#it doesn't matter whether or not you think the protest will be successful. it's the principle of standing up for your driver no matter what

[silentreigns]

Toto and everyone else in charge at Mercedes are very unserious. Because if they contested that penalty and were successful, Lewis would only be 1 point behind Fernando

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Do you think Rhaenyra would have killed her siblings or it was mere paranoia on Alicent's side? The book doesn't provide a solid answer for this, and in the show it's clear that Rhaenyra would never harm her siblings.

Hi anon, I kind of went into it in this post, and although that ask was about Jace vs. Aegon III, I think the principle remains the same. In short, no, I don't think it was paranoia, but to understand why, we have to understand why Rhaenyra's brothers pose a particular threat to the stability of Rhaenyra (of Jace's) rule. Keep in mind, this isn't a moral failing specific to Rhaenyra, but simply a byproduct of the conditions of her inheritance.

I don't think Rhaenyra would have wanted to kill her siblings (or their kids), or even have planned to kill her siblings, but I also think that ultimately what she wanted wouldn't matter very much. All it would take would be someone wishing to rise in her esteem claiming that Aegon was fermenting rebellion, perhaps producing a forged letter as evidence, or an eyewitness who would swear that he had been secretly meeting with former greens. Could she risk it? Her brothers are weapons that can always be used against her. And at some point, it would be out of her control. Rhaenyra won't live forever, nor will Daemon, and when Jace attempts to take the throne, with no less than 7 legitimate male claimants alive who would have a claim ahead of him, there are bound to be challengers. The Blackfyre rebellion began with much flimsier pretexts.

We have real life examples of this. Henry VII intended to keep the remaining Plantagenets alive when he took the throne, as long as they stayed loyal. After all, they were his wife's family members, and killing them off would not be a good look. But the remaining Plantagenets would always be a threat to the Tudors. Ten year old Edward Plantagenet, the son of George of Clarence, was imprisoned in the Tower of London for 14 years before he was executed in 1499 for a supposed connection to Perkin Warbeck's scheme. Henry VII finally took action at least in part because he was negotiating a betrothal between his heir and the daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. The Spanish monarchs did not want their daughter marrying a man whose succession could be challenged, and so Edward, the strongest claimant at that point, had to go. Henry VII's son, Henry VIII, increasingly worried about the stability of his own succession, became vulnerable to the whisperings of opportunists looking to rise in the king's esteem and eliminate their own political enemies. At this point, the remaining Plantagenet claimants became a source of paranoia, justified or not. The arrest and execution of Margaret Pole, the niece of Edward IV and Richard III, was based upon a tunic found in her home that supposedly represented her support for her son's claim to the throne and the restoration of the Catholic church in England. The tunic was almost certainly planted by Henry VIII's chief minister, the protestant Thomas Cromwell, the same man who orchestrated Henry's divorce from Catherine of Aragon (yes, the same princess whose hand Edward Plantagenet had died to secure). And Henry VIII liked Margaret, she'd been the governess to his daughter, and though they had their ups and downs, he certainly didn't hate her. Still, when her son was put forward as a rival claimant and she was accused of supporting him, she had to go too. And of course, going backwards a bit, there are famously the princes in the tower, Edward and Richard, sons of King Edward IV, who despite having been officially declared bastards (a law, you see, was not enough), were still enough of a threat to the throne that they were (most likely) murdered, whether by Richard III or one of his associates. Mere rumors that those boys still lived sparked rebellions during the reign of Henry VII.

And you can say well, there's a difference, surely, in that Rhaenyra is the rightful queen, and these other people were not? But "rightful" is not some inherent state of being, it's dependent upon who is in power. Every person who sits the throne believes themself to be the rightful king or queen. But Rhaenyra in particular gained her position because her father exercised his power and declared her heir in defiance of the expected order of inheritance, contradicting the very decision that made him king in the first place. After Viserys dies though, for all intents and purposes his wishes cease to matter. He is no longer king, and lacks any mechanism by which to enforce his wishes from beyond the grave. At that point, people will choose to support one claimant or another, based upon their own concerns (dragon math, precedent, oaths, promises made by one or the other, existing family bond) and to consider Rhaenyra or Aegon (or any other claimant down the road) the rightful king/queen. Rhaenyra's security upon the throne, like the position of Henry VII or Richard III, is inherently weaker because she comes to the throne through unconventional means. All it takes is a plague year, a famine, or a foreign invasion for any random group of lords to decide that the true king Aegon/Aemond/Jaehaerys/Maelor should be on the throne and that they should start a rebellion in his name. If Rhaenyra feels insecure in her rule, or in Jace's ability to peacefully inherit after her, it only makes sense to eliminate any potential rivals, and her brothers and their children will always be a threat, no matter her original intentions. Even if Rhaenyra keeps her word and does not harm her family, her brothers and their line pose a threat to Jace and his line as long as both lines exist.

So Alicent is not being paranoid at all, she's being realistic. If Viserys were to disinherit Rhaenyra, or were Rhaenyra to accept the peace terms and give up her claim, she would become simply another sister, but Aegon can never be just another brother to Queen Rhaenyra because in the eyes of some, he will always be a potential rallying point for dissenters, and if not him then his brothers, or his children, whether they want to be or not. That's the point Alicent is making. It's not a reflection on Rhaenyra's character, it's just that if it came down to a choice between securing her reign/Jace's succession, and the lives of her potential political rivals, it's not difficult to guess what Rhaenyra would choose.

[naomiknight-17]

My brother said something the other day about how no-one could prove if the current anti-Israel boycotts are actually making an impact cuz there could be other reasons people aren't eating at McDonald's or whatever

But besides the fact that there are many articles easily find-able online saying that the companies are aware of and feeling the impact of such protests, and some are even making some changes, I needed to make a point to him about why I participate in boycotts whether they're successful or not

But my brother tends to get annoyed and stop listening whenever I talk real politics, so I tried to make a really simple analogy

Let's say there's a man outside our house, and he is just beating people to death with sticks. Not people from our neighborhood, but still, people. We can't call the cops to stop him, because they think he's doing a great job. And we can close the blinds and ignore him, but he's still there and we know it.

And he has a big pile of sticks, so when one breaks he can get another to beat the next person to death with

So one day you have to go outside and the man turns to you and says, "Hey. Can you pass me a stick?"

And maybe it doesn't matter if you do or not. Maybe someone else will give him a stick anyway, or he'll get one on his own, or he'll start punching people

But I don't want to give him a stick.

And maybe I can't stop him, but I at least don't want to help him

At this point my brother tried to make a joke (because that's what he always does in every conversation) and he said something like "What if you don't give him the stick and then he beats YOU to death"

And I was like, "That's a great point, actually, because the Yemeni wouldn't let weapons shipments through their waterways so Israel bombed them."

And the analogy was broken but. I hope I made my point

Maybe I don't have the power as an individual half a world away to stop a genocide. But I at least want to not contribute to it

[freestoneletters]

Okay, so I'm already in a blogging mood for reasons I won't elaborate on, so let me use this energy to talk about one of the more interesting bits of information I came upon while researching for Freestone.

So the last election in the US before the Civil War had four candidates. You've probably heard of Lincoln, the guy with the hat. You might have heard Stephen Douglas's name in AP US History, who got second place in the race. Breckenridge and Bell are mostly forgotten.

Obviously most of the election centered around the issue of slavery. Lincoln was representing the Republican Party (basically unrelated to the modern Republican Party) and his stance was, not to end slavery in the states, but to keep it out of the Western territories. He was trying to posture himself as a moderate, which would become hilariously futile shortly after.

You would think that Stephen Douglas, running under the Democrat banner (more related to the modern Democratic party than the Republican situation but mostly unrelated) was the most pro-slavery guy on the ballot then, since the stance of pro-slavery was so strong that the country split over it. But no. Stephen Douglas was an actual, legitimate states' rights activist. He wanted the Western territories to be able to vote on whether or not they wanted to allow slavery: a more progressive policy than the official government policy under Dred Scott at the time. And the South hated this so much that, when the Democratic party insisted that they weren't going to vote for all territories allowing slaves no matter what, they made their own South Democratic Party, aka 'The Fire-Eaters'. That's how we got Breckenridge.

And then Bell ran under the Constitution Union, which ran on the unpopular slogan of 'can't we all just get along?'. The answer soon proved to be: no, no we can't.

Bell is irrelevant but Breckenridge and Douglas are very interesting because the Civil War and, consequentially, the Emancipation Proclamation doesn't happen without Breckenridge. Breckenridge only got third place in actual votes, but he got the electoral votes in every Southern state while Lincoln won most of the delegates in the North. This utter lack of support for Lincoln in the South would help drive the push to secession, which would help the Emancipation Proclamation happen because, as I believe I've mentioned before, it's easier to free all the slaves in the South when the South isn't in the Union to protest.

And Douglas? Well, he was the one candidate besides Lincoln who didn't support the succession, despite owning slaves himself. But his weird yet unjustifiable approach to slavery isn't something I have the energy to piece out now. Here's something more simple. Despite getting wiped in terms of electoral votes, he did win in exactly one state.

That's right. It all comes back to Missouri.

[hexjulia]

ok i read the essay that apparently led to such a negative response that it popularised the term "climate doomerism". I don't think it's bad or even cynical at all, but i think dunking on it would appeal to an american politician involved in a "green new deal" because he criticises that specifically, by name. But some of what he said here is true i think, and even what i disagree with doesn't lead to cynism about whether it's worth doing anything, or not trying at all i think. Look,

"In fact, it would be worth pursuing even if it had no effect at all. To fail to conserve a finite resource when conservation measures are available, to needlessly add carbon to the atmosphere when we know very well what carbon is doing to it, is simply wrong. Although the actions of one individual have zero effect on the climate, this doesn’t mean that they’re meaningless. Each of us has an ethical choice to make. During the Protestant Reformation, when “end times” was merely an idea, not the horribly concrete thing it is today, a key doctrinal question was whether you should perform good works because it will get you into Heaven, or whether you should perform them simply because they’re good—because, while Heaven is a question mark, you know that this world would be better if everyone performed them. I can respect the planet, and care about the people with whom I share it, without believing that it will save me.

[...]

And then there’s the matter of hope. If your hope for the future depends on a wildly optimistic scenario, what will you do ten years from now, when the scenario becomes unworkable even in theory? Give up on the planet entirely? To borrow from the advice of financial planners, I might suggest a more balanced portfolio of hopes, some of them longer-term, most of them shorter. It’s fine to struggle against the constraints of human nature, hoping to mitigate the worst of what’s to come, but it’s just as important to fight smaller, more local battles that you have some realistic hope of winning. Keep doing the right thing for the planet, yes, but also keep trying to save what you love specifically—a community, an institution, a wild place, a species that’s in trouble—and take heart in your small successes. Any good thing you do now is arguably a hedge against the hotter future, but the really meaningful thing is that it’s good today. As long as you have something to love, you have something to hope for."

[reasoningdaily]

NPR's Noel King speaks with Ijeoma Oluo, author of So You Want To Talk About Race, about systemic racism. What is it, and how does it affect people day to day?

NOEL KING, HOST:

Individual or interpersonal racism is pretty easy to explain. It's name-calling. It's the white kid on the bus who doesn't want to sit next to the Black kid. It happens with adults, too. Systemic racism, though, is bigger, and it's more complicated, and there's more skepticism about whether it really exists.

Yesterday I called up the writer Ijeoma Oluo. She wrote a book called "So You Want To Talk About Race." We talked about how systemic racism works.

IJEOMA OLUO: The framing around racism has always been there is a white person who doesn't like people of color or a Klan member or someone, you know, who's making their hatred and ignorance very obvious. But what's actually been impacting our lives are systems that rely on subtle and not so subtle biases against people of color to disempower us and put us at risk. And so we've been fighting for job opportunities, for safety from violence, for equal education, for freedom from medical racism. And that is upheld not by how you love or don't love people of color but by how you participate with our systems.

KING: So one of the stories that Americans always tell ourselves is the story of Rosa Parks, this brave Black woman who refused to go to the back of the bus. And I think when we're taught that story in school, it's like, she refused to give up her seat. There were some mean white people on the bus, so she stood up to them. What is the system at play there?

OLUO: This is how I was taught, too, in school, right? I was taught that, you know, Rosa Parks just had a tough day and was tired and didn't want to (laughter), you know, go to the back of the bus...

KING: Yep.

(LAUGHTER)

OLUO: ...Without recognizing that this was actually a planned protest, you know, that organizers had gotten together and decided, what are some areas where we can start breaking through and targeting white supremacy in action? And they decided on the bus boycotts. And this was a planned protest working with the NAACP and other activist groups, flexing the economic power of the Black community to really bring transportation to a standstill, to say no, we really need equity here.

KING: Let's say there's a United States of America where there is no systemic racism. There is racism. There are still white people who don't like Black people, but there's no systemic racism. Is it a better country for Black people?

OLUO: Oh, absolutely. And I would say far better than if the opposite were true, where there was no interpersonal racism but still systemic racism because that would be an area where I can walk down the street and no matter what someone feels about me, no matter what they think about me, what they assume about me, if my - I can send my sons out to go play and not worry someone's going to think that they're robbing them and then be able to call the cops and have my children shot, right? I can go in for a job interview, and if someone doesn't like me because they don't like Black people, it means I have recourse. It means that they know that perhaps acting upon that is too dangerous for the success of their business because we have anti-racist laws in action that prevent that from happening. It means that medical industries where doctors may have racist ideas about people of color and their ability to feel pain or the legitimacy of their complaints would be weeded out by a system that really takes seriously the disparities of how people of color are treated and remove them from the job and says, you're not fit for that. You know, same for schools and all the other places with which systemic racism rears its head.

It also means that the ability for people to pass down their interpersonal racism from generation to generation is limited because they don't have the systemic support. So you may think what you think, but when you go to school and your schools are reinforcing anti-racism, when you go to work and your work is reinforcing the anti-racism, perhaps what your parents thought about people of color loses its validity, whereas right now it's reinforced.

KING: George Floyd was killed by a white police officer in Minneapolis, Minn. And all of a sudden, this term, systemic racism, it seems to be on everyone's lips. What happened?

OLUO: What shocked many people, especially white people, was seeing four cops participate in this killing. It wasn't one bad apple acting against a Black person. It was one man taking the life of a Black man and three other officers of various races helping. These cops felt confident enough in their actions to work together in the murder of a Black man in front of cameras, in front of live bystanders. And that's when you say there's something bigger here.

KING: We are seeing changes in ordinary Americans' willingness to accept that systemic racism exists. On the other hand, a couple weeks ago, President Trump's top economic adviser Larry Kudlow told reporters, quote, "I don't believe there is systemic racism in the U.S." And to make his case, he said, we elected President Barack Obama. Attorney General Bill Barr believes there is no systemic racism in policing. There used to be, but the laws have changed. It doesn't exist anymore. Is it worth trying to convince people who are unconvinced and seem unconvincable (ph) that systemic racism is real?

OLUO: (Laughter) I don't think we have time to be dragging people reluctantly from Step A 400 years into this system. I think that we push forward, and we change the system and let the other people catch up. I think that it's much more important right now to be activating the people who know that something is wrong. There are plenty of people who can say everything right, who can say systemic racism is a problem, and that's all they do. They make a Facebook post, they put a Black Lives Matter sign up in their window, and they consider their job done. I would rather do the work of getting those people to go to city council meetings - right? - to go to their school boards, to start activating for real change. We still haven't fully activated the people who are already here.

KING: What would it take to end systemic racism? I understand that is a very big question, but if there were a couple things that you could point to in - say, in 25, 30 years, to make this country less racist in its - at its core, in its systems, what would you point to?

OLUO: I would say that by then we would have defunded the police force and come up with a new system of prevention and of building community that reduces crime in a positive manner. I would see an overhaul of our mental health systems that doesn't criminalize mental health issues. And I would see a overhaul of our educational system. I would say those are some good places to start, you know, but we could just keep going forever honestly.

(LAUGHTER)

KING: Ijeoma Oluo - I wish we had more time - author of "So You Want To Talk About Race," thank you so much for being here.

OLUO: Thank you for having me.

[literallyshiv]

so few of you understand tom like i do. SAD. he's a middle aged closet case from minnesota and he's a fucking cunt he's mean and selfish and he has a gaping void inside him that he thinks he can fix with enough devotion to the right ideals thanks to being half-heartedly raised in the protestant church with parents who didn't really believe what was being put out but they still went every week under the obligation of "it's just what you do", not realizing that what he's devoted himself to are what is creating that vacuum in his core in the first place but none of that takes away from how he's a truly terrible person and he doesn't feel bad about it because the way he sees the world is that putting your own priorities first is the only logical way of behaving, even at the detriment to others, because it's the only way to get anywhere. its a sign of strength and power and the only time he feels remorseful for his behavior is when he's forcefully confronted by the consequences felt by those around him, all other times he's perfectly happy to let the bodies wash away without a second thought. not to mention that he feels like a failure having only made it to executive level positions in his middle age, seeing his partner walk into successful career moves quicker than he's able to all while being ten years younger than him and he knows that jealousy is futile and the past can't be changed but he feels like he had to work so hard throughout his youth and the most significant career growth he achieved only after ingratiating himself to the roy family. and he has to debate with himself over whether or not he earned his position or if he simply owes it to shiv, but either way what does it matter if the end result is where he is, but it does matter, to him, because he has pride and dignity, but that's stupid because it's no use dwelling on the how as long as it doesn't affect the fact of where he is, except he does dwell on it, quite a bit, and maybe it festers and makes him bitter but he learned from the best of the best at stuffing feelings down and if there's anything more pathetic than being less successful than his younger wife, it's being jealous of the fact that he's less successful than her

[sassyhobbits]

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

[hanemiso]

Operation: Dairy For Dazai

>>>a dazai osamu x reader<<<

request: "omg i love your post about Dazai and his possibility of having lactose intolerance hahaha, i wish you could do a fanfic out from that"

a/n: um this is such a great idea??? this was so much fun to write omg i hope y'all like it! also i know dazai doesn't necessarily drink coffee with milk and sugar/creamer, but for the sake of the story he does! also sorry if the gif looks weird, i couldn't find his weird little run anywhere else.

synopsis: no one has seen dazai drink milk or consume dairy of any kind...it's up to the agency to figure out if dazai is lactose intoleralnt or not!

warnings: one swear word, dazai not being able to handle dairy

"hey atsushi, you ever notice that dazai doesn't consume dairy?"

"what do you mean, y/n?" atsushi asks, glancing up at you from the computer.

"think about it. have you ever seen dazai drink milk? eat cheese? buy ice cream?" you press on, raising your brows.

atsushi takes a second to think before responding with, "now that you mention it, no i haven't...why are you asking anyway?"

"i think dazai is lactose intolerant."

you now have atsushi's full attention as he rolls closer to your desk and furrows his brows. he looks around the room for the brunette you're talking about before turning back to you, "you think so? i don't know...maybe it's like a dietary thing."

you deadpan, "you really think the man who goes out of his way to try new attempts at committing suicide--the one who came into the office with a hallucinogenic mushroom from a random mountain--is concerned with his own nutrition?"

atsushi goes silent and nods his head in agreement.

"come on, atsushi. i mean, why would that be the one thing out of his entire diet that he'd choose to cut out?"

"that's true, i've seen the kinds of things he eats...but why is this something you're interested in?"

"because, atsushi, the thought of THE dazai osamu even having one slight weakness--and the fact that it very well may be dairy, of all things-- is amusing. you don't find it interesting? that he can survive things like bullet wounds and getting kidnapped without any problem, but a glass of milk could completely ruin him?"

atsushi was beginning to take interest in what you were talking about. you had a point, he couldn't deny that. they don't know much about dazai and his life as it is. just as it began clicking in his brain, kunikida walks over to your desk to tell you both to get back to work. at the sound of his footsteps, you turn towards him and before he can say anything at all, you ask him the same question as atsushi. kunikida has a smiliar reaction and response to atsushi, which just adds to the curiosity of dazai's possible dairy problem.

"i don't pay attention to that idiot's diet anyway, nor do i care." he says matter-of-factly.

anyone could tell that kunikida was slightly interested, just by the way he was continuing to linger by your desk as you continued talking about it with atsushi. soon enough, tanizaki had joined the conversation; then ranpo and kenji, and soon everyone in the agency other than fukuzawa. everyone was huddled around your desk, sharing memories of dazai's lack of dairy consumption. it was then decided that this theory of dazai being lactose intolerant would be put to the test when dazai returned to the office.

ranpo had come up with the idea, it wasn't too elaborate but a simple plan that could trick even the likes of dazai into drinking a glass of milk. during the discussion of dazai's dietary habits, it was also brought to everyone's attention by kunikida that it seems dazai doesn't have a high spice tolerance either. with that in mind, the plan was for the agency to have a joint dinner tonight, with curry on the menu tonight; spicy curry to be exact. dazai always flirts with you in the office, so it was your job to distract him by indulging in his pick-up lines and such. once he takes a bite and realizes it's too spicy for him, he'd try to find water to alleviate the pain, but coincidentally there is no water in sight. because of this, he'd be forced to drink the glass of milk you hand him. of course, if this didn't work, for dessert you'd give him a cup of coffee with milk and sugar (he uses non-dairy creamer in his coffee anyway).

you and kyouka set up a table to put the bowls of curry on, while atsushi and kunikida began bringing in the curry. tanizaki, naomi, and ranpo were in charge of getting the desserts to really sell the image of a nice gathering. kenji and yosano were in charge of tinkering with the water pipes to close off any possibility of access to water. this task was treated with such care, as any mission brought into the agency would be. each and every one of you were interested in learning about this side of dazai; are you going the extra mile for such a minuscule detail of someone's life? yes, but will it be amusing to find out the truth? also yes.

soon enough, dazai is spotted out the window. the truth is about to be revealed, and you are all nervous but excited.

"remember guys, act natural! operation: dairy for dazai starts now!" you exclaim quietly.

you can hear everyone take a deep breath and begin "talking" amongst themselves as dazai walks in. he stops in his tracks as he eyes the table holding all the bowls of curry and widens his eyes in surprise.

"oh? what's this?" he asks, gesturing to the table.

"y/n suggested having dinner in the agency tonight, so we got some curry and desserts." atsushi explains.

"have a bowl, dazai-kun." you smile at him as you hand him the bowl of spicy curry.

"ah, you're too nice, my belladonna!" he exclaims and grabs the bowl.

so far so good, you think.

you can feel the tension in the room as everyone waits for dazai to take a bite. the conversations carry on amongst people, but no one was truly paying attention to what was being said. the gazes of each member of the agency shifted to dazai as he raised the spoon up to his mouth. you could hear the sound of everyone in the room holding their breaths, even kunikida was sweating.

once the spoon had been placed in his mouth, everyone froze in place. you and atsushi tried to pretend to not be paying much attention to dazai, but it was so hard not to when all of a sudden he stopped chewing. you both slowly turn your head towards him and see his eyes go wide once again. he hurries to the nearest trashcan and spits out the spoonful, quickly turning and looking for a cup of water on the table.

"w-what's wrong, dazai-san?" atsushi asks, also sweating.

"h-hot! spicy curry! atsushi-kun, i need water! please!" dazai exclaims.

you run to the table and pretend to look for a cup of water before grabbing the glass of milk and hurrying towards dazai.

"sorry dazai-kun, i couldn't find any water, but i heard milk helps with the pain!" you hold out the glass of milk.

it feels like time stops as dazai sits there, breathing shallows breaths in attempts to stop the fire in his mouth, and contemplating whether he wants to try his luck with continuing to gasp for air or drinking the milk. he hates suffering, after all. in his mind, all that matters at this moment is extinguishing the flames dancing on his tongue. he grabs the glass, just as planned, and drinks a couple big gulps. everyone is now turned to him, asking if he's okay.

"i'm...fine." he says between pants.

now it was only a matter of time. the dinner continued as normal, but dazai wasn't as social as usual. he sat down with you and atsushi as you continued to talk about different missions.

"oh yeah, dazai-kun, do you remember--" you turn to look at him but realize he's staring at the ground intently as sweat beads on his face, "dazai?"

he blinks once and tries regaining his composure as he looks up at you with his usual smile, "yes, belladonna?"

"are you feeling alright?" you ask with concern laced in your voice.

"of course i am!" dazai tries to reply cheerily, but his bright tone is cut off by a rumbling in his stomach that makes his face twist.

he tries replacing his expression with a smile again, but it looks more pained as another low rumble emits from his body. at this point, everyone in the office is stealing glances. he looks back at the ground as his eyes widen yet again, and only two words are uttered before he takes off running to the bathroom:

"oh shit."

everyone stares at the door, processing what just happened. it was so silent, the only sound you could hear was dazai's rapid footsteps echoing down the hall.

"i knew it." you smirk a bit to yourself.

but your feeling of victory is brief as the horrid smell invades your nostrils. your poor co-workers get assaulted by the same stench, and you all are forced to evacuate.

operation: dairy for dazai was a success, but at what cost?

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

BONUS: how chuuya found out about dazai's lactose intolerance

chuuya was the only person who knew of dazai's problem with dairy, but the way he found out was purely accidental and scarred him.

the event took place when they were 17, and they were both stopping for a drink at a local cafe after a mission. the mission wasn't too bad, but it was early in the morning and chuuya wanted coffee. dazai told him it would stunt his already lacking growth, so chuuya wasn't in the greatest mood; he never was around dazai.

"i wanna sit down so you can order for me!" dazai claps his hands together.

"hey! i don't wan-" chuuya begins to protest but dazai cuts him off while walking away.

"you know what i like!"

chuuya grumbles in annoyance as he heads to the counter and orders two drinks. in his fit of anger, he accidentally ordered two coffees with milk and sugar, but failed to notice as he brought the cups to the table dazai sat at. he narrows his eyes as he sets the cup down in front of dazai and sits across from him. chuuya stares out the window to try and tune out dazai when he hears dazai ask him something quietly.

"is there...milk in this?"

chuuya scoffs and replies, "what's wrong, can't handle a bit of milk?"

he was obviously joking, but the sound that emits from dazai's body in response makes him realize it was no joke. dazai quickly stands and runs to the bathroom while chuuya sits there in disbelief, but with the hope that the rest of the day won't be ruined because of it.

that was wishful thinking though, as they frequently had to stop at public restrooms on their way home and chuuya had to deal with the rancid odor that followed dazai as closely as his own shadow.

taglist: @justmycupoftea93 @loveliestmolly @darlingimawitch @b-i-t-t-i-e-s @browneyespinkhair @silverstar22x @stupidfrogfreak @anotakugardener @jhopesstickeredcarrier @joyfulartisanstudentlamp @spacedoutcoffeebeans @puddingowo66 @kaeyapng @beomluvrr @imobsessedwithskkanditshows

[rafesgfs]

best friend’s daddy - part three

Warnings: dark!andy barber, language, mentions of age difference, mentions of sex, underage drinking, pregnancy

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: A series of snapshots with your past and current life with Andy Barber.

[highly requested—and i mean highly]

masterlist

Newton, MA - 2017 Homecoming Game

He saw you immediately, shamelessly staring at the bright, yet fake smile slapped on your face as you posed for the picture. Andy's eyes drifted to the football players arms around your waist, too far down for the assistant district attorney's liking, not that he could do anything about it. He was unable to contain the eye roll when one of the players pressed a quick kiss on your cheek while you looked at the camera.

Andy knew he had no right feeling that way. He knew you thought he hated you. The glares, the tone he used, the disapproval glances he gave Jacob whenever you were with him. It was enough evidence for you to think he didn't want you around. He didn't. But not for the same reasons as you think.

Jacob ran past him, pulling you into a hug as the players around you ran back to their pre-game huddle, hyping themselves up. He heard your laugh, his previous annoyance washing away as he listened, wishing he didn't have to keep up his act. Instead, he watched from afar, noticing the fake smile replaced by a genuine one as you hugged your best friend, your cheer skirt rising before dropping back to it's already short length as soon as Jacob let you go.

Like the years before, Laurie didn't come to the homecoming game, claiming she was far too busy with work but Andy wasn't dumb. He could see it in her face everyday, helplessly watching his wife distance herself from him. But he couldn't blame her; he was doing the same. After all, not everything is supposed to last forever.

He secretly admired you, silently praising your will to pursue the career you wanted despite the very many attempts, and lectures from your parents about becoming a lawyer. Andy had gotten calls from them, more than happy to show you around the building with your parents hope of you magically being interested in what they had planned. But you were stubborn, and you hadn't backed down. He was impressed.

You glanced at Andy, surprised he wasn't glaring at you but rather staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite place, and you quickly diverted your eyes back to Jacob. "I'm so glad you came! Thank you for not being a total nerd tonight."

"My dad practically dragged me out of the house, grumbling about how I had to support my best friend when she's on the cheerleading team." Jacob explained, motioning to his father, the older Barber climbing the stairs as he claimed a spot on the bleachers next to your father. "I think it was just an excuse to watch a game that didn't feature the Patriots."

Once again, you were surprised. As said before, you thought he didn't care for your presence; to hear he wanted his son to support you was surprisingly shocking no matter how small it was. "Oh. Looks like he and Dad are gossiping again. Your mom didn't come?"

"No, she had work. What about yours?" asked Jacob.

"Business trip." you answered, sarcasm dripping from your voice. You saw the Instagram posts her friends posted, the so-called business trip had turned into a vacation with the girls. You heard your name being yelled, your cheer squad waving you over. Turning back to Jacob, you smiled. "They're calling me over so I gotta go. I'll find you after halftime, okay? We can ditch."

Jacob arched a brow, the corner of his lips twitching up. "But you're head cheerleader. Aren't you supposed to stay for the whole game?"

"Nah, Leila can take over after halftime. I'll just make up an excuse and say I went off with a guy or something." you said, tightening your ponytail. "Oh, and don't use the last stall in the boy's bathroom. Pretty sure someone had sex in that."

"Pretty sure that someone was you." he replied, grinning as you flipped him off. He laughed when you nearly ran into toddler, apologizing to the little person before running to the squad.

Jacob joined Andy and your father, answering questions from your dad, and listening to the two fathers talk about the mundane life as the game started. Andy's vision kept drifting off to you, cheering on the sidelines as the game, accidentally missing parts of the game. Not that he minded to much, he had a nice view, and he knew the score. It wasn't that much of an inconvenience for him.

Before halftime, you snuck away, going into the school to grab another hair tie from your locker. Thankfully, the field was close to the west side of the school, the locker bay only a short walk from the entrance. Coincidentally, just as you walked towards the bathroom with the hair tie, Andy bumped into you, the phone in his hand dropping to the floor.

"Oh, shit." you cursed, quickly bending down, grabbing the phone and handing it back to your best friend's dad. "Sorry, Mr. Barber, I wasn't looking."

Andy sighed, studying his phone instead of giving into the urge to comfort your tense state. For the millionth time, he wished he didn't have to act like a dick to you. "It's fine. Just watch where your going or you might head into the mens' room."

Not knowing whether he was serious or not, you gave an awkward nod, walking pass him. You hadn't seen the lingering glance he gave you before walking back to the game. Pushing on the bathroom door, you let yourself drown in your jitters, hyping yourself up before coming back and performing.

You had forgotten about Andy by the time you returned.

—

Newton, MA - May 14, 2018

Andy heard the knock, getting out of his seat to unlock the door. A presence befall him, a feeling he only got when you were nearby. With that thought, he immediately opened the door, greeted by the sight of you soaking from the rainfall, shivering, eyes slightly swollen, and downright miserable.

He called out your name in surprise, shocked to see you in such a messy state, let alone see you in his office. "What happened? Come in, come in. Are you okay?"

"Sorry, I—" you shivered, biting your lip to keep from spilling every problem you had faced on him. "It was raining so hard that I had to stop so I wouldn't crash or anything. And this was the closest building I parked to. I ran inside but I guess it didn't make any difference seeing how soaked I am."

Andy wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, unable to find a stray blanket or anything warm to give you. He led you to the leather couch, softly pushing you down to sit on it. "Come here, sit down. Did school end early?"

"No, um, I skipped." you sniffed, sinking down on the leather, letting Andy's coat fall over your shoulders. "I had a fight with my mom. A big one. So, I didn't exactly feel that great to come to school and I've been driving around since eight."

"Sweetheart, you're soaked. You're going to get sick." Andy murmured, wiping his warm hand over your forehead, the little droplets of water wetting his hand. "I have some clean clothes in my gym bag. Tell me what you were fighting about, it might make you feel better."

You watched him grab his duffel bag from under his desk, opening your mouth to protest but the cold, wet clothes made you close it. "I made some backhand comment about having a job in fashion, then she just blew up. She wants me to be a lawyer, go to the best schools, and be successful even if I'm not happy. I told her to fuck off, yelling that I'll do what I want. She didn't like that answer, so I grabbed my keys and drove around."

Andy gave you his Patriots shirt, and a clean pair of sweats, taking his wet jacket from you. You whispered a thank you, before taking off your dripping shirt, not caring Andy was watching. He cleared his throat, diverting his eyes away from your half-naked body. "Well, what did you want to be? What do you want to do after school?"

"I don't really know, except for the fact that I don't want to be a lawyer, that's for sure." you replied, putting on the sweatpants Andy gave you, relishing in the warmth. "I'm sorry for getting your couch wet, I—"

"It's okay, don't worry about it, sweetheart. Are you okay, now? Do you want me to do something about it?" Andy asked, unsure to hug you so he settled for an awkward pat on your shoulder, moving closer to you.

You scoffed, fidgeting with the hem of the large Patriots t-shirt, rolling your eyes at the question. "Trust me, there's nothing you could do about it. They're both so persistent on me being this successful lawyer that it doesn't matter if I want to be one. Tell me, Mr. Barber, what's so fucking great about being one?"

He bit back a smile, shifting on the couch until he was touching you, the serotonin you gave him encouraged Andy to brush back your dripping hair behind your ear, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, and a slight frown, you meet his eyes. "Well, firstly, you're able to help people. In layman's terms, you either can defend a client, or prosecute a criminal. Putting the bad guys away. Um, you can meet new people, have some experiences that's unlikely for others. But, you're right. You shouldn't have to do what you're parents have planned for you."

"Try telling them that." you sniffled, goosebumps appearing on your arms, subconsciously leaning your cheek on Andy's hand. He heard the angelic sigh escape from your lips, his smile appearing. "Thank you for the clothes and everything Mr. Barber."

"Don't mention it." he replied, bravely wrapping his arms around your slightly shivering body. Andy felt you tense for a few moments before slowly relaxing, shifting so he could rest his chin on your head, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your back. After a few minutes of silence, Andy reluctantly broke the silence. "Would you like me to call Jacob?"

He saw the flash of hurt in your eyes before you composed your expression, nodding slowly as you pulled away. "Yeah, I'll call him. He has free period so he won't be missing anything, I promise. Sorry for keeping you from work, Mr. Barber."

Andy shook his head, helping you up from the couch. "No, no, no. I just had some papers to go through, you didn't keep me from anything. The rain is slowing but you can stay in here until Jake comes. If you want."

You nodded, giving him a weak smile. "Thank you."

—

The Barber House - June 1, 2018

Giggling uncontrollably, you leaned against Jacob, a bottle of beer in your hand. Jacob laughed over the cartoon character with you, throwing his head back at the ridiculous scene on screen. Scooby had just stared at the screen, ending the episode, the screen turning black before another episode started. The noise Scooby made just had you and Jacob in another fit of uncontrollable laughter.

The sleepover had been spontaneous, yet long way overdue. In less than a week, you'd have graduated, and moved out of Boston, living in New York City as you went to the same college. That was one of the upside of finally leaving Newton, but even with the continuous nagging from your parents, you were still going to miss them.

You had been extra quiet, knowing full well Andy was stressed for something Laurie had done, the wife walking out of the house just as you had pulled up on the driveway. She had given you a friendly greeting, asking questions about graduation, before hugging you and driving away in her car. You knew it was bad as soon as you entered the house, seeing Andy glaring at the kitchen counter as you waited for Jacob to come save you. Thankfully, you didn't have to make small talk with the lawyer.

But the his tense expression was enough to keep you quiet in Jacob's room. Well, until he turned up with beers he had gotten from a mutual friend of yours, Cory Gilbert, the bartender at the bar and grill you and Jacob frequented at. He was over 21, legally able to buy the beer, giving it to Jacob as a present for graduation. Cory had given you a nice bottle of brandy, but you had decided to save it for graduation night instead.

Getting drunk hadn't been hard, for Jacob anyways; it took more than a few pleads from your already drunk friend to convince you to drink with him. Once you did, you felt the liquid slightly burn down your throat and you greeted the giddy feeling it left you. Soon, you were found leaning against Jacob's bed, sitting on the floor as the both of you cackled at the animations playing on the screen.

Andy still hadn't came up to hush the both of you; and to be honest, you weren't sure to be relieved or disappointed. You settled for relieved once as you saw Scooby and Shaggy running away from a "monster."

It was half past ten when you finally got up from your spot on the floor, leaving Jacob to drunkenly slur at his phone while the tv played in the background. Getting up, you headed to the bathroom, careful not to make anymore sounds than you already had. You were too drunk to notice Andy standing outside his door, arms crossed as he amusingly stared at your little tip-toe walk to the bathroom.

You finished your business, washing your hands, and heading back to Jacob's room when you lost your footing and stumbled into Andy's arms. You yelped in alarm, glad for the muscular arms that caught you. Looking up, you saw what your drunk brain could only describe as Adonis. You smiled, patting his pec as you slurred. "Thank you, Mr. Barber."

"How drunk are you, sweetheart?" Andy asked, not letting you go. He felt you swaying slightly in his arms, bringing you closer to his chest until your face was only a couple of inches away from his. His eyes flickered to your lips, his tongue licking his own. "You look flushed."

Giggling, you couldn't help but grin at the human contact. You had been so sure he hated you, but from your current position, your assumption seemed silly. "You're making me blush. Me and Jacob haven't been drank—drinking that much, pinky swear."

He snickered at the tiny slip up with your grammar, the slowness and laziness in your voice evidence enough if it hadn't been for the burst of confidence, and shouts from Jacob's room. "You shouldn't be lying, especially to a lawyer. Let's get you sobered up, wouldn't want you waking up with a bitch of a hangover tomorrow, now would we?"

Andy places a hand on your back, his hand intertwining with yours as he tried to lead you downstairs safely but you halted in the middle of the hallway, laughing as you sneaked behind him. You tapped his shoulder, trying to push him down. "Gimme a piggy back ride, Mr. Barber. Like the ones you gave me when I was four!"

The lawyer burst out laughing, finding your drunk confidence adorable. He couldn't help but agree, squatting down enough for you to climb onto his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, your arms locking around his neck. Andy held your legs in place with his hands, shifting you upwards so you rested comfortably on his back. Turning his head, he raised an eyebrow. "You ready, princess?"

You nodded in response, your hair ticking his neck as you snuggled closer to his neck, nuzzling your cheek. All the alcohol had rushed to your head. Andy walked down the stairs, careful to keep his grip on you as he did so. He heard all the tiny giggles and gasps you made, his bad mood dissolving with each sound. He couldn't remember a time Laurie had made him that happy.

Reaching the kitchen, Andy sat you down on the kitchen island, reluctantly letting you go as he went to grab a glass of water. He gave you the glass, but you rejected it, too busy looking at the game on the tv, seeing past the arch and into the living room.

He set the glass on the counter, leaning against it as he crossed his arms, staring at the mesmerized—and drunk—girl in admiration. You turned your attention back on him as soon as the commercials rolled, catching him ogling you. Blushing, you giggled once again, waving him over.

Curious, Andy stepped towards you, surprised when you gripped the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer to you until he was only a couple of inches away. Leaning in, you whispered in his ear. "I have a secret."

"What is it?" Andy asked, one word away from kissing his son's best friend. The tension radiating from interaction had him weak, helpless from the very tempting chance to take you right there and then.

Cupping your hand around your lips, you felt him snake between your legs, bringing you even closer. With your lips near his ear, you whispered, "I have the biggest crush on you. Sometimes I wish you were single so I could ride you until I physically can't."

Andy growled, his hands digging into your waist as his lips hovered over yours, his blue eyes piercing yours. He murmured your name, so close to losing all of his control.

"Every time I come over, I hope you'd push me against a wall, rip my shirt off and fuck a baby in me." you confessed, loving his body warmth. His grip had tighten on you to the point it was borderline painful, but you relished in it, the alcohol numbing the rational thoughts in your head as they screamed at you to shut up.

The lawyer was so close to doing what you wanted, nearly taking you right there. But much to his dismay, his morals had held him back; surely all it would take would be another sentence murmured from your lips but he considered himself strong. "Sweetheart..."

Just as Andy's lips brushed over yours, loud, heavy footsteps made him pull away, spotting his son drunkenly enter the kitchen. You smiled brightly at Jacob as if you hadn't been about to kiss his father. Andy raised an eyebrow at his son, irritated for interrupting. "Jacob, what're you doing?"

"I—" the boy frowned, forgetting momentarily on what he was doing. Jacob pointed at you, returning a random wave. "I was looking for her, because I got worried she fell in the toilet or something."

"She's fine, I was just sobering her up." Andy answered before you could, reluctantly helping you off the table, wishing he had a few more minutes alone with you. "Don't let your mom see all those bottles when she gets home. She won't be lenient as I am."

Jacob saluted in response, watching his dad help his best friend off the table. He was too drunk to notice the longing looks you had exchanged with Andy. "Okay, dad. Night."

Andy stood in the kitchen, alone, watching his girl giggle at something his son whispered. With more confidence than ever, he pulled out the manila envelope from the kitchen drawer, placing it on the table. Laurie would find it when she comes back.

—

Newton, MA - July 4, 2021

"You're so fat." Jacob commented, eyes widening when he felt the baby kick. Without much thought, he invaded your personal space, placing his cheek against your stomach. You sighed, rolling your eyes at your best friend. Jacob chuckled. "This little guy is gonna be a soccer superstar. Like Cristiano Ronaldo."

Andy chuckled from the driver's seat, pulling into the driveway, pulling Jacob off your stomach and back to his seat. "Don't antagonize her, Jake. She might rip your head off for breathing the same air without her permission."

Childishly, you stuck your tongue, making your baby daddy burst out laughing before as he turned off the car and opened the door. But you could hardly say his comment was an exaggeration, grimacing at the memory of nearly snapping Andy's arm off when he had forgotten the almond milk from the weekly visits to the grocery store. It had been both a blessing and curse to have Jacob in the outs of the pregnancy when that incident occurred. You hadn't wanted him to see the growing bump.

With the help of both Barbers, you got out of the car, carefully and slowly for the sake for both you and the babies. The two were chatting as they unloaded the baggage from trunk while you made your way to the house, reminiscing in the days when Jacob's glances weren't filled with betrayal, as if you had ripped his heart from his chest.

It wasn't everyday he looked at you with that raw emotion in his eyes—the betrayed looks had started to decrease the more time you spent together—yet you still felt guilty. With a hand over your growing belly, you opened the door, bombarded with memories from childhood, once again reminding you who you were having a baby with.

Once Jacob had sprinted out of the room, in anger and denial after seeing his father tangled in bed with his best friend, you had pushed Andy off you, wanting to go after him. When Andy argued it was better off for Jacob to be alone, you had blamed him for everything, for ruining the lifelong friendship with Jacob and weeks of stress caused by sleeping with him the first time. The lawyer hadn't denied the guilt or blame like you thought he would—like you wished he would—instead drowning in the insults you threw his way.

You didn't start to forgive him until Jacob came back, but then loathed him after the your best friend announced he needed some time and space to think it out, uncertain which conclusion he would come to. Thankfully, he couldn't live without you in his life, no matter how hard he tried, so he came running back, wishing for an apology when all you wanted to do was cry and wish you didn't have to spend two months without him.

Andy, like the charming bastard he is, had slowly broke down the wall of bricks made from your anger and hatred, and unwillingly, you let him in. Jacob had explained, quite awkwardly, he should be in no way a problem to yours and Andy's relationship, only to be slapped by the pregnancy news. Surprisingly, he kept it light and took it well.

Unsurprisingly to Andy, the fetus (he had been very upset when you occasionally called the baby that) had been conceived on Thanksgiving, proving the plan B useless. You had given up any pretenses at that point, and gave in to Andy's precautions no matter how ridiculous they had been; safety for the fetus.

Your parents had been content with the excuses you've made, only a little suspicious on not wanting to see them during the months of carrying the baby. The baby boy to be precise. But the lack of visiting since college was consistent enough for them to not rise suspicions.

You settled down on the couch, exhausted by the road trip despite how short it was. Newton was hardly small, but with Andy's former title, it wouldn't be long before rumors spread, and with rumors came exaggerated stories along with middle-aged women judging your life decisions because they had nothing to do all day other than sit in their lazy asses.

Andy and Jacob set the bags down by the doorway, Jacob letting out a huge sigh while his dad walked over to you, kissing your forehead. You couldn't help but smile at the gesture. He sat beside you, leaving no room to breathe.

"Hello, gorgeous."

"Ugh." Jacob groaned, turning his eyes away from the PDA. "Okay, I'm gonna go before any more of this happens. I'll see you guys for dinner."

Before you could ask, Jacob closed the door, practically sprinting to his car. Seeing his father in bed with his best friend had scarred him. You turned your attention back to Andy, head tilting in confusion. "Where's he going?"

"He's giving me some alone time with you. Had to pay him a few bucks after he complained about stealing you, but he'll manage for the next couple of hours." Andy explained, his hands absentmindedly stroking your belly, his smile beaming.

"What's happening in the next couple of hours that he can't be here for?" you asked, curious. The blast of hormones had been a gift Andy knew he didn't deserve, with you crawling over his body in the earlier months of the pregnancy, waking him up with lips wrapped around his cock. With his precautions for the baby, he'd been a tease for the past few weeks with the due date just barely two months away.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in amusement. "It's not that, sweetheart." Andy chuckled at your pout, disappointed by the outcome. "I just wanted to spend some time with you."

You knew there was something more, but you let it go, one thing at the front of your mind. Your fingers clawed at his shirt, biting your lip. "Then let's spend some time together." Leaning closer, you softly nipped at his earlobe, whispering in his ear. "Daddy."

Andy murmured your name, stern and sure but the bulge in his pants deemed a different story. That was enough for you to stop seducing him. "You're going to be the death of me."

Laughing, you turned the tv on, cuddling next to the soft man. Well, as close to cuddling as you could with the belly in the way. Your feet had been sore despite the not having to walk much all day, but the road trip had taken a lot of your already drained energy. Andy understood, gently taking off your shoes and massaging your feet until they no longer felt sore.

Two hours were wasted watching true crimes documentaries, Andy passionately commenting on the evidence they clearly had missed, and voicing his opinions of who was clearly guilty. You muffled a giggle, amused by the former lawyer. It still surprised you to see Andy so ... light? The forehead creases only coming together when something had displeased you, no matter how tiny. Retiring must've done something to relieve the stress he carried.

It wasn't until the third Buzzfeed Unsolved episode came on that you got tired. Andy, sending the change, muted the screen, pressing a soft kiss on your close eyelids. He positioned you so you were leaning against him, your back to him as you laid on the couch, a hand over your growing stomach. Anxiety seeped through his veins.

Andy cleared his throat. Playing with your hair, he said, "Marry me."

Your eyes snapped open, growing wide as you pondered if you had heard him right. "What?"

He shrugged. "Marry me."

Andy had said if so casually, it wasn't a question, but a statement. Or more accurately, a demand. You turned around, putting space between you two. Your eyes were hurting from the lack of blinking. "What?"

He reached in his pocket, the small, velvet box that had rested uncomfortably in his pocket took your breath away. Andy opened the box, revealing a diamond, far too beautiful to look at. His smile widened, taking in your shocked expression. "Please marry me."

A minute of silence passed.

"You're fucking insane." you whispered, staring intently at his blue eyes who were sparkling in excitement. He knew the outcome.

Andy's smile hadn't wavered. "Is that a yes?"

"No!" you shouted, getting up from the cough. He stood up, his arms ready to catch your unbalanced body. You glared at him. "I'm not going to marry you because I'm pregnant! No! No, no, no. I forbid you to ask me that question until this baby is out of me."

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist. "So, when I ask in two months ... ?"

"You'll just have to see." you murmured. A smug smirk fell on his face, but this one was warmer, more heartfelt.

"You'll say yes."

You shrugged, but couldn't help the smile appearing. "Probably."

< previous

[why-bless-your-heart]

First off, let me just say that the whole smittenkitten thread was exhausting to read. I've already spoken with @catholic-prepper about works based faith and she cleared it up for me.

The fact that Catholics and Protestants agree on that topic is a GOOD thing. Smittenkitten wants to have something to disagree and argue about. That's not cool.

Having said that, I do have a question about baptism from Acts 16. In verses 14-15, a purple cloth dealer named Lydia has her heart "opened by God" to the preaching of the Apostles. She baptized her household, *then* invited the Apostles to her house to minister to them.

Later in the same chapter (verses 30-34) the jailer asks Paul about salvation, Paul ministers to the jailer and his household, and *then* they were baptized. I don't think it's a coincidence that God had both of these examples written in the same chapter.

Given that every believer has an individual relationship with God, perhaps different people come to God in different ways and do things in different order, but that's perfectly okay. Baptism then faith, faith then baptism, credobaptism, paedobaptism, doesn't matter. As long as people come to faith, how they get there doesn't have to be uniform.

As far as we know, the penitent thief wasn't baptized at all and his faith still saved him (though given the opportunity, he likely would have been. Catholic-prepper told me about that as well).

If we compare joining the bride of Christ to a marriage (appropriate, no?), there's more than one way to skin a cat there too.

Some marry after dating and getting to know one another first, others have marriages arranged for them (sometimes meeting for the first time on the wedding day). There are successful marriages in both of those cases because they were committed right from the get-go to making the marriage work and loving each other no matter what.

What do you think? Sorry for the wall of text.

I don’t think I understand the question. If you’re asking whether I think baptism is equally valid whether it’s before or after the age of reason is achieved, then yes, I do.

[wingsyliveblogs]

Given that Bump has a framed photograph of his school's victory founding over their old rival and proudly lauds their success at crushing their rivals underfoot, I think he's the kind of competitive educator that can mix smugness 'and' pride in his student's comparative success against rival schools.

1. Yeah; it seems Principal Bump has quite a personal investment in the success of Hexside, doesn't he? No wonder he's the principal of the school, if he played such an instrumental role in its founding!

I'm curious about the details of that, too: if Hexside was already enough of a thing to have rivals, why did they need to build on top of a different school? Was it just to make a point about their victory and humiliate their enemies?? Are there limited spots for schools in the Boiling Isles, so if people want to build a new school they have to go to war against an existing school to take over their spot???

...in addition, I'm starting to suspect that the existence of sports that various schools are known to participate in might serve as an outlet for feelings of rivalry that may otherwise lead to a more dangerous sort of conflict. Perhaps those Grudgby games are more important than anyone truly gives them credit for...

2. the principle of the thing..........

well, guess I gotta go edit all my previous posts so they say "Principle Bump" instead!

3. Fair point! My thinking was that since both Luz and Eda do have their own rooms, King might technically have a room of his own as well... but it would most likely be practically unusable due to being filled with said army of doom. Still, I'm starting to think that the Owl House might not be as big as I initially thought it was, so maybe there isn't really enough space for King to have his own room?

4. Honestly, this does seem about right! Eda doesn't care much about whether or not her assessments of human objects are correct - what matters to her is what she can get out of them. (Her introduction from Episode 1 was pretty telling in that regard, with how she made confident assumptions about the purpose of the TV screen, but was completely taken by surprise when Luz showed her what it could actually do.)

5. Indeed.

And as for the second point, I am aware- wait a second, you sent that previous ask too!

(It is an important point.)

6. The best thing about it is that by the very act of protesting too much about how they totally don't care if Luz is around or not, Eda and King both manage to prove the exact opposite. Neither of them is very good at dealing with feelings in a healthy way (though I think they've been getting better at it since Luz showed up), but it makes them pretty easy to read when it comes to stuff like this.

7. I didn't think of this before! You're right - Eda should've known to warn Luz about this, but it makes sense that she might not have remembered it was a thing, since it wouldn't really have been a problem for her back in the day.

[stellaluna33]

Hey! I was wondering, do you think Mitchum might be right about Rory not being a good journalist? From what we saw in the reunion she's not very good. but was she ever? she doesn't seem to have a real 'investigative spirit' aside from when she investigates the L&D brigade and she only did that after a boring story of hers was rejected. She's a very good writer (we're told) but do you think that's the same thing as a travel journalist? She doesn't have much of a spirit of adventure

Oh man.  You had to ask me THAT question, huh?  Haha, no worries!  This is one of those situations where I wonder whether a "lack of investigative spirit" or seeming "not very good" in the Revival was intentionally written and MEANT to convey that impression of Rory's character, or whether it's an unfortunate and unintended side-effect of writing that was supposed to convey something else.

Rory's character, as a girl on the cusp of growing up and leaving home, is the one that suffers the most from the STRUCTURE of the show.  Because this ISN'T real life, you know?  It's a TV show with a set budget and a set time limit and certain structural limitations.  If this were real life, it would be natural for a girl with the sort of aspirations Rory had in highschool to spread her wings more, not come home every weekend, do a semester or two abroad... But the structure of the tv show prevents her from doing that.  Remember when the proposed Jess spin-off couldn't launch because they couldn't get the budget to film in Venice Beach?  Yeah.  Imagine trying to give Rory a semester abroad, and the amount of money involved in, if not traveling, the complicated sets and extras and most of Rory's experiences occurring in a foreign language and interacting SOLELY with characters unknown to the viewer.  That wasn't going to happen.  Or imagine Rory investigating hard-hitting political issues or going to the Iraq War protests that were occurring on college campuses at this time?  Or getting into potentially unsafe situations in pursuit of a good story?  I would love to see that, and it would have been fascinating to see Lorelai grapple with the tension between wanting to be the "supportive cool mom" and her desperate desire to keep Rory safe.  Rory involved in SERIOUS journalism would involve serious issues and real-world conflicts, but Gilmore Girls was never that type of show. That's not what audiences and producers WANTED from Gilmore Girls.  They wanted small-scale, interpersonal conflict about families and relationships, all centered around the beloved residents of Stars Hollow and the Gilmore family.

The nature of the show NECESSITATED Rory never moving too far away from Stars Hollow or her mother and I feel like Rory's character was kept kind of leashed as a result, which is pretty disappointing for a girl who, for the first three seasons, expressed a desire to travel the world and be involved in things that MATTER.  And since the larger theme was apparently meant to be cyclical, Stars Hollow becomes the Hotel California: Rory can check out any time she likes, but she can never leave.

I'm getting long-winded here.  What I'm getting at is, judging from the actual dialogue on the actual show, I don't think we were meant to see Mitchum as being right about Rory.  He was meant to be an antagonist and temporary obstacle.  I also rewatched the Revival recently, and I don't think they MEANT Rory to be seen as a "bad journalist," just going through a period of her life when she was feeling burnt-out and lost, and we weren't given much information on what she'd been doing in the intervening years, just that her writing was well respected (people talk like the New Yorker was her ONLY success, but rewatching the show, that wasn't the case) and that she HAD been traveling a lot, but they didn't go much into where or why.  Was this arc well-written?  No.  Does Rory come off well?  Also no.  But I suspect that has more to do with the Palladinos' lack of interest or knowledge of journalism than Rory's.

[1dfangirls35]

Voir Dire (N.H.) A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates and risking it all for love.

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think!

twenty-eight

As the elevator ticked past each floor of the Capitol Records building, Niall began to wonder if this would be the last time he would ever step foot in this or any place related to music.

He still remembered the first time he stepped foot in the iconic building- fresh off the One Direction hiatus and unsure what he would be as an artist. His dreams for his solo career just within reach. He was a different person back then. A person that was willing to do whatever it took to make it in the music world and to make a name for himself. A person who believed that Capitol Records was the key to paving a career that fit his dreams perfectly. A person who still believed that the music industry wasn't all bad.

But today was the end of that. He would no longer give up his own relationships, hopes and dreams just because of an image that his label wanted him to portray. He would no longer be letting someone else dictate his life; what he sang, what he wore, who he loved. No today, for perhaps the first time in his career, Niall was going to take charge of his own destiny.

A part of Niall was still scared that something could go wrong. He'd asked Kelsey ten times last night whether she was sure she wanted to go through with this, knowing what might happen if their plan didn't quite go off without a hitch.

Each time he'd asked her, she'd nodded and smiled and told him there's nothing she'd ever been more sure about. Niall knew saying those words was hard for her. He also knew that the smile on her face was constructed with just as much fear as Niall had right now.  But he couldn't be happier to finally be at the place where he and Kelsey could have the life together he'd always dreamed of. Free of contracts and fake girlfriends and manipulation.

Niall didn't wait for Alan Michaels's secretary to greet him when he stepped off the elevator, or for her to notify Mr. Michaels that he had a visitor. Instead he headed full speed towards the double-glass doors of the Capitol executive's office and pushed them open, saying in his strongest, gutsiest voice "We need to talk."

Alan Michaels turned from his computer, snapping his head around to look at Niall with surprise. "Mr. Horan did we have a meeting today?"

"We do now." Niall said forcefully, taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk. He tried to ignore the light shake of his hands as he folded them in his lap, instead taking delight in the fact that Alan Michaels had no idea what was coming for him.

"And what can I do for you today Mr. Horan?" Mr. Michaels asked in a long drawn-out voice, shuffling a stack of papers around on his desktop.  

"Whatever you did to make Kelsey Benton break up with me- I want it nullified," Niall doesn't flinch as he says the words, staring straight into Mr. Michaels dark brown eyes as if they aren't the most intimidating pair he's ever seen.

Niall swears it takes five minutes before words leave Mr. Michaels mouth again, his heartbeat rapid in his ear.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Michaels said his face astonished. "I'm sorry Mr. Horan, I have no idea what you are talking about. Have you been in contact with Miss Benton?"

"Not at all." Niall said, his lips staying in a straight line. "And I've begun to realize that perhaps there is a reason why." Niall wondered if this small fib would be enough to convince Alan Michaels that Kelsey hadn't breeched the conditions of her contract, but even if Michaels suspected he did, there was no proof.

"I can assure you Mr. Horan, what Miss Benton chooses to do in her relationship is entirely under her control. Perhaps she simply decided you weren't the one for her," the lies slipped out of Mr. Michaels mouth with ease, and Niall can see why he has this job. He's good at it. The lying, the manipulating, the convincing. Niall wondered how many other artists have sat in this very spot and been convinced that the label was doing everything in their best interest. How many hearts had been broken, families changed, careers altered all under the power of Alan Michaels and his smug smile. That wouldn't be the case today.

Niall had not expected this to be a simple meeting. He knew Alan Michaels wouldn't admit to meddling in his relationship willingly, so Niall had come prepared with his own pretty little piece of blackmail.

"Let me make myself clear- ALAN," Niall's voice was strong. "I happen to know several journalists who are just a phone call away from releasing an interview with me about my fake relationship with Krystal. I'm sure it would be the talk of LA in a matter of minutes."

Niall watched as Mr. Michaels throat bobbed in a firm swallow, he had his attention now.

"You are under a contract Mr. Horan. These promotional tactics are not to be disclosed to the public."

"And if I chose to tell my fans the truth? That you've hired someone to be my girlfriend over the past year. That the dates, the music video, the "love" was entirely something of your own creation in order to help increase your record sales. That I was forced into this against my will? What would you do then?"

"Well we would have to terminate your contract with Capitol Records. You would no longer be one of our recording artists." The look on Alan Michaels face told Niall that he thought he had given the ultimate threat, but little did Alan Michaels know, that threat was exactly what Niall wanted him to say.

"I bet you'd hate to see that happen wouldn't you? I mean a number one album in 42 countries, a sold-out world tour, some of the most dedicated fans in the universe. There's a lot more where that came from," Niall was taunting him now, and the more Mr. Michaels smug grin transformed into a frown, the more fun Niall was having. He was getting to Alan Michaels, he could tell.

"We would hate to see one of Capitol's best artists leave the label, that's for certain," Mr. Michaels said, his voice now laced with nervousness instead of intimidation.

"So you see the dilemma here? Looks like you are going to have to choose between terminating whatever kind of threat you made with Miss Benton to ensure she didn't ruin your promotional plans or terminating your relationship with one of your most successful artists. I mean if it was me, Alan, I don't think I'd think twice about it. What's the girl to you?" Niall crossed his legs in the chair, staring Mr. Michaels with a soft grin on his face.

Mr. Michaels kept his hand folded. He didn't say anything, Niall thought he was considering it. He didn't even think he'd get this far. He assumed that Alan Michaels would be invincible to manipulation. But today was proof that if you play the right cards, the right threat can convince anyone to change their stance.

Alan Michaels took a deep breath. "Kelsey Benton's contract will be nullified."

"Now," Niall added firmly. He couldn't risk this not going through. Not with what he was about to do next. "You'll let her know now."

Mr. Michaels nodded, picking up his phone. "Samantha, can you get Kelsey Benton on the line for me please?" He hung up, looking Niall in the eyes. The two stare at each other, neither speaking. Until the phone rings again. Niall can only assume its Kelsey on the other line.

"Is this Miss Benton?" Mr. Michaels asked. Niall can't hear Kelsey on the other line, but he pictures her sitting on Niall's couch, still in her pajamas, smiling at the sound of Alan Michaels voice. The thought made a small smile break through Niall's otherwise serious expression.

"This is Alan Michaels with Capitol Records. We've decided to terminate the contract we've signed with you. All I need is your official signature and it's gone forever."

Mr. Michaels hung up the phone, turning to look at Niall expectantly, as if to say 'Happy now'.

"So that's official?" Niall asked, cautious to make any more moves before the pieces were set in place.

"Official as of my signature right now. Miss Benton's signature is mainly a formality. It's as if our agreement never existed."

"Good." Niall nodded, inhaling deeply before saying his next words. "Well now that that's taken care of. I'd like to notify you that I'm officially terminating my contract with Capitol Records."

"But..." Mr. Michaels protested.

"My lawyers have assured me that there is nothing in our current agreement limiting me from telling anyone about what went on here once our contract has been terminated. I'd get your PR team ready, Alan. My fans don't take too lightly to people messing with my life." He stood up, pulling down his charcoal suit jacket and reaching out a hand to shake. "Best of luck with everything."

"But Mr. Horan..." Mr. Michaels seemed to be at a loss for words. "We can work something out, we can come up with a new agreement. I promise you we will not hire anyone for your PR again..." Alan Michaels was stumbling through his words now, but Niall just smiled and made his way towards the office doors.

He walked past Mr. Michaels secretary, who has now stood up, looking towards the office and the still rambling Alan Michaels standing in his office doorway.

"You're going to regret this Mr. Horan!" Mr. Michaels yelled at him as Niall called the elevator.

As the elevator doors dinged open, Niall turned around, facing Alan Michaels one more time. "No Alan, I don't think I will." And with that he stepped inside the elevator, letting the doors close, literally and figuratively, on his time as a Capitol Records recording artist.

Tag List: @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou​ , @niall-is-my-dream ,​  @stylishmuser​​​ , @thicksniall

[merrikstryfe]

(THREAD) Today Donald Trump and Mike Pompeo unveiled the real nightmare scenario for the 2020 election—and the question of what Trump has legal authority to do has nothing to do with it. I hope you'll read on and retweet—as what I'm describing here is what America is heading for. 

1/ Autocracies aren't born in rule of law. They're not even primarily born in violence. Rather they arise *despite* rule of law—often on the strength of a benighted populism, in fact just the sort of populist movement Trump is building now over false fears of a "rigged" election. 

2/ The question isn't whether Trump has legal authority to move Election Day and thereby extend his presidency—he doesn't—but a different question: what happens if he just declares that he *does* have this power? And what if he can do so with a false *veneer* of legal legitimacy? 

3/ By October 31, Trump's decision not to combat COVID-19 (indeed to worsen the pandemic with every one of his words, actions, and decisions not to act), coupled with an incipient flu season, is likely to send America's COVID-19 data—infections, deaths—into its horrifying nadir. 

4/ Meanwhile, Trump has put a crony who's likely a witness in an ongoing federal criminal probe—a man who's a peer of perjurers (and worse) Michael Cohen, Elliott Broidy and Gordon Sondland—in charge of the United States Postal Service. Already, this crony is destroying the USPS. 

5/ If, on October 30, COVID-19 is cresting—as it likely will be—and the USPS is less able to deliver mail properly than at any point in recent history, as seems likely (and on Trump's end intentional), Trump's self-manufactured "case" for a national emergency will be at its apex. 

6/ Today, Mike Pompeo told us Trump lackey Barr—who has never refused the president anything, who appears to be a Trump co-conspirator in the Ukraine scandal, and who has already shown a penchant for violating the law—gets to decide if Trump can announce a change in Election Day.

7/ Note that each time I use the anodyne euphemism "change in Election Day," what I'm describing is in fact apocalyptic—an artificial extension of the Trump presidency corresponding with the end of American democracy and the beginning of Trump's reign as America's first autocrat. 

8/ Barr has already instructed OLC (the Office of Legal Counsel) to produce opinions that violate all existing law (for that matter, we saw that during the prior GOP administration, Bush's, as to torture). Barr can get the OLC to crush a CIA whistleblower—or change Election Day.

9/ I ask anyone reading this to simply play out the following hypothetical—the one I offer in the next tweet—which is "hypothetical" only inasmuch as it takes everything we know about Trump, Pompeo, Barr, COVID-19, and the USPS *right now* and projects it 90 days into the future:

10/ On October 30, Trump announces, with an OLC opinion "granting" him this power in hand, that he is moving the 2020 presidential election 120 days, after which time he will review the nation's ability to safely and securely conduct an election. He announces it via tweet and TV.

11/ Understand that this would be illegal—and wouldn't change election day. But that wouldn't be the point. The point would be to *convince Trump voters not to vote*. You may have to read the preceding sentence multiple times—it's counterintuitive unless you're a metamodernist.

12/ This thread isn't on metamodernism. All you need to know is that on the day in June 2015 Trump announced his candidacy, I published a HuffPost essay declaring that what made Trump dangerous was his ability to manipulate reality (in a way theorists connect to "metamodernism"). 

13/ The way to win an unwinnable election, using the sort of powerful reframing of events a certain way of thinking Trump instinctively (not intelligently or responsibly) employs, is not to turn out your voters... but *declare the election invalid once your voters don't show up*. 

14/ The purpose of the pre-election Trump announcement I am hypothesizing here would not be to help Trump *win* the 2020 election, but to convince so many Trump voters *not to vote* that the results of the election favor Biden by *so much* the election looks wholly illegitimate. 

15/ Imagine a scenario in which, with 3 branches of government—executive, judicial, legislative—you have the executive branch declaring the election was moved, the judicial branch (as yet) silent, and the legislative branch in chaos because no one in the GOP knows what to say/do.

16/ By convincing his voters to stay home—because he's "moved the election"—Trump will have caused every GOP member of Congress to *lose their reelection*, *forcing* them to back his play and say that the election was delayed and therefore Biden didn't actually win on November 3. 

17/ The result: an executive branch that says the election was invalid; half the legislative branch (the GOP half) saying the election was invalid; election results that *look* invalid (as Biden has won by 50+ points); and a judicial branch that hasn't—and can't—say anything yet.

18/ In that circumstance, what does "rule of law" even mean? You have a separation of powers issue—a conflict between branches of government—that the Supreme Court *must* hear, and because it's the most complex case ever heard by SCOTUS in US history, it's impossible to expedite.

19/ The mere fact that Trump would have enacted this constitutional crisis just 96 hours pre-election means SCOTUS *can't* speak on it pre-election, and the complexity of the case would throw into chaos *all* state election deadlines. Which is basically the point of Trump's plot. 

20/ All Trump needs in this scenario is (a) SCOTUS to move at its usual glacial pace, and (b) GOP-run states (states with GOP secretaries of state running their elections) to *refuse to certify election results* or *choose electors* until the Supreme Court has acted on the issue. 

21/ I'm not even sure *Trump* would be the plaintiff in this case—as he and his GOP allies in Congress (and GOP secretaries of state) would so adamantly declare the election results invalid they might wait to make the *Democrats* sue in federal court, making them look desperate. 

22/ And how magnanimous Trump will be! He and his GOP allies will offer to *negotiate* with Democrats in lieu of them filing a federal suit. Trump will say, "We have to wait until this invisible plague is under control. That's *all* anyone is asking here." It'll sound persuasive!

23/ Know what'll make it *more* persuasive? Election results so insane-looking—Biden 82%, Trump 15%—they'll make Egypt's el-Sisi blush. Biden will be half-inclined to *agree* with Trump on a do-over—knowing his term as an "illegitimate monarch" may be marked by historic violence. 

24/ Right now I need everyone in media; everyone on "legal Twitter"; everyone who's a professional political analyst to comment on this thread—or on your own feeds, it doesn't matter—explaining why this Trump plan wouldn't work. Why it isn't *exactly* what he's setting us up for.

25/ Understand that I didn't develop this thread out of some fever dream. All I did was take statements and actions by Trump, Barr, and Pompeo; the current status of COVID-19 and the USPS (and who controls each); and the way of thinking Trump has exhibited *since June 2015*. /end 

PS/ I understand—and empathize with, as a lawyer—those who reply, "Nah, he ceases to be POTUS on January 20th at noon." Again, that's the view that *law* determines if a coup is successful, not the brute force of populism and logistics—the logic undergirding Trump's actions now. 

PS2/ In the scenario I've described, yes, the law would suggest Biden—having won the election 82% to 15%; with less than 270 electoral votes; and with all GOP politicians and all GOP secretaries of state and most GOP voters saying he won a fake election—is the president. So what? 

PS3/ What would in mean—in that scenario—for someone to be "president"? And that's the question the five ultra-conservative justices of the Supreme Court would have to decide, probably on a timeline so glacial it couldn't be concluded effectively until early January 2021 at best. 

PS4/ More importantly, that's the question *Democrats* would have to decide—and would probably be deciding in the midst of historic Republican protests and threats of violence all across the country. Would *Democrats* consider it their best move to accept that election "victory"? 

PS5/ We learned in January '20 that impeachments are about politics, not law—though they're supposed to adhere to rule of law. In January '21 we may learn *elections* are *also* about politics, not law. What happens if Dems must allow a do-over to preserve the peace of our Union? 

NOTE/ This scenario works for Trump even if early voting depresses Biden's win to (say) 62% to 36%. It may even work without Barr aboard. It may work if the "don't vote" effort is homegrown, inspired and supported by Trump but not demanded by him. The premise itself is the thing. 

NOTE2/ The solution here is for America to publicly discuss this scenario *now*—and invalidate it. GOP politicians must agree to abide by the election results even if Trump convinces his voters not to show up. Barr must state clearly that Trump cannot legally "move" election day.

NOTE3/ Constitutional law experts must play out how SCOTUS would act. Election law experts must do scenario-planning on how misconduct by GOP secretaries of state could be thwarted. Dems must educate Republicans on who's POTUS on January 20 if SCOTUS is still working on a ruling. 

NOTE4/ Democrats must announce now that there'll be no "do-over" election—and anyone who opts not to vote is making a decision they must *live by*. Emergency assistance must be provided to USPS. Social media should deem Trump tweets on moving election day "election interference." 

NOTE5/ It's amazing to see responses saying "the military wouldn't allow it" or "Pelosi would be POTUS." Again, this sort of coup happens through *politics, rhetoric, and the reframing of reality with GOP pol/voter support*—it has nothing to do with law, violence or the military.

[strad-214]

I am reading right now that psychologists are saying that it would be an incredible relief to us all if we forget the recent and "normal" lives we once knew and just accepted our current situation as the new normal because there is not yet an end in sight and I read this on CNN.

The article goes on to say that we will not be happy or content unless we let go of the belief that this will all be over soon or else we will drive ourselves crazy. It says that we must let go of the way of life we knew and accept our current predicament as our new way of life because there is no end in sight, so don'tgo searching for that end because that is also going to drive us crazy...

No, this pandemic isn't going to end tomorrow, or next week, or next month, maybe not even next year. Yes, we have to accept our current situation such as it is whether we like it or not because whether we believe it or not, it all is ultimately out of our control... but the pandemic will also not go on forever, and not all of our new conditions of living are entirely justified. Every day, new information comes out that contradicts the policies that where placed the day before: in New Jersey, USA, the Governor disallowed any and all indoor activity but forced schools to open with a government approved plan for sterility in the classrooms. The teachers, understandably, revolted saying that it was too dangerous and they did not wish to risk theirs and their students' lives so needlessly when they had already found ways to teach from home. They also made the argument that everything else was still needed to be done outdoors, so why open the schools? You know what the Governor did? Immediately announced that indoor activities where safe again to a certain degree and restaurants and theaters and the like opened back up. So too, did the schools, for they now had no argument.

This pandemic has been used as a platform for politics to exercise their control over the population. This is not an extreme left wing agenda, it is not an extreme right one either. Neither side is working in tandum to exercise this control, in fact, I'm not sure which is worse anymore. The pendulum of a a clock need not be wound so tight that the hammer slams into the walls of its casing and breaks the clock. Yet here we are, swinging so far one way and the other that the whole thing is crashing down and we just keep winding it up. Proof lies in this article alone, telling you the reader to give up hope for a better future, one where we are free of this plague-- political or viral-- and accept the lives we now must face.

Well, I for one will never give up hope of a better life. Things are terrible right now, but those of us that survive can do something to make it better. Don't riot, don't needlessly posture out of pride, don't give anybody a reason to call you a radical. Ask for the support of those in authority who are being muffled by the extreme wings of politics, they WANT to help us. Get the police to protest WITH YOU, talk to them, give them a reason to WANT TO SUPPORT YOU, and they will, they have done that before! They did it in Newark NJ when all these other protests and riots went violent, they knew Newark was going to have one, so they just decided "We'll march with you, protect you from those who would harm you and protect you from yourselves." -- there are a lot of rioters who are picking random targets and justifying it later, even amongst themselves.

What I'm trying to say is this: yes, it was the American way to take up arms and overthrow our government... keyword is WAS... we are not there yet. Can we please start finding better ways than just shooting the first cop we see? Or by literally trying to spread this plague as if it isn't real? Otherwise, we will get there. Do we really want that? Do we really want to destroy this nation? If we do, the entire world will come donw on us to claim its share, and we will have no say about it: we will be carved like fat ham, those of us who would survive the peocess will lose their homes, will lose their families, their husbands and wives, their children, their identities, their treasures... possibly our lives in the process. The carvers would call it a mercy for us, say they are giving us a new home and life, but we would be outsiders in lands we don't want to go live in. Or,, even if we think we want to go live there, we couldn'tive there the way we live here. Thas got to be a better way people, don't let go of those bettwr paths or we will lose everything!

I'm a straight, white man. I have lived on this Earth for 26 years. I was never presented the opportunities of success because I lived in a town of people who couldn't give a shit about anything but themselves and their interests. I am poor, I drive a 2007 Forester that is falling apart. I have enough college debt to insist that I'm pursuing a masters degree, but I still am an undergrad. I live in the living room of my future inlaws and sleep in a bed that is too small for my fiancee and I. Every night I try to sleep with direct eyesight to the front door of the house. I'm supposed to be student teaching right now, but that's difficult to do right now because of the pandemic and my college is having difficulty finding me a school willing to take me, not to mention the school they did find for me actually isn't cooperating with me and at this point, there isn't enough time in the semester to complete my requirements due to the slowly turning wheels of a system that again, doesn't seem to give a shit about me. I'm due to get married in two weeks time come this Friday (10/02/2020) the plans of which got turned upside down again due to the pandemic. All I want to do is teach music, love my wife, have a modest home on the edge of a forest that I can walk in with what I hope to be a daughter who sings and a son who fights Isshin-ryū like his mother, and ultimately teach the next generation to stick up for themselves and be their own men and women someday-- whether they were born men and women or not. That's it, that's all I want. Everything I have done in life was to allow myself and people like me to do just those things.... Why is that so hard? WE ARE MAKING IT HARD.... and I swear to God, if I have to take up arms and defend what little of my goals I have achieved against savages who hide behind walls of self-righteousness-- no matter their skin color or class-- my wrath will be equal to that of the God I believe in. For they will have taken everything from me at that point just because they can because they think it's right even though I have done nothing wrong to them....

BUT. I. WILL. NOT. GIVE. UP. NOT UNTO MY DYING BREATH WILL I EVER GIVE UP ON THE HOPE OF A BETTER FUTURE FOR EVERYONE ON THIS EARTH NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN!!! AND IN STRIVING FOR MY GOALS OF A PEACFUL FUTURE WHERE I LIVE IN HARMONY WITH ALL THOSE AROUND ME, I AM ALLOWING THAT GOAL TO EMINATE TO ALL THOSE I WOULD LIVE IN HARMONY WITH!!! AND I SPIT ON ANY SICK FUCK WHO WOULD TELL ME OR ANYBODY THAT IT IS BETTER TO JUST GIVE UP HOPE AND ACCEPT A FATE THAT I DID NOT CHOOSE!!! FUCK YOU!!! TURN IN YOUR LICENCE TO PRACTICE MEDICINE BECAUSE YOU ARE RUINING LIVES WITH THAT BULLSHIT!!! THE SPIRIT OF A TRUE AMERICAN LIVES ON IN THE HOPE OF A BETTER FUTURE! THAT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A TRUE AMERICAN!!! NOT A REBEL, NOT A CONQUOR, NOT A RACIST, BUT A BEACON OF HOPE FOR ALL PEOPLES OF THIS EARTH!!!!!

........ you know, I never write these things because when I share my views here, I get labeled as a biggot, a racist-- I've even been called a neo-nazi once... for believing that all people can live together in harmony without causing harm to one another, can you believe that? .... well, you people don't know me and your opinions don't scare me anymore. I have ourgrown mindless spite. I say what I do in the spirit of humility and devotion to secret vows which I have taken to try and unite peoples of all walks of life through music and help foster a kindred spirit between myself and my neighbors. It is the same vow that a man named Fred Rogers made once upon a time, I would know, he is a member of my order. If anyone has watched his shows, you'll see what I mean.

I am exhausted now... more than I ever have been. I feel far older than I am and I feel worse all the time. Please, I beg of you all... don't give in to this rhetoric, don't let this political mire get the best of you. Don't love Biden because he isn't Trump, love him because he has an idea or goal you like. Love Trump for the same reasons... and then tweet back that he needs to stop getting in his own way if he is to be a real leader. Think of the impacts of this pandemic and be thankful for all that you have, even if it's only a little, because someone else has it worse than you, and then try to help those people if you can. But above all else, be your own people, don't give in to hatred, be a positive influence, make a pact of peace and trust and set aside pride and spitefulness... be an American the way an American was meant to be.