginia Attorney General EMAIL: service@oag.state.va.us CALL: (804)786-2071 ****************************************************************** (1) PETITION LINK: (DO NOT DONATE TO THE PETITION, ONLY SHARE) http://chng.it/gvNy5rJ77H

(2) GOFUNDME FOR LEGAL AND EXPERT FEES (ZERO THE TIP FEE: DO NOT ADD A TIP): we still need financial assistance! We appreciate everyone ❤️ https://gf.me/u/yjwwty

(3 PAYPAL: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/Dance4Matthew

[nightswithkookmin]

GOING ON A HIATUS

Thanks to everyone who's taken the time out to read my posts and has enjoyed it so far. It's really been fun and entertaining exchanging thoughts and having these much deeper ship discussions.

I thought this issue was gonna go away but I woke up this morning to more people messaging me about finding my last video analysis on several other platforms without appropriate credit.

But that's not disturbing. The disturbing part is the people sliding into people's DM'S on other platforms to get them to take down my video because they don't want people sharing my content on other platforms as they believe it would only make my blog popular.

For those worried about this whole credit business, thanks for showing this much concern for me? I really appreciate the love and concern if it's from a genuine place of concern. Thank you...

I think some of you already know this by now or might have figured it out, I am a law student, I am very much well aware what is and what isn't within my rights? Lol

I honestly didn't see this whole credit thingy as a big deal. It's not. Not to me. Lol. I repost people's photos without credit too all the time. Often, it's because I don't know who to credit and most time my lazy ass just forgets to. Lol. I think it's normal? It's inconsequential I mean.

The videos I use are usually often water marked by the appropriate owners so I don't go through the hustle of figuring this whole credit business out. If I should decide to come back here again I will check that habit of mine?

While this whole credit business is not a big deal to me, malicious slander and defamation to my character is and I don't take it lightly.

It has been brought to my attention that some Jikookers from Tumblr have since been sliding into people's DM's on other platforms asking them to take down my video and or remove the credit they give to my post.

They are telling people I am problematic, calling me the Taekook Lives of the Jikook community. That I have been spreading lies about Jikook, that the Jikook Tumblr community hates me or something like that and to further caricaturize me and make me appear more evil in order to get people to turn on me and hate me, they make up the most ridiculous lies about me claiming that I believe a notorious serial killer is innocent.

Now I have since deleted my YT account because I don't want my colleagues to find out I am into shipping too lol- shipping is a guilty pleasure of mine and I know how this fandom works unfortunately. I've been a silent part of it since 2014. I mean it's started already. The Doxing and shit.

The original post under which these replies are from couldn't save sadly as my account has been deleted but you can see from my notifications the general feel of what my interests outside shipping looks like.

I am interested in a myriad of topics, from literature, Aliens, writing, Harry Potter, history, activism, advocacy, philosophy, law, politics, NASA, and mystery and murder among other things.

My quora is mostly filled with notifications from my Book community and True crime community and often I do share my thoughts and answer questions with regards to the psychology of murderers, legal evidence, notorious villains in literature- well I guess now you know the kind of lawyer I want to be if and when I'm able to complete law school.

But what has my interest in these topics got to do with Jikook and shipping please?? How does this prove I hate Jikook and spread lies about them?

This Kookie Min Monsta person slipped into someone's DMS and asked the person who had put up my video analysis to take it down or discredit me because to her I am problematic. She is not the only one.

You want so bad to paint me black- no pun intended just to win an argument? You claim I am the evil malicious person here but I am not the one sliding into people's dms trying to take credit away from people for their hardwork, spreading hate and negative energy, making things up to manipulate people's perception of others and get them to hate and turn on them- and all because of A SHIP? Damn. This is pathetic.

Who died and made you the gatekeeper of the jikook shipping community? Honestly antics like these don't work on me try again.

I made a video commentary on my Booktube YT account- yes I am part of the book YouTube community as well sue me or better still slip into their inboxes and tell them I voted for Trump therefore I hate chipmunks.

The commentary I made on YT months ago was when I was in the highs of finding a new passion and it was on Ann Rule's book, The Stranger Besides Me- a true crime novel on Ted Bundy which I found so poorly written that at the end of the book it left with me wondering whether or not Ted Bundy was guilty at all!

The Author's writing style which deviates from most writing styles of True Crime novels I have read gave me trust issues as I stated in the video. It felt more as if she was writing a made up fictional novel than an actual True Crime novel but because she knew Ted Bundy in person she made it seem as if we just had to believe her account.

Then there was this whole thing about the police not being able to match the DNA samples taken from his rape victims, to his own Semen because his Semen was DNAless- in lay man's terms. I'll spare you the technicalities involved.

As I stated in that video, I do believe Ted Bundy was guilty but I do not have much faith in the Judicial system, or criminal procedures or even the Author of that book- a sentiment most people within the true crime community share as well. We just had differing views on whether the writer's style took away from the narrative and waters down on the extent of Bundy's guilt.

We had a Similar conversation about Chris Watt. If the community I was engaging in didn't have a problem with my commentary why do you? Please don't meddle in things you know nothing about. It's embarrassing.

The conversation about whether or not Ted Bundy is innocent is moot but a philosophical one. It has nothing to do with Ted Bundy's guilt but more so the criminal procedures involved in his case and the different accounts that exists surrounding his case.

He was electrocuted, he confessed to his crimes no damn person with brains would think or assume he is innocent and I never said anything of that nature drew any conclusions to that effect.

Besides, I moved on from Ted Bundy a long time ago. Now I am into the Serial Killer who writes death poems and signs it off with drawings of the size of his dick at his crime scenes- mind your own business please or don't and let's have an intellectual discourse about him? Lmho.

I am also into cat memes if you care to know and have a whole IG dedicated to cat memes. I believe human beings are the most dumbest species in all the galaxies and when the Aliens arrive I am snitching.

When my mind is at rest, I often wonder if Aliens have masculinity complex and if they do whether or not their masculinity is contingent on the size of their dicks or whether they have to engage in a battle to the death with an alien grizzly bear to determine who is the man.

I love BTS memes too- a little too much and often end up debating over the internet with random people over whether BTS memes are funnier than cat memes- I'm weird, true. But how does all of that make me a bad person?

It's crazy how these people can go on these other platforms to ask people to take down the credits to my posts as well as my posts itself but can't ask people who run to these other platforms with misinterpretations of my work to take those down.

Instead they come on here to call me out for people's interpretations of my work?? It doesn't work that way. You are the author of your own opinion and interpretation of other people's work. You don't call out the original author for someone's opinion of their work. If that were so I would be emailing Stephanie Meyer for Anna Todd and her After series. Get some education.

I have since blocked this person and others whose Tumblr I have been able to find thanks to all those that's helped me finding them on here.

My gf also tried reaching out to the persons who shared my post after we realised this was becoming an issue and had asked them to credit her or my blog- but honestly I don't care about that yet she won't give it a rest. Lol. My ride or die this one. Sigh.

However, we realized soon that this is not about 'stealing' credit- can't call someone out for not giving credit when I suck at that myself. Lol.

This is about people's malicious intentions and their attempts to silence me and take away my right to freedom of expression however way that they can. This is wrong and evil.

I honestly don't care for all these ship politics these people are engaged in. I've had enough intelligent conversations to know the distinction between arguments that flows from bruised egos and actual conversations around a subject matter.

This whole I am right, she is wrong politics... y'all get that the point of having an opinion is not to be right, right? We all cant have the same perspective and you can't call someone a liar for holding views that is different from yours. That is a bizarre mentality to have.

As I stated in my post, that content I made was a rebuttal to the Taekook theories running around on the internet alleging JK glared at Tae when he pulled on his shoulder because he was jealous Tae and Jin were having fun behind him. He wasn't. He was worried Tae was gonna expose him and JM holding hands behind Suga.

If you don't think they were holding hands then Taekookers were right and his reaction was because he was Jealous of Taejin I guess...

But thats your truth. That's not my truth. I don't believe Taekook is real. JK isn't jealous of Taejin he is not Twelve- but then again he was sneaking around behind Suga holding his boyfriend's hands so I guess he is twelve? Lol. Jikook!

Do you.

But please stop the evil malicious attacks and seek immediate help. There is such a thing as right and wrong and this is just plain wrong. Your Karma and chakra are in the negative nodes and you need to fix it. It is not funny anymore.

Thank you to everyone who has shown genuine concerns for me in the past few days and thank you so much for trying to stand up for me. There are good people on here and I have met and interacted with a lot of them and thank you so much for such a wonderful experience and insightful discussions.

I don't hate people because of our differences in thoughts, beliefs, opinions. There's always room for dissenting opinions in every sphere. At the very least, we can agree to disagree and shake on it. But You can't make up shit about people just to prove your opinion is right and their opinions and views which differ from yours are 'wrong.

I am not a victim though, and they are not bullies, psst. They are just vile pathetic human beings exposing the greens of their insides. What you do says more about who you are as a person and human being. And this is who they are.

Just be a nice decent human being. That's what this world needs. Fix whatever is broken inside of you and free your mind and spirit. Hate is never the answer.

I'm going to be away for a while because I have studies, work and other interests I want to pursue at the moment- it's just my AADD flaring up so if you see me henceforth raving about Nana at least you'd know why. Lol. She's wrecking my Jimin bias. Lmho.

Spread positivity, do the right thing, stand up for a good cause and keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Until we meet again.

Signed,

GOLDY

[dwellordream]

What do you think women’s role in Thenn society looks like?

The Thenns view themselves as the last of the true First Men and so I think they model their society and culture off of what they believe wee the ancestral First Men traditions.

They are all led by one great Magnar who claims the title through combat rather than a traditional succession, though I imagine many Magnars have tried to ensure it goes to their sons. There are lords functioning under the magnar though, maybe like arls/earls.

We know next to nothing about what women’s roles look like in Thenn society. We know that the First Night is said to have been common among the First Men, but it’s unknown to what extent the Thenns practice that.

It’s also unknown if they practice wife-stealing to any degree or if they arrange marriages between clans in a more ‘lawful’ manner.

The First Men practiced thralldom; the Thenns might as well, though they would be preying on other Free Folk to make thralls, and that might constantly provoke wars in which they might be outnumbered, even if they have better weaponry.

If I were going to write about Thenn women I might look to Celtic and Norse sources to try to base off of. But even then, especially for Celt women we have very little evidence, just many dubious assertions by various Romans, etc.

Sarah Woodbury (though she is not a historian) has done some research on Celtic women for her novels, here are some excerpts:

“Rules governing marriage and the division of property if a married couple should separate. The position of women under Welsh law differed significantly to that of their Norman-English contemporaries. A marriage could be established in two basic ways. The normal way was that the woman would be given to a man by her kindred; the abnormal way was that the woman could elope with a man without the consent of her kindred.

In this case her kindred could compel her to return if she was still a virgin, but if she was not she could not be compelled to return. If the relationship lasted for seven years she had the same entitlements as if she had been given by her kin.[7]

A number of payments are connected with marriage. Amobr was a fee payable to the woman’s lord on the loss of her virginity, whether on marriage or otherwise. Cowyll was a payment due to the woman from her husband on the morning after the marriage, marking her transition from virgin to married woman.

Agweddi was the amount of the common pool of property owned by the couple which was due to the woman if the couple separated before the end of seven years. The total of the agweddi depended on the woman’s status by birth, regardless of the actual size of the common pool of property. If the marriage broke up after the end of seven years, the woman was entitled to half the common pool.[8]

If a woman found her husband with another woman, she was entitled to a payment of six score pence the first time and a pound the second time; on the third occasion she was entitled to divorce him. If the husband had a concubine, the wife was allowed to strike her without having to pay any compensation, even if it resulted in the concubine’s death.[9]

A woman could only be beaten by her husband for three things: for giving away something which she was not entitled to give away, for being found with another man or for wishing a blemish on her husband’s beard. If he beat her for any other cause, she was entitled to the payment of sarhad. If the husband found her with another man and beat her, he was not entitled to any further compensation. According to the law, women were not allowed to inherit land.

However there were exceptions, even at an early date. A poem dated to the first half of the 11th century is an elegy for Aeddon, a landowner on Anglesey. The poet says that after his death his estate was inherited by four women who had originally been brought to Aeddon’s court as captives after a raid and had found favour with him.[10] The rule for the division of moveable property when one of a married couple died was the same for both sexes. The property was divided into two equal halves, with the surviving partner keeping one half and the dying partner being free to give bequests from the other half.”