#like for me if you can communicate what you need to clearly among your colleagues and like. understand how to basically analyze

[munamania]

this class is so annoying it’s an intro course so a lot of people are taking it as a gen ed and i admittedly slack off a lot since i’m like farther into my major but like. i’m not an idiot. they will take points off for spelling which isn’t a big deal for me im a good speller but i’m mad on principle. if you don’t say things in the exact way they want you to then obviously you don’t understand the concept and are just trying to fill space on a page. this is the class whose recitation i complain abt every friday. regretting coming to this lecture tbh this sucks

[maddieinwonder]

The Seventh

Slight Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None at all

Word Count: 1.6k

Plot: Reader hears a lot of rumours about the BAU before she applies to join the team. (Part 2 here!)

Author's Note: I love the idea of the BAU being notorious in the FBI, because honestly, they totally would be! And I would be lying if I said I've never crushed hard irl on a mysterious genius boy...

Masterlist

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

Before you decided to join the BAU, you had heard all kinds of gossip about its members. It was a hot topic among your colleagues, but you could hardly blame them for the shameless act, when you left one ear open for it yourself.

Professionally, if they weren't called the BAU, people called them the "serial killer guys", since they couldn't seem to escape them in their cases. But among your lunch group, they were called "The Seven".

It was an embarrassing name in your opinion, too easily implying that the BAU was elite, untouchable. But the more you learned about them, the more you thought there could some truth to it.

Number One was SSA Hotchner, the unit chief known for his stone cold attitude. You heard a rumour that he once threatened the BAU section chief without so much as batting an eye. Anybody else would have been fired on the spot, but it seemed that Hotchner was so unrivalled in his job that he was asked to stay anyway.

Hotchner's opposite was SSA Rossi, who seemed to be the more "human" of the two, but that didn't make him any less intimidating. He was famous both in and out of the FBI, having built the BAU from the ground up, and written multiple best-selling books about criminal analysis. Why he decided to return to the BAU was a mystery to everyone, but you had a feeling he actually missed it.

Then there was SSA Prentiss. Everyone's consensus was that she seemed nice, but ultimately professional. People theorised that her political upbringing made her into a politician herself, but you once saw her in the BAU office laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and that's when you decided she couldn't be as stiff as the rest made her out to be.

SSA Morgan was the one everybody liked, on a shallow level at least. All your fingers and toes weren't enough to count how many people you knew had a crush on him. You've seen grown women visibly swoon when he walked by, which was partially hilarious for you, but also partially embarrassing for womenkind. You could see the appeal, somewhat, but he wasn't your speed.

Your favourite was JJ. Jennifer Jareau was the BAU's communications liaison and the only one you'd dare call a friend. You'd worked with her on multiple cases in the past, and in fact, she was the one who recommended you for the new position. She's a complete sweetheart, but you also knew that she once headshot an unsub right in the BAU office to protect Penelope. That fact only increased your admiration for her.

She was also the one to introduce you to the BAU's infamous technical analyst. You had heard of Penelope Garcia prior to that, but she so rarely emerged from her office that you almost thought she was a myth. The real person was unlike an FBI agent at all, always donning some combination of bright colours, feathers, and/or sparkles. Most people who'd seen her labelled her as a weirdo, but there was something about her, a sense of positivity, that you loved.

Last but not least, the one that slipped under everyone's radar, Dr. Spencer Reid. People didn't talk much about Dr. Reid because, well, there was nothing really to talk about. He was the youngest person to ever join the FBI, had an IQ of 187, and you thought he was far too pretty to be doing a job this terrible, but that's where the conversations usually ended.

Everything that could be said, envied, or admired about the genius had simply been covered already, and he offered no new fodder for the gossip trolls to chew on; he rarely left the office, he didn't mingle with the other departments, and frankly, everyone thought he was socially awkward.

Yet, you found yourself continuously coming back to him in your thoughts. Maybe, subconsciously, you wanted to join the BAU so that you could figure him out.

The first time you met Dr. Reid, he was giving the profile of an unsub to the larger team. His words sped by so quickly, yet with so much insight and detail that you found yourself scrunching your face in concentration in order to get it all, and that impressed you.

You had always been a quick study but you instantly knew that Dr. Reid would be a challenge, both professionally and personally, and you hadn't even got to know him yet.

As you submitted the request to join the BAU, you admit that the excitement of that challenge was at the forefront of your mind. And when you were called into SSA Hotchner's office a few months later, the thought rang in your head even louder.

"Agent Hotchner, you called for me?" You asked at his door, suddenly feeling timid in the face of your potential boss.

"Sit down, agent," he said without looking up. As you took a seat, he opened a file that was undoubtedly yours and looked up. His eyebrows were furrowed, but if what you'd heard about him was true, this didn't necessarily mean anything bad. And you were right.

"I have your test results with me," he began. "Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you for scoring the highest in your class." You swore he almost cracked a smile.

"I've also heard a lot about you. Your boss had many good things to say about your work ethic, your field experience, and your commitment to justice," he continued.

Now it was your turn to smile.

"But I want to know the real reason why you want to join the BAU." Your smile faltered slightly, something that you're sure Hotchner would pick up on.

He leaned forward in his desk, purposefully applying pressure on the situation, and you let out a quiet breath in preparation.

"The reason I wanted to join the BAU may not be new to you, but I'm looking for a challenge. I want to make a change." You started. "I understand that those two may be contradictory principles, but I believe I can grow and do a lot of good with the BAU."

"And what if the job gets too much for you?" He asks, a flicker of emotion that I didn't recognise crossing his face.

"I'm prepared for that," you said determinedly. "I may not know what this job will take from me, but I'd like the opportunity to prove that I can grow from it, sir."

Agent Hotchner eyed you for a moment before standing up. "Very well, then." He reached out his hand. "Welcome to the BAU."

You looked at his hand for a second, the shock barely registering, before scrambling to your feet. "Thank you, sir! I won't disappoint you!" You shake his hand grinning.

"And next time, just call me Hotch." He said, this time smiling amusedly at your enthusiasm.

"Got it, and thank you again, sir." You said, excusing yourself from his room with a noticeable skip in your step.

You tried to cool yourself off walking back to your department to share the good news, but the excitement proved too much to hold in when a familiar voice calls out to you.

"Hey babygirl, considering you just came out of Hotch's office with a smile, I'm guessing you're going to be our newest teammate."

You turned around, trying to swallow your giddiness, when you realised that person was none other than SSA Morgan.

"Agent Morgan," you stuck out your hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, and yes, I am."

"Derek." He corrected, grinning as he shook your hand. "Looking forward to working closely with you."

"Just call him Morgan. Don't need to get too close to this player." SSA Prentiss nudged Derek out of the way, raising her hand to meet yours. "I'm Emily Prentiss."

You giggled at their closeness.

The rest of the introductions quickly followed, including hugs from JJ and Penelope, and a starstruck moment when Rossi left his office to personally welcome you to the team. But there was one person whom you hadn't formally met yet.

Dr. Reid had finally separated his head from his work amidst the commotion (plus a very strong encouragement from one Mr. Derek Morgan to "go get her, pretty boy") and walked up to you, a nervous gait in his step.

He stuck his hand out to your surprise, having heard that the doctor was a tad germaphobic, and shook yours. "Dr. Spencer Reid," he said. "But you can call me Spencer, everyone else does."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer." You tried out the foreign name on your tongue. "Honestly, I'm quite a fan of your academic papers. I'm looking forward to working with you."

You knew the genius was a bit awkward, but he instantly turned beet red at your words and retracted his hand. The thought that this was the first time somebody had complimented him this way made you a little sad. But you thought his reaction was incredibly cute, and apparently so did the rest.

"Pretty boy, pret-ty boy, is that how you should react around a lady?" Derek sing-songed, putting his arm around the poor genius' shoulders, tugging him down.

JJ shot you an apologetic look for her childish teammates, while the rest joined in to poke fun at Spencer. Although he was frowning, his voice betrayed no hints of annoyance. Clearly they were all very close.

You laughed along, feeling a growing warmth in your chest, and wondered if you'd be a part of this family in the future.

But first, you’d have to get used to being the Eighth.

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

(Part 2 here!)

[captainbeverlycrusher]

An Open Letter to the Star Trek Community

To the Star Trek Community,

I write this from a place of deep respect, gratitude and compassion, and with hope that what I have to say will be received in good faith and be heard.

I am an immigrant woman of colour who found Star Trek at a time when I was at my lowest and stuck in what seemed like perpetual darkness, and it was this wonderful franchise and its powerful message which uplifted me and brought me back into the light so that today I can truly say that I am at my strongest. As such, Star Trek’s positive influence in my life has been no small thing. Star Trek has taught me to be the captain of my life, to reach for the stars, to stand up for what is right no matter the cost, and, above all, to be brave and bold.

And so, in the spirit of boldly going, I humbly call on ALL white members of the Star Trek Community — creators, platform curators, prominent fans and figures, including and especially Star Trek cast members, past and present — who believe in the underlying mission and vision of Star Trek to formally denounce all forms of racism and bigotry and those who uphold such abhorrent beliefs; I call on you to condemn the actions of those who have harmed Black and Indigenous people, and all People of Colour (BIPOC); and I call on you to strive to do more and do better for the sake of BIPOC in both the Star Trek community and in your own lives who have been subjected to racism. Finally, I encourage you to urge your supporters in this community to do the same, particularly those who are now finally waking up to the injustices perpetrated against BIPOC.

I am, of course, aware that the official Star Trek entity released a statement in this vein recently. I know many of you have expressed one way or another your support for the Black Lives Matter movement. I see you. It’s a good start. But it is not enough. I need each of you who hold so much influence within this community to do this, to say once and for all that you will not condone racism and anti-Blackness from your supporters, fans and followers any longer. It is important for this to happen.

I know you support the vision of the great Gene Roddenberry and the powerful philosophy of Star Trek and what it stands for. I know you believe in these words as much as I do:

“Star Trek was an attempt to say that humanity will reach maturity and wisdom on the day that it begins not just to tolerate, but take a special delight in differences in ideas and differences in life forms.”

But many white supporters within the Trek community truly do not share these sentiments, and they have proven this time and again, especially as they have belittled and driven fans of colour like me away instead of putting the mission of Star Trek into practice and welcoming us with open arms. Both on-and-offline, there are those who have insulted and degraded BIPOC involved in the Trek community— and not just fans but creatives, actors, and notable figures of colour alike. We have been treated as inferior and dismissed.

I have seen and witnessed it with my own eyes. I have endured this myself and I cannot explain to you how hurtful it has been for many of us. I am a fan who has experienced so much harm from many white people I have come across in Trek spaces, at conventions and events, even among those I had considered friends, and for it to come from within a franchise that promotes love, hope and acceptance, it has been devastating. What I once looked to as a safe haven no longer is.

I can only speak for myself and from my own experiences. And based on my experience, my call to action here is completely necessary. Because something I never say aloud, something I constantly have to process and reprocess in therapy is that 6 years ago when I was 24, the night before I first met my Trek heroes, I cried bitter tears because I felt that they would not accept me because I wasn’t white, that I was unlovable by even the most amazing people because I was not white like them. 24 years old. A grown adult. And I felt that way. So many white Trek supporters contributed to making me feel that way every time they overtly and subtly implied that their whiteness made them superior. I have remained silent about this and numerous other incidents for many years, but living in silence has only served to intensify the painful experiences I’ve had, and so I share this to stress the urgency with which this community-wide issue needs to be addressed. We cannot allow damage like this to continue towards BIPOC in this community.

Racism destroys the soul. Racism is why I hurt myself for so long and why so many white supporters have harmed fans of colour like me, despite their claims that they believe in all that Star Trek stands for. Racism hurts us all. This is just a small part of my story. Imagine how many more there are like it or even worse. As white people, you will never experience racism and you may not see the abominable treatment BIPOC in the Trek community encounter, but it is happening.

With the Black Lives Matter protests gaining momentum worldwide, it couldn’t be more clear that now is not the time to find the middle ground on issues like this, because there is none when it comes to racism. Either you are against it or not. And I promise you, the Trek community does not need the support of people who go out of their way to justify any and all racist acts, because as we can clearly see, even the smallest racial microaggressions and biases can ultimately lead to murder. The desire to keep the peace in the fandom and franchise is not more important than Black lives. Especially because the truth is, as far as I have observed, there has never been actual peace.

We are presently witnessing a global reckoning in which many are finally starting to acknowledge the existing ways racism and white supremacy are upheld. As a community that claims to value all beings and embrace all differences, it only makes sense for Star Trek and all its community members to lead the way to a better future in the entertainment and creative industries and beyond, and to start doing so by looking within ourselves and our own backyard. We MUST clean up this community so that all People of Colour can truly feel safe and welcomed and be embraced and celebrated in every Trek space.

As I issue my call to action, I urge you to consider doing the following:

First, in particular for prominent white cast and creatives, please let the Trek community know where you stand. If you have not already done so, please let people know that you will not tolerate any further bigotry and racist behaviour from anyone. Please let your Black fans and all fans of colour know that you are with us. And please don’t mince words.

Amplify the voices of BIPOC within this community. So many of us are constantly silenced and drowned out and it is time for us to be heard. Our presence only enhances the Trek community. Uplift and embrace us. We matter.

If you manage any online Trek-related spaces and platforms, it is your responsibility to moderate and remove speech that is racist against BIPOC. It is imperative for you to enforce stricter commenting policies and do all that you can to protect BIPOC from further harm. And for those participating in these spaces, it is equally your duty to call out and report any such speech you encounter.

Educate your fellow white Trekkies who don’t yet understand why this is important. BIPOC have expended a lot of labor attempting to do so already but we have been dismissed, ignored, and cast aside. The onus is now on you to ease us of this burden and do the work given your positions of influence.

Hold yourselves and other white people in your Trek networks accountable to BIPOC community members. Make this part of your norm so that it becomes second nature to you, especially so these issues don’t ever fade into the background as they have often done in the past. This is an opportunity to improve and get it right.

Continue supporting the Black Lives Matter movement even after it stops trending. Visit https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ to find helpful resources, make donations, sign petitions, and to get more involved in this work beyond the Trek community. This work is ongoing. It is lifelong.

Committing to doing every one of these would be small yet meaningful steps in the ongoing struggle for racial justice and it would make a significant difference. So with great respect and love, I implore you to use your power and privilege to do this for BIPOC, for yourselves, for all of us.

Stand up with and speak up for all BIPOC fans, friends and colleagues, far and wide. Be loud about it.

Be as loud and unrelenting as LeVar Burton. He has always been at the helm of this struggle, has always been upfront about it, and I love and admire him for it. Follow his lead.

Naturally, fear courses through me as I write all this, but I think of Gates McFadden, a great hero of mine, who once rocked the boat and spoke up against the sexism and racism she witnessed while working on TNG and was actually fired for it. If she can do that, then I think I can do this regardless of the risk. Because I know what I’m asking for and ultimately fighting for is right. Because what we can no longer deny is that lives are at stake. Black lives. And they matter.

Now it is up to you to do your part. Boldly go, in hope and with love.

And may you Live Long and Prosper.

— Originally published on Women at Warp

[anthrogothic]

Body/Prision

~Well, this is the first fic I've posted (not that I've written many). Maybe I found it interesting to explore the emotional and psychological side of the clones and, of course, Echo. Besides, of course, other little things. Hope you like it. 🥺 (and sorry for any mistake as this fic was originally written in brazilian portuguese).

Second part heeeeree

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader (in this chapter only Hunter and Wrecker appear for now)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Body insecurity and bullying.

You were always a woman of science. Curious, persistent and genius. As a child, you loved growing plants and watching animals. Sometimes experimented with changing the color of flowers in jars with colorful products or hatching small eggs of birds and reptiles in small boxes bathed in light and heated cloths. You once set fire to his parents Aldeeranian Silk curtains, after pointing a magnifying glass in front of the sunlight streaming through the windows.

No wonder you was one of the top students at Naboo's Faculty of Science when was older. After all, you were one of the few females in your class. Being constantly the victim of offensive comments and jokes, mainly because of baggy clothes that didn't mark your body, adopted after years of harassment for your sharp curves. Your glasses and voluminous hair didn't do much for the "jokes" to stop. Withdrawn in any group of popular and partying colleagues, you had nothing but to study with your few fellow “nerds”.

As a result, you soon got your first job in the field. Standing out so much that you was invited to participate in the cloning processes on Kamino a few times, even creating a certain professional relationship with Nala Se, the chief scientist.

You weren't a fan of cloning, even though it was incredible, you found it somewhat unethical in relation to the impact on the lives of Jango Fett clones. They weren't just battle products or numbers to you, but Human Beings with as many rights as anyone else. That they should have autonomy over their lives. But work is not always 100% pleasant, as much as it is something you love as long as you understand being human.

With your occasional visits to Kamino, you ended up having the sympathy of the clones, precisely for treating them like ordinary people, with different names and personalities despite the identical DNA and their fateful serial numbers.

You even ate with them in the cafeteria instead of the staff room and played with them in your free time and some would sneak men's uniforms for you, who were too bothered by the looks and teasing you received in your tight women's uniform.

One day, during a typical meal with your friends, a tone of laughter and nasty comments made you take your attention off your plate.

You poked your clone friend in the shoulder on your right.

"What is happening?"

He, without even looking up, snorted a laugh and spoke before taking the meal to his mouth:

"So you don't know the subject of the moment? There is a new squad among us. Weird… but they haven't suffered a single casualty on the field so far."

You raised an eyebrow, craning your neck a few times in an attempt to see something.

"I was not informed of this. I have not been assigned to inspect newly graduated soldiers for some time. But why the laughter and so much whispering?"

Deep in your brain, the bitter memory of your college days was pulled.

Your friend gave you an incredulous look, gesturing to find the right words to avoid any reprimand from you:

"They… well… are technically defective. Very different from us. No wonder they nicknamed them The Bad Batch."

He stifled a laugh. Soon getting punched in the arm accompanied by a scowl from you.

"Okay, okay. Forgive me, clone rights advocate."

His irony was clear, making you roll your eyes and get up, heading towards the counter where they left the used dishes. After thanking the wrinkled green lady who served the meal, you turned in the direction of leaving the cafeteria, but a sharp impact on your face and chest propels you back, followed by a lot of pain and strong hands gripping your elbows.

"Hey! Are you okay?"

A familiar, but deeper and stronger voice resonated in your ears, making you open your eyes faster than you normally would, as you bring your hand to your forehead and in the background thanking the Maker for wearing contact lenses instead of glasses today . It took you a while to map the face of the man in front of you. His long dark hair fell to his shoulders, his red bandana letting out a few shorter strands across his forehead, his almond-shaped eyes looking a little worried, and finally, a tattoo that covered the entire left part of his face.

He was familiar…but at the same time very different from the other clones. Even the armor, grey and red. Definitely seeing a different face in that cafeteria was a bit intriguing.

"I think you broke her, Hunter!"

A loud, husky voice came from behind you, making you turn your back to the tattooed man, just to behold the huge soldier who covered your entire field of vision.

He was huge, broad and with perfectly shaped muscles. Gradually, your eyes traveled from his abdomen, across his broad chest to his face. This one had no hair. He had a blind eye, with a huge scar running from there to the ear. The clone's good eye looked you up and down, literally.

"I'm fine… sorry… I-"

You were shocked by the image of both men. Could it be they who your friend had spoken of?

You can barely complete your sentence when interrupted by a clone next to you.

"Well well. The scientist and her laboratory freaks. How comical..."

He didn't even stop to stare at you, being followed by two other clones who clearly enjoyed the bad joke.

The men beside you clenched their fists and the bigger one growled, taking long, heavy strides in front of you, until he was stopped by the tattooed-faced clone, who practically jumped in front of him, bracing a hand on his chest.

"Forget it, Wrecker. It's not worth it… and we can't take another warning for assault in the cafeteria."

The taller one nodded a few seconds later, clearly disappointed not to get his hands on his attacker.

With slow steps, you approached them, curious and also irritated by the other clone's words.

"Idiots."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your voluminous breasts.

"You are the new squad the others are talking about, aren't you?"

There was a certain wonder in your voice now.

"Force Clone 99, doctor!"

The two said in chorus, with clear pride in their words and saluting.

"The rest of the team is going through the assessment upstairs. Miraculously we both got through!"

Said the taller clone, with humor in his voice, pulling a smirk from the tattooed clone.

You smiled, even more in awe of them. They were beautiful, unique and not "sloppy".

"Nice to meet you Hunter and… Wrecker, isn't it? My name is Y/N, I work in the lab."

The two looked at each other, minimally polite treatment to the clones was a little rare around here.

"We've heard about you. Won't you give me a warning? For… bumping into you?"

Hunter was a little suspicious, moving closer to you, watching your forehead. Looking for any evidence of injury.

"Oh no, of course not. It was an accident. I also barely looked where I was going."

You tried to be as gentle as possible, despite your brow and nose bothering you, already realizing that it couldn't be too easy for them to get along with each other. You continued:

"Trust me, I know what it's like to be bothered all the time by little jokes and to have people pick on me out of simple dislike. I'm not like the rest of the employees."

Wrecker approached you, already with a content expression on his face.

"There is! I liked her! At least someone here doesn't hate us!"

The clone pulled you into a hug, pressing his side with yours. You blushed a little, as physical contact was never common with you.

Hunter continued with a suspicious expression and his arms now crossed, making him even more imposing, just taking the look off your face, when the communicator you carried in your pocket beeped.

Brought out of your reverie by Wrecker's tight embrace and Hunter's form, you picked up your communicator to read the newly arrived messages.

"Uh… I need to go. Nala Se never give me a break. See you later guys. Hope to meet the rest of you!"

You headed towards the exit, leaving a sympathetic smile as you left the clones. They were still there, trying to absorb how kind you, a scientist, were to them.

[spencers-renaissance]

when I fall asleep (it is your eyes that I close)

Summary: Spencer's not been sleeping, and as much as Derek adores his sleepy clinginess and physical affection, as soon as they get home he's determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, sleep-deprivation, clingy!spencer, physical affection, spencer climbing into derek’s lap :’), anxiety, vulnerability, so much cuddling

Pairing: Morgan x Reid 

Word Count: 1.9k

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Derek had spent pretty much the whole case worried about his boyfriend. Spencer hadn’t slept properly for over a week and it was beginning to show: the circles under his eyes darkening steadily, weariness written in every stance, unable to even hold himself upright properly. He’d even got teary at one point in the hotel room after another long day with no break, climbing into bed and curling up against Derek’s side in a way he never does when they’re working a case. 

At least he wasn’t the only one watching him like a hawk, Hotch had pointedly kept him out of the field as much as possible and JJ and Emily were especially kind to him, everyone turning a blind eye to his coffee consumption. But after the case is finally wrapped up and they’re in the SUVs on the way to the jet and Spencer can barely keep his eyes open, Derek’s worry increases slightly. Hotch is shooting him questioning looks in the rearview mirror but he can only reply with an equally dubious shrug. 

They’d come out to the team a few months ago after keeping it tightly under wraps for over a year, and even though it was still very much a team secret, everyone was grossly supportive among the relentless teasing. In moments like these, not having to hide it is an advantage in every way. He scoots over to the middle seat and pulls Spencer to gently lean against his shoulder, kissing the top of his head. 

“You’re a softie, you know that, Derek?” Emily grins from the front seat. 

“You caught me,” he smiles back, resting his head on top of Spencer’s as he clasps one of his boyfriend’s hands in his own. “You alright, pretty boy?” he whispers. 

Spencer manages a small hum as his eyelids flutter close again, resting against the warmth and comfort of his partner. He makes it to the jet without falling asleep, but only barely. Derek is adamant on holding his hand up the stairs; he’s far too wobbly on his feet for his liking. 

They collapse into the closest pair of seats, Derek stowing both of their bags before getting his boyfriend comfortable. “Do you need anything, baby?” he asks softly, ignoring the rest of the team finding their seats as they chatter amongst themselves. 

“I’m cold,” Spencer mumbles as he looks up at Derek with wide, exhausted eyes.

“You want my hoodie?” Derek suggests, pulling at the fabric. 

At Spencer’s earnest nod he wastes no time in peeling it off and helping Spencer into it, watching him settle  comfortably into the warm, oversized fabric with a fond smile over his face. He presses a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips before swiping his thumb over his bottom lip. “I love you, pretty boy,” he says softly, unable to stop himself but sure to keep his words safe from prying ears, “you know that, right?”

Spencer nods again, smiling lazily. “I love you, too, Der,” he says sleepily. 

He’s out like a light by the time Derek’s settled into his own seat, headphones playing his favourite post-case playlist, and a quick glance around the cabin reveals he’s not the only one smiling fondly at the youngest member of the team. 

At some point, he must have dozed off himself because he’s awoken mid-flight -- when everyone else is either buried in paperwork, napping, or doing their own thing -- by Spencer climbing into his lap. 

“Hey, hey, baby,” he mutters, confusedly lifting a headphone off his ear, “what’s wrong?” 

“Need a cuddle,” Spencer murmurs, before continuing to settle himself against Derek’s chest. He’s straddling him with his face buried in his boyfriend’s neck, only quieting properly when Derek wraps his arms around him and holds him closely.

Spencer’s clinginess was one of his boyfriend’s characteristics that had surprised him the most at the start of their relationship. He was attached to Derek’s hip most of the time, always desperate for a cuddle; he’d had to adjust to sleeping with someone lying practically on top of him fairly quickly. As much as it had blindsided him, however, he absolutely adored how cuddly Spencer was. It proved to him that Spencer really was proud to be his boyfriend when he insisted on always touching him in some way -- with the exception of work -- and Derek found it utterly adorable. 

“You comfortable there, pretty boy?” he asks softly, running his hands up and down Spencer’s back. Positions like this had taken a while to perfect since they were the same height, but they’d had a year of practice to learn the perfect angles for Spencer to fit just right with Derek.

He feels him nod against his neck and chuckles slightly before resetting his headphones and settling back against the chair again, revelling in the warmth of his boyfriend pressed snugly against him. 

Derek wakes up first, realising the jet is still before looking up to see the rest of the team grinning at them, Emily snapping as many pictures from as many angles as possible. He rolls his eyes before nudging Spencer gently, determined to get off the plane and back home quickly. 

That plan backfires, however, when Spencer just whines and presses closer into Derek. As cute as his boyfriend is being, and as much as Derek would absolutely relent if they were home, this is maybe just a bit too personal for his colleagues to be witnessing, especially for someone as private as him. He glares at the team and waves at them to go and luckily they obey, with the help of Hotch’s quiet ushering.

“Come on, baby,” Derek murmurs once they’re trailing down the steps and they have a bit more privacy. He sits up straight and, firmly gripping his thighs, he stands up with Spencer still hanging off him like a koala. Gently, he places him back down on the seat to allow him to wake up properly before grabbing their bags and putting his headphones away. 

When he turns back, Spencer is yawning and sleepily rubbing his eyes, but at least he’s sat up straight. Offering his hand, he guides them off the jet and straight down to the parking garage, determined to get Spencer wrapped up in bed as fast as humanly possible. 

⭐️

“Right, you need to eat something, and then let's get you into bed, pretty boy,” Derek says as he plants Spencer on the sofa and makes his way into the kitchen. “What do you fancy?”

“Omelette?” Spencer suggests, sinking into the comfortable cushions of the sofa. It had been one of their biggest arguments when they’d moved in together: Spencer had flat out refused to give up his couch, despite Derek’s being newer and in much better nick. He just couldn’t bear to part with the familiar green fabric with its countless coffee stains, it was far too comfortable and acted as a security blanket for him in many ways. Derek, being the big old softie he was for Spencer, had finally relented and had to admit, the sofa had definitely grown on him. 

“Coming right up,” Derek grins as he gathers the ingredients to make them both some veggie-filled, nutritious eggs that would make a nice change from the take-away and junk food they’d gorged themselves over the past week. 

“Thank you,” Spencer murmurs as Derek brings his over a few minutes later, leaning up to kiss him before he can pull away.

“That’s ‘thank you, Chef’, to you,” he teases as they tuck in and eat in comfortable silence. 

“Bed, now?” Spencer asks as he puts his empty plate on top of Derek’s, ready to take to the dishwasher. 

“Just one second,” Derek says, catching Spencer’s wrist to pull him back down from his attempt to stand up and get ready for bed. “What’s been going on the past week, baby boy? I know you haven’t been sleeping well, but we’ve been together long enough for me to know there’s something else going on.”

Spencer sighs and looks down at his lap, knowing the jig is up. He takes a deep breath before looking back to Derek, eyes brimming with tears as he hesitates, not knowing how to communicate what he wants to say.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about phrasing anything clearly, Spencer, you’ve been holding back a long time so just say whatever is going on in that pretty boy and we’ll take it from there, yeah?” he says soothingly, moving closer to his boyfriend, to give him his much needed physical comfort alongside the verbal reassurance. 

“I’ve just felt anxious this week about a number of things, I don’t really know. I had a nightmare at the start of the week about my mom’s condition worsening so I called the facility and they told me that she’s been doing absolutely fine, but I couldn’t shake this impending feeling of… doom? Like I’ve been on edge all week that I’m going to get some bad news and I know it’s completely irrational, but I can’t help it. And it sent me spiralling, worrying about the future because I guess it just reminded me that one day that call will come, and I’ll have no warning.” He struggles through it fairly slowly, but at least he finally gets it out, blinking tears away as much as possible, though unable to prevent a good few dripping down his cheeks.

Derek reaches a thumb out to brush them away, smiling softly. “Oh, baby,” he says sympathetically, “that’s completely understandable. I’m proud of you for telling me. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Spencer smiles a little despite himself as he looks at Derek in a way that he understands immediately what he’s trying to convey. 

“Ah, I see,” he chuckles, but he opens his arms anyway and Spencer climbs into his lap again pushing him back on the sofa so he’s lying on top of him. “You know I’m gonna be here for you no matter what, right?” 

“I know,” Spencer whispers, cuddling closer as Derek’s hand goes to the back of his head, caressing his curls gently. “I love you, Derek.”

“Oh, pretty boy, you have no idea how much I love you,” he says gently. “I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. Now, how about we get ready for bed? You’re exhausted and I’ve cruelly kept you up even later.”

“Yes, I’m bitterly angry with you,” Spencer giggles as he pulls himself up a bit, so his hands are braced either side of Derek’s chest. 

“Mm, how can I ever hope to be forgiven?” Derek raises an eyebrow, finding it very hard not to melt at the sight of his boyfriend giggling above him, eyes still glassy and face still flushed from his previous tears. 

“Maybe, just maybe,” Spencer says, pretending to think, “you’ll be forgiven if you carry me to the bathroom and…”

“And?”

“Kiss me,” Spencer murmurs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Derek’s lips, moaning at the feeling of his hands roaming down his sides. 

It’s not long before his upper body strength gives out and he collapses though, breaking the kiss and making them both laugh. 

“Come on, pretty boy,” Derek says eventually, still grinning. “Bed time.” 

As usual, Spencer takes up his nightly position of acting as Derek’s very own weighted blanket. He kisses his curls before they both drop off to sleep, wrapping his arms around him and savouring the closeness of his boyfriend. “Love you,” he murmurs as he trails his fingers up Spencer’s sides.

Spencer manages to give Derek one quick squeeze in response before his body relaxes into the deep sleep he deserves after such an emotionally intense week, and Derek isn’t far behind him, sleep coming much quicker than it used to when he’s wrapped around the man he’s going to marry one day.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

[xxmiizcornerxx]

Darker the Berry (POC! Reader x Aizawa)

A/N: Okay so heres the late story I’ve promised! Sorry for the delay, my internet has been booty buttcheek and my only source of comfort has been Mario Kart 8 deluxe and my Soundcloud listening history 😣 ANYWHO~ This story is on the issues(insecurities) of colorisim. And this is for my insecure baes out there that just needs some love🥰So enjoy! (And hopefully my internet doesnt give out once im done (┬┬﹏┬┬).....)

A/N: Oh! Another side note, this is in Aizawa’s POV for the most part!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Oh for fucks sake. This is just embarrassing.’ 

Thought Aizawa Shota, aka Eraserhead, a somewhat well known hero. At least till another well known pro hero comes around. Anyways, it was late at night and Aizawa was at a small restaurant waiting for his date to come. But by the looks of it, he probably just got stood up. Recently he has been trying to “get back out there” to not only have his comrades off his back but also because he was becoming lonely. He wanted that emotional support from someone other than his students, family and friends. Someone he could come home to every night to ramble about absolutely nothing or about everything going on in his world. And sure he had his best friend and his cat to talk to, but its not the same. He wanted that somewhat perfect love he sees everywhere he turns. 

 With a tired sighed, he was getting ready to leave but all of a sudden he could hear an all too annoying familiar voice. Even without his quirk, Hizashi Yamada is the loudest man on God’s given green earth. “HEY SHOTA!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” He asked loudly making the people in the restaurant jump but Aizawa was accustomed to it.

“OOH! ARE YOU HAVING A DAT-?!” Aizawa instantly covered his mouth annoyed, “How about you shut up? Anyways yeah but I was just getting ready to-” he was cut off when a 5′8 dark skinned woman with the most beautiful set of dark eyes that was barely covered by the few dreadlocks that poked out of her high bun. She was dressed in light shades of grey and white that made her skin pop out. She was truly what they called a goddess among men. “I am so sorry I’m late! I got so busy with work, I lost track of the time and decided to come straight here.” the woman rambled not fully realizing that Aizawa was too busy silently thanking whatever deity that was here for not only sending Hizashi for stopping him from walking out that door but also blessing him with the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. 

“It’s alright. My colleague here just stopped me from leaving.” He stated in his usual monotoned voice removing his hand from his friend’s mouth and sending him a look that said ‘ If you say or do something to ruin this for me, I will personally rip your vocal cords out.’, thankfully Hizashi got the memo nodding in slight fear. “Indeed I have! And now that you’re here miss, I can get what I’ve came here for and leave. Have a goodnight you two!” he stated as quietly as he can possibly get and left. “Sorry about my loud, somewhat obnoxious colleague. Here let me get your coat.” Aizawa said gently taking the woman’s coat setting it on the back of her chair. “Oh its alright, I have also been ‘plagued’ of having a very, very loud best friend. But you learn to get used to it.” she joked a bit taking her seat which only left the hero himself to take a seat. “I see. Well I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves. I am Aizawa Shota, an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He said with a tiny little smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Aizawa. I am Y/N L/N.” she returned the smile flashing her pearly whites a bit. And with that led the beginning of a great date. The night was filled with a few laughs, a few stories about their past as children and teenage years.

Soon the two were at a park, the air was brisk and cold. The moon, stars, and streetlights illuminating their path and a small light drizzle of snow softly falling from up above. It was like a seen from a Hallmark Christmas movie, just absolutely perfect. Aizawa and Y/N were getting along great and were sitting on a bench somewhat snuggled up against one another but not quite because personal space still exists. Currently the topic of conversation landed on insecurities. Aizawa admitted to Y/N about how he felt about his own unkept look and how it took a lot of faith for him to even go out tonight. “That’s reasonable.” said Y/N, “But just in my own opinion, that unkept look is your own. Not many people can pull it off and still look as handsome.” she chuckled giving him a soft nudge of her elbow to the barely blushing man. “Well what about you? What are your insecurities?” Aizawa was genuinely curious about what she could possibly be insecure about. She was practically perfect in all aspects; has a good sense of humor, an amazing sense of style, very well educated, has more confidence than anyone he knows, and to top it all off, just carries herself respectably.

Y/N bit her thumb a bit nervous, for what she was about to reveal is going to be silly or at least that's what she thought. “Well. The thing I am most insecure about is my....complexion. As you can clearly tell I am not in anyway light skinned or even milk chocolate. And I know it is silly to be insecure about but from where I come from looking like me is a target in more aspects than one. To some being dark skinned has even been turned into a personality trait.” Without even noticing, Y/N ended on an entire rant about how her skin was and still is a target for ‘dark as night’ jokes or the ‘loud mouth, ratchet, Hot Cheetos’ girl. How people within her own community would just assume that she (and many others) fought or was angry all the time or lived in a really bad area where there was a lot of sun. Or the worst of things, that if she was a slave back then she’d be in the cotton fields. Every time she was told that or something similar, Y/N’s self-esteem would just crumble entirely. It made her feel unwanted, unloved, unnoticed, and just down right ugly. By the end of her little rant, she found herself trying hard not to cry in front of Aizawa. She didn’t really intend to just lay it all out there on the table for him, but maybe it was for the best. If they were going to continue dating then it was best for her to lay out all of the cards on the table and show him what he’s getting into.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make everything so gloomy with my little insecurity reveal.” she said giving an awkward smile to the now stunned man. He personally didn’t understand how anyone could be cruel to their own people, let alone for how they looked. It was foolish and childish to say the least. But he was more than proud of Y/N for being able to overcome it all. “Well I’ll be honest here. I won’t pretend that I have any form of resemblance of what you must’ve gone through over the years simply because of your skin color, but I will tell you now. Your skin is beautiful and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I am willing to learn about the struggles you face and if fate allows it I’d love to be by your side as I do.” He said in a serious tone, gazing into her eyes and gently taking one of her hands bringing it to her lips planting a soft kiss upon her knuckles. “All those people in the past or in the now that has anything to say about your skin in a negative light are simple minded nincompoops' that have yet to be enlightened. After all, don’t they know?” he asked tucking a dread behind her pierced ear. “Know what exactly?” she asked with the most brightest smile that night. “Don’t they know that the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice?” That alone made Y/N laugh but Aizawa was being serious. “Boy, don’t do that. Plus how would you know?” she asked as her accent came out a little. “Well I don’t. But why don’t we find out?~” he asked teasingly leaning into her ear.

Needless to say.....

Best. 

First Date.

 Ever.

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 21 of 26

Title: The Galaxy, and the Ground Within (Wayfarers #4) (2021)

Author: Becky Chambers

Genre/Tags: Science Fiction, Third-Person, Female Protagonists

Rating: 9/10

Date Began: 8/15/2021

Date Finished: 8/22/2021

Gora is an unremarkable planet. It has no natural life and few resources to speak of. In fact, its only use is its proximity to more interesting places. Over the years, it’s become a waystation, notable only as a temporary stop for travelers as they wait for their spot in the wormhole queue. 

The Five-Hop One-Stop is a small, family-owned rest stop on Gora. Three travelers— a marginalized nomad, a military contractor, and an exiled artist-- lay over at the Five-Hop awaiting the next stage of their journeys. But everything goes horribly wrong when repair work on an orbital satellite causes a cascade event, destroying the planet’s communications. Now stranded on Gora with debris raining down from the sky, the travelers and hosts must live with each other while cut off from the rest of the galaxy. As they learn more about one another, each is forced to confront their personal struggles… and challenge their perspective on life.

Speaker had a word for how she felt right then: errekere. A moment of vulnerable understanding between strangers. It did not translate into Klip, but it was a feeling she knew well from gatherings among her people. There was no need being expressed here, no barter or haggling or problems that required the assistance of a Speaker, but errekere was what she felt all the same. She’d never felt it with an alien before. She embraced the new experience.

Content warnings and spoilers below the cut.  

Content warnings for the book: Non-graphic sexual content, child endangerment, ableism (if you squint; it’s not malicious), references to warfare, discussions of intergenerational trauma re: colonization (not the scifi kind), prejudice and xenophobia, recreational drug use. 

I’ve had a mixed experience with Wayfarers, which is unusual for me. I can’t remember the last series I read that fluctuated so much in terms of personal enjoyment and (in my opinion) quality. People as a whole seem to enjoy this series more than me, hence the multitude of awards and glowing reviews. I liked book two, A Closed and Common Orbit, because of the focused narrative and dedicated development of two lead characters. But the first and third books suffered from an overly large cast and reliance on generic archetypes. When a series is built on character development and plot is a secondary concern at best, those characters have to be outstanding. And to me, they usually weren’t.

But in this fourth and final book, I felt that Chambers finally hit her stride. On a surface level, The Galaxy, and the Ground Within has striking similarity to book three, Record of a Spaceborn Few. Both are virtually plotless novels which do deep dives into a cast of characters. What sets The Galaxy apart is its execution. All three leads have unique and compelling personal conflicts. An underutilized strength of the series is its creative aliens; something Chambers takes advantage of here with a fully alien cast. Finally, this book hinges upon interaction between the three leads, something sorely missing from the previous book. 

In these reviews I often seem critical of ensemble casts. But when done well, I actually prefer them to singular narratives. The main hurdle is having consistently interesting characters across the board. When there’s one or two characters I prefer over the others, I usually struggle with the novel. There’s an inherent sense of disappointment when leaving a favored character’s POV. For me this affects my overall enjoyment of the story. But when I like all of the characters or they all have something interesting going on, ensemble casts are great. The Galaxy, and the Ground Within is successful in this regard because I thoroughly enjoyed all three perspective characters. In no particular order…

Speaker is an Akarak, a birdlike scavenger species introduced as sympathetic antagonists in the first book. Going in, we know their home planet was colonized by the Harmagians, which has caused irreparable harm to their culture. Robbed of their homeworld and forced into the margins of GC society, the Akarak are nomadic, and many of them rely on banditry in order to survive. We have seen very little of them besides that. The Galaxy expands their lore a lot; their short lifespans, their incompatible biology with other sapients, and the resulting generational trauma from centuries of colonial exploitation. Speaker’s arc in particular is about dealing with the prejudice she encounters daily, adjusting to acceptance after being othered for so long, seeing things from a new perspective, and persistent worry for her twin sister Tracker, who she’s been separated from due to the events on Gora. 

The Aeluon Pei is actually a recurring character; she’s Ashby’s love interest from the first book. Here we get a more intimate view of her as a person. In particular, she struggles with living a double life. She works a prestigious yet dangerous job among her people, running cargo into critical warzones. But her affair with Ashby (a Human) is a huge cultural taboo among the Aeluons. If her colleagues discovered her romantic relationship, her life as a cargo runner would be over. The double life is wearing on her, because she loves both aspects of her life, but knows that it can’t go on like this forever. To make matters worse, she goes into “shimmer”, a once-in-a-lifetime fertility period, during the events on Gora. This adds a layer to her struggle; does she do her duty to her species and produce a child, or does she pursue what she really wants? 

Finally, there’s Roveg, a Quelin. Like the Akarak, Quelin haven’t received a whole lot of development in the series. In the first book, they’re portrayed as a xenophobic insectoid race, and their role is unambiguously antagonistic. Roveg is the polar opposite of that. He’s something of a renaissance man; an appreciator of fine art and dining, who designs artistic sims by profession. He delights in meeting aliens, befriending them, and learning everything there is to know about them. His arc centers around his exile from Quelin society and all the hidden pains associated with that. Chief among these is a mysterious meeting he has to make— which the Gora disaster obviously complicates. 

Complementing the three leads are the Five-Hop’s hosts; a Laru mother and child named Ouloo and Tupo. Similar to the Akarak and Quelin, we haven’t seen many of the Laru (who I always picture as fuzzy dog-giraffe hybrids). Ouloo struggles to be a kind and accommodating host in the wake of disaster. She’s also forced to confront her own prejudices, especially regarding Speaker, the first Akarak she’s ever met. The two initially have a lot of tension, but grow to be great friends over the course of the novel. Her child Tupo is a nonbinary character using xe/xyr pronouns throughout the novel. Xe’s basically a Laru teenager, and super endearing. I love xyr natural curiosity and naiveté. Definitely the “heart” of the group. 

Interaction between these characters is the bread and butter of this novel. There’s very little action; instead it focuses on their differing perspectives and life experiences. It’s a gradual build as the characters grow more familiar with one another. The epilogue is brilliant, because we see the long-term effect of these characters meeting. Despite interpersonal conflict in the story, Speaker inspires Pei to make a specific decision. From this decision, Pei realizes she can help Roveg with his meeting. As a result of this, Roveg is inspired to help Speaker based on one of their earlier conversations. His help fundamentally alters Speaker’s perspective on life— and there’s an implication it will reach beyond that, to the Akarak as a whole. It’s a cascade effect, but rather than the disastrous version that happened on Gora, it’s a positive social change for the leads. That’s the kind of literary parallel that really fires me up. 

I do have a few criticisms of this novel, minor and otherwise. The first is, I wish the tension between Speaker and Pei was more strongly built throughout. While I’m glad the novel isn’t all sunshine and rainbows when it comes to the character interactions, their conflict goes from an idea in the back of one’s mind to an explosive event. This is something of a nitpick because it’s otherwise well executed. I especially like that despite their interpersonal problems, they work together in the climactic events of the novel without sacrificing their respective principles. 

My other criticism is a series-wide observation. Wayfarers is optimistic to a fault. As such, it’s pretty rare that we see true evil or even bad behavior in this series. On one hand, it’s nice to read something where the characters are people who want the best for everyone. But there’s a lot of dissonance here, because there are MASSIVE social problems with the GC at large. For example, we see the effects of xenophobia, war, slavery, and colonialism, but the ones who perpetuate these issues are faceless. If Chambers wants to portray good characters, that’s fine, but it strikes me as odd to build complex social issues into your society, yet exclusively portray groups of morally good people. Why would a society full of such nice, helpful groups also marginalize the Akarak, or create an entire caste of slave clones to sort through their junk? This approach comes off as a desire for nuance without committing to it. 

This trend continues through the final book. The Galaxy, and the Ground Within is clearly a COVID-19 response novel (“we’re all in this together”!)— but everyone is blameless, and the government response is reasonable and timely. That’s just not how it worked in real life. So many people were (and still are!) selfish in response to COVID, often outright endangering others. Practically every government botched their response for the sake of money, leading to mass death worldwide. If Wayfarers has similar social issues to the real world, why would the response to a disaster be any different? It’s an ongoing contradiction; the Wayfarers society is simultaneously utopian and flawed, and it’s hard for me to suspend my disbelief. 

As an individual novel, though, I really enjoyed The Galaxy, and the Ground Within. Like all the other books in the Wayfarers series, it’s a standalone and can be read on its own. My experience with this series has been up and down; I recommend the second and fourth books, but I’d skip one and three if I ever do a reread. There are things to like about Wayfarers in terms of worldbuilding and the creative ideas behind all the different aliens. Characterization is hit or miss, but the hits are great, and this book in particular knocked it out of the park. Chambers’ prose improves a lot over the series, and it’s nice to see how she develops as a writer. As I’ve mentioned, Wayfarers has gotten lots of positive feedback, so it’s possible you will enjoy it more than I did. But I’m looking forward to reading something new.

[bamon4bamily]

TVD 10x02 - While My Guitar Gently Weeps (part 1) Enjoy! =)

Cut to - Munich, Germany. Elena is in one of the lab morgues. She is leaning against the freezers, writing in her diary.

 Dear Diary,

Today will be different. I will start fresh. Be someone new. New year, new life, new diary. I’ve come all this way, thanks to my father, but I need to step out of his shadow, and make it on my own. I have to stop doubting myself… As that cute guy Sam told me, I was chosen for a reason. It’s time I start believing in myself and become the Elena Gilbert I always wanted to be. Away from Mystic Falls, the drama, the supernatural, the pain…  

But, just between us, I feel like something is off… I mean, I’m glad to feel different, it’s just that in a weird way, I don’t feel quite like myself… Maybe it’s because the nightmares have come back… They are so vivid, as if I were living through it once more. The freezing water, the air escaping my lungs, the despair of knowing they were with me. That horrible feeling, over and over again… I thought I had healed, as much as one can heal from something like that, but I can still feel her hand slipping away… At times I think my dad blames me for letting her go. If he only knew the real reason both of us survived, maybe he wouldn’t resent it so much. Regardless, I will forever be thankful to Stefan for saving us that night. Although he still blames himself for not being able to save my mother, there was nothing anyone could have done.

Okay, enough about the past, I need to move on, build a new life for myself, and maybe, even find a new love… No vampires this time! Whatever comes, I’m living my life to the fullest! Letting myself be free… No fear, no guilt, no insecurities… Project Munich, here I come!

 Suddenly, she hears a noise. If it weren’t coming from one of the freezer drawers, she wouldn’t be startled, but since it clearly is, her heart starts pounding. She approaches cautiously… 

Before she can even grab the handle, the drawer slams open…

SAM: Boo!

ELENA: Oh my god, Sam?! You scared me half to death!

SAM: (Smirking) Good thing it was just half way. Wouldn’t want you dying on me.

ELENA: Well, what if I had a heart condition?! I could have!

SAM: A heart condition, or died?

ELENA: Well, both… But you know what I mean! You are so weird!

SAM: This coming from the girl leaning against body freezers in the middle of the night…

ELENA: At least I wasn’t lying in one of them like some kind of zombie!

SAM: It’s surprisingly relaxing…

ELENA: (Mocking) Being a zombie or lying in the freezers?

SAM: I suppose, both… (they crack up).

ELENA: Anyway, what are you doing here?

SAM: I like to come here to think… It’s quiet. You?

ELENA: Same… Guess we’re a couple of weirdos…

SAM: A little eccentric is all. (They smile in complicity). I will confess though; I do have an alternative motive…

ELENA: Oh, god. Please don’t tell me you are a psycho killer. I’ve dealt with enough of those…

SAM: I’m not going to ask why, but I do want to ask you something…

ELENA: (With a suspicious face) Uhm, okay… what?

SAM: Do you like picnics?

ELENA: That question isn’t helping your psycho case… But, yeah, I do. Why?

SAM: How about you and me, tomorrow… Wine and cheese in the main garden?

ELENA: (Kittenish) Are you asking me on a date?

SAM: Depends… is it a yes, or a no?

ELENA: Depends… is it red wine, or white?

SAM: Red, of course! What kind of a psycho drinks white wine?

ELENA: Plenty… And, you literally just met me, so there is a risk I might actually be one of them.

SAM: (Flirtatious smirk) I’m willing to take the risk, if you are…

ELENA: What the hell! Life is too short to play it safe.

SAM: I like the way you think. It’s a date then!

ELENA: It’s a date.      

SAM: Huh, I totally thought that was going to fail…

ELENA: You never know until you try, right?

SAM: (Smiles) I guess you don’t… Listen, it’s really late, do you want me to walk you to your dorm? I know this place is infested with military, but what if you run into a ghost? Pretty sure they would be clueless about how to handle that.

ELENA: (Laughs) Neither would you. But, you are not nearly as scary as they are, so I’d rather take my chances with you.

SAM: (Teasing) I happen to be a paranormal aficionado; I know how to handle a ghost.

ELENA: Oh, really?

SAM: I’ve seen all Ghost Busters movies a million times! I know what I’m doing!

ELENA: (Sarcastic) A Ghost Busters fanboy, that’s very comforting… (As they are walking out) Oh! And don’t think that just because I agreed to go on a date with you, I won’t get you back for the near heart attack you gave me … I happen to be a real horror movie aficionada; better watch your back…

Cut to – Mystic Falls Town Hall. Matt has been officially sworn in to take office as the new Mayor of Mystic Falls. Although he is worried about Edward’s abrupt decision, especially knowing the context behind his un-rational behavior, he can’t help but feel proud. This is what he had wanted all his life. And, given Edward’s current psychological condition, this decision was probably for the best.

 COUNCIL SPEAKER: Mayor Donovan, I speak on behalf of all my colleagues, we welcome you to this body of representatives with open arms, and ensure you that you have our full support, respect, and commitment.

MATT: It is my honor to have been entrusted with this duty. I will work day and night to rightfully serve our town, my home town. I will forever be grateful to Mayor Powell for believing in me, and giving me the opportunity to give back to the people that have built this town from scratch. In my first order of duty, I hereby announce the newly appointed Chief of Police, Sheriff Jackson. A woman of honor, courage and morals. I am certain she will serve this town with honor, loyalty, truth, knowledge and commitment. Please, give her a round of applause.  

SHERIFF JACKSON: Thank you, Mayor Donovan. I wear the badge with pride. I am humbled and honored to be given this responsibility. Trust that my team and I will follow the example you gave to us, and will serve and protect this community with the same passion and commitment you did. We might be in different offices now, but we will always be family.  

MATT: Always! Thank you, Sherriff Jackson. I have no doubt that you will surpass both mine and my predecessor’s accomplishments. In closing, I’d like to say that although we face many challenges ahead, I’m confident that we can overcome any obstacle by working together, always prioritizing people. Mystic Falls is a town built by its citizens, for its citizens. It is our duty to ensure the wellness and prosperity of all. Once again, thank you. Time to get to work! (They applaud).

Cut to – The Mikaelson mansion. Abby and Klaus are talking about Hope settling-in at the Salvatore School, among other things.

 ABBY: Hope looked so happy... And her dorm room is amazing! At the main house and a single! How lucky was she!

KLAUS: I had to “persuade” Alaric to make sure she was given the best accommodations.

ABBY: (Smiles) I’m sure you did…  

KLAUS: And how is Bonnie settling in her new home? I honestly cannot comprehend how she could voluntarily agree to spend day and night with Damon Salvatore. Are we certain he is not compelling her?

ABBY: (Smirks) You know he can’t, although I kind of wish that was the reason (they laugh). From what she told me this morning; the house is beautiful. Guess we’ll have to wait and see, if she ever invites us over.

KLAUS: She will, love, give her some time. They just moved in together, they need their privacy.  (Suddenly, the door opens, in come Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, Freya, Marcel, and Danae, suitcases and all). Uhm, excuse me, what is this unexpected visit about? Our family reunion isn’t until spring…

ELIJAH: Lovely to see you too, brother. Do pardon if our sudden arrival interrupts your tea time, but we are in a bit of a pickle. We have been cursed out of New Orleans; and, the last time I checked, this was also our home.

KLAUS: I am gone, for not even a month, and you somehow manage to get yourselves thrown out of what is rightfully ours? How exactly did that come to be?

MARCEL: Why don’t you ask Kol…

KOL: Oh, come on, Marcellus, it’s as much your fault as it is mine. And, don’t act so innocent, Elijah. You had your hand in this too.

ELIJAH: (Fixing his cufflinks) Maybe a little…

REBEKAH: While you boys decide who is to blame, I’ll go settle down in my bedroom.

KLAUS: You can’t. We turned it into a games room.

REBEKAH: (Indignant) Excuse me?!! How dare you!? Why my room?! Why not Elijah’s or Kol’s!?

KLAUS: Yours was better fitted for the purpose. Nothing personal, love.

REBEKAH: Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t… (Turns to Abby) And definitely nothing to do with you, right?

ABBY: (Sarcastic) Of course not, I wouldn’t dare! This was all him!

KLAUS: (Smirks) Traitor…  Anyhow, dear sister, there are plenty of other rooms you can choose from.

REBEKAH: Whatever. I’ll go find myself a room you two haven’t ruined, yet.

FREYA: I’m coming with. You people forget I’ve never been in this house!

DANAE: Really? I thought you had. I mean, even I have stayed here.

FREYA: And, thanks for rubbing that in, my love.

DANAE: No ill intentions, hon. I’m just surprised.

FREYA: (Sarcastic) Guess being a Mikaelson didn’t grant me the privilege, but being Klaus’s best friend’s girlfriend sure did.

KLAUS: Oh, don’t be so dramatic, sister. You are here now, are you not?

REBEKAH: Forget him, sis, this is our house too. We’ll give you the grand tour. Once we get dibs on the best rooms (they leave).  

KLAUS: So, dear brothers, care to explain to me exactly how you got yourselves into this “pickle”?

ELIJAH: We will. But we are going to need something stronger than tea…

ABBY: Oh, it’s not tea. We just pretend it is, so we don’t feel like we are day drinking.

KOL: Who cares about that! We are vampires, love; we can do whatever we want!

KLAUS: KLAUS: (Sarcastic) My loving brother Kol, can we please go back to the topic at hand? I’d like to know exactly how long I can expect to have you all around.

ELIJAH: It is going to be a while…

MARCEL: If not forever.

KOL: (Mocking) Look on the bright side, Marcellus, you’ll have time to get to know Mystic Falls. Despite what some believe, it is quite the charming little town… And, our home sweet home, for now… Better get used to it.

Cut to – Pietro’s mansion. Him and Darius are having a “secret” con-call after their board meeting.

 PIETRO: I’ve had just about enough. We need to retaliate for this. You didn’t see the aftermath, this place looked like a slaughterhouse.

DARIUS: Courtesy of your ripper brother, I presume?

PIETRO: Not sure which one of them did it, or if it was the three of them, but I had to get a professional cleaner.

DARIUS: You should really consider getting video surveillance, clears these types of doubts right up.

PIETRO: Never, those things give me all sorts of peeping Tom vibes. Anyway, I’m sorry about your witch friends, I’ll make it up to you.

DARIUS: I warned you not to play games. Now we’ve lost a coven of very talented witches, three potential recruits; we are clueless as to where the others are, and made the rest of the board members believe everything was going according to plan… (Sarcastic) Kudos!

PIETRO: Don’t you dare give me attitude about this, you have messed up worse than I have.

DARIUS: True; fair enough. Let’s not enter into panic mode, it’s a minor misstep. We’ll find them soon enough. In the meantime, as per Augustus’s orders, it seems like I have to find a replacement for Kai…

PIETRO: That was certainly an unexpected surprise. I thought he would be pleased with his progress.

DARIUS: I’m beginning to think Augustus feels threaten, more so after I shared Kai’s recent achievements.

PIETRO: Did you sense something was off with him during the call?

DARIUS: Well, the Augustus I know would have had Kai killed if he wanted him out of the game, not fired.

PIETRO: And it’s strange that he was willing for this Tamara thing to take more time, as long as Kai was off the task.

DARIUS: (Teasing) Maybe he’s starting to like his hostage situation; Stockholm syndrome type of thing?

PIETRO: (Smirks) Perhaps… Regardless, both Kai and Katerina would have been excellent for the field battle; they have stamina, and are surely gifted in terms of the supernatural.  

DARIUS: I know. But there are plenty of fish in the sea. From what Veritas showed us with the Munich project, and the “gadgets I’ve been working on with Kai, soon we might have even stronger pawns to play around with.

PIETRO: Hey, I had a lot to do with the Munich project. I’m not letting him take all the credit! I led that project for years, set all the ground work, and the money.

DARIUS: Don’t be so defensive, my friend. We all know you did an excellent job. But, you have to give him some credit, Veritas is hardcore when it comes to discipline. As soon as he brought in the military, voilà!

PIETRO: (Snarky) His leading style borders on dictatorship, I prefer a motivational approach.

DARIUS: I’m with you on that. He sure as hell can scare the shit out of anyone into doing anything. Just ask Aletheia…

PIETRO: He is the oldest vampire in existence, and a psychic one, nonetheless; of course he can. I’m not ashamed to admit it; he has almost made me “piss my pants” once or twice.

DARIUS: I can say the same. You know, it’s truly fascinating that the so called “Originals” are oblivious to the fact about their true origins… I’m sure Veritas would have a blast with them, if they ever manage to figure it out.

PIETRO: Oh, I’m sure they will, if not for their wits, definitely once our plans unfold.

DARIUS: I call dibs on first row seats!

PIETRO: I want the full behind the scenes experience! (They laugh).

DARIUS: Well, I have to run now. I need to go fire my star employee and the Russian spy…

PIETRO: Good luck. We’ll talk soon.

Cut to – The Bamon home. The gang is in the “Batcave” planning their next move.

SAGE: (Starting to worry about Pietro’s retaliation for their escape). We are 100% sure this place can’t be found, right? I’m not very familiar with the witch stuff; or the vampire stuff for that matter; I’m a newbie.

BONNIE: Don’t worry, there is no way anyone can find it.

SAGE: Not even that Darius guy?

BONNIE: Especially not him.

SAGE: Can’t they track your cellphones?

BONNIE: Not while the house is cloaked. Beauty of magic.

SAGE: This magic stuff is really cool!

BONNIE: You ain’t seen nothing yet… But, fair warning, it can get a little weird…

CAROLINE: (Teasing) Just a little? (They laugh)  Don’t worry, you are in good hands.

SAGE: Sorry; freaked out for a moment… Pietro can be quite vicious when he’s angry, and I’m sure he’s fuming right about now.

DAMON: Don’t be scared, Stefan and I got years on him. Now, back to the mission at hand. How are we going to break into this place without Kai?

STEFAN: What if we give our brother a taste of his own medicine? He can be our way in.

DAMON: I love when your mind goes devious, brother. What exactly are you thinking of?

STEFAN: There is an upside to having an Original vampire in town, and one who just happens to be in love with Bonnie’s mom… I’m betting he’ll do just about anything to get on your good side, Bon.  

BONNIE: Stefan, you are a genius! 

And, he does owe me big time! But, let’s avoid the whole “being in love with Bonnie’s mom” thing; still freaks me out.

STEFAN: Not another word on that, Bon.

DAMON: Ah, blackmail, deceit, and compulsion, my kind of tactics!

BONNIE: I’ll call my mom to invite them over for dinner, then we’ll guilt trip them into their part of the plan.

SAGE: Bit lost again, what’s an Original vampire?

CAROLINE: Oh, Sage. There is so much for you to learn about the vamp world. Stick with us, and you’ll learn everything you need to know.

SAGE: That would be amazing! Been pretty much self-taught since I was turned, which was literally just weeks ago.

CAROLINE: I know firsthand how important it is to have a mentor when you are new at this. We got your back.

SAGE: Thank you, I’ll take all the help I can get.

CAROLINE: We’ll help you with the supernatural, you’ll help us with the Science; win, win. The sooner we get these guys, the sooner we can go back to our normal lives.

SAGE: Deal! To be honest, I was thinking about fleeing back to Germany the moment I got away from Pietro’s claws. Forget all this craziness and just return to being a student, with a new blood craving. But I think academia is pumped up to be more than it really is. What good are all the fancy titles without being on the battle ground? I’ve done my fair share of studying, it’s time I apply my knowledge for the common good, and this seems like the perfect cause to do so. Now that we know they are okay; I have no reason to go back. (Turns to Bonnie and Damon) Don’t panic, I’m not planning to stay here. As soon as we take care of this, I’m going back home to NYC; I really miss it.

BONNIE: (Smiles) We’re not panicking. And you can stay here for as long as you need.

CAROLINE: Okay, just so we are all aligned. We’ll get Klaus to compel Pietro, but how exactly are we going to get to Pietro? We can’t have Klaus show up at his house and be like: hello, I’m going to compel you now…

STEFAN: We’ll make sure he’s alone and lure him outside. Then Klaus, Damon and I, will take it from there. Three against one, should be a piece of cake.

DAMON: Sounds like a plan. Now, on to a crucial matter. (Turns to Bonnie) First time having my mother-in-law over for dinner, what should be the menu?

BONNIE: (Smirks) Whatever you want will be perfect.

DAMON: How about Italian? Play it safe...

BONNIE: Ooh, gnocchi arrabbiata?

DAMON: Perfetto!

CAROLINE: (Giddy) Aw, I love domestic Bamon!

DAMON: Don’t think you are just going to stand and watch, you are all helping!

The only one that gets a free pass is Bonnie, she has somewhere to go.

BONNIE: Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that…

CAROLINE: Bon, are you sure you don’t want one of us to come with you?

BONNIE: I’m sure. Thank you, Care. I’m gonna head out now before it gets late. I won’t be long (kisses Damon). 

I love you...

DAMON: I love you too. Head message me if you need anything.

BONNIE: I will (she leaves).

STEFAN: (To Damon) Are you okay?

DAMON: I’ll be fine when I know she’s fine…

CAROLINE: I still can’t believe he’s back! He better have a damn good explanation, otherwise I’m going to send him right back where he came from!

DAMON: You and me both, Blondie... 

Alright, I need to keep my mind busy, so let’s get to work. Making gnocchi is a mission on its own!

 TVD 10x02 (part 2) coming soon. Hope you stop by, read, and enjoy! =)

[the-goofball]

Raffi Musiker...

...and how she became Picard’s First Officer.

Excerpt from ‘The Last Best Hope’ by Una McCormack

[...]On-screen, the woman said, "My name is Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker, and I'm an intelligence specialist at Romulan Affairs. As you're aware, we've been tracking some odd communications from Romulan space in recent weeks - odd even by Romulan standards."

Listening to Musiker, Picard found himself taking a liking to her. She had a faintly disreputable air, a plesant change from the smooth operatives that Starfleet Intelligence usually fielded. Her frankness was refreshing, as was the fact that she was clearly not daunted by the grandeur of her audience. Most of all, she was on top of her briefing. A question came about the reliability of their sources, which was dispatched with confidence and ease. Then another question came about the range of the blast from the supernova, and here she stopped and took a moment to collect herself.

"What I want to say is, that these calculations are a worst-case scenario. This implies that effects in climate change are already being felt. Sometime in 2387. I'll show you that first. Because it might make the best-case scenario less damn frightening."

Picard leaned over to Clancy. "What was her name again?" "Raffi Musiker," said Clancy. "Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker."[...]

Hours later Picard talks to Beverly Crusher via com:

[...]"Can I offer you some free advice?" she said.

"Of course, Beverly. Of course."

"Put someone right next to you who isn't scared of you."

"Scared--?"

"You're quite... now, let me get this right. Not intimidating... not severe... huh. That's it. You can be quite certain of yourself. And that can stop people from telling you things that you need to know."

"Certain of myself?"

That half-smile again. "Don't get me wrong! With good reason. Most of the time. But you're only human like the rest of us. You make mistakes. And you need someone there who's able to tell you when that's happening."[...]

.

[…]Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker, when asked to wait for a senior officer, did not generally sit patiently in a chair, and she saw no reason to do so for a legend either. She stood outside the admiral’s office, bouncing up and down ever so slightly on her heels, ready for action.[…]

[…]Raffi mentally ran through her presentation one more time. The instruction to see the admiral had been brief, courteous, and not particularly informative as to the purpose of the meeting. She knew, from superiors and colleagues, the impact of her presentation and so she assumed she was here to give a direct one to the man himself and answer any questions he might have. Then back to her desk at Romulan Affairs. Only now she would have met a legend. Gabe, her son, was dying to hear about him. Mom’s job was mostly that thing that meant she didn’t always make his soccer matches, but every so often she managed to deliver something incredibly cool, like this.[…]

(And because I couldn’t decide what to leave out, there’s a bit more under the cut.)

[…]The admiral closed the screen, rose from his chair, and came to greet her. The legend, come to life. She had the edge on him when it came to height, but he moved with a commanding grace. “Commander,” he said, “thank you for making the time to see me today.” His voice was measured, cadenced; the kind of voice, she suspected, that you could not help but listen to, and then do exactly what was requested.

“Happy to supply whatever you need, sir.” She looked around the room for an audience that wasn’t there. Didn’t he have a senior staff in place yet? “Are we meeting here?”

He gestured to two comfortable seats in the corner of the room, where teapot and cups stood waiting on a low table. “Take a seat. Tea?”

“Sure, thanks.” Raffi sat, uneasy in the easy chair, putting padds on the floor beside her, and then leaning forward, palms on her knees. He took the chair opposite, smiled disarmingly, and poured tea. “I assumed I was giving a presentation this morning, sir.” She sipped her tea. What the hell was this stuff? It tasted of goddamned perfume. Was it too late to ask for coffee?

“I’ve watched your presentation half a dozen times now,” he said. “It’s insightful, informative, and precise. I was very impressed.”

Hey Gabe, wait till you hear what the Great Man said about Mom. “Thank you, sir.”

“Could you tell me, please, from your perspective as an expert on Romulan affairs, what you believe our chief difficulty will be in Starfleet’s dealings with them?”

He didn’t waste time, did he? Raffi took a breath. “Opposition, sir,” she said. “Believe it or not, they are not happy that Starfleet is devoting so much time, energy, and resources to helping them. They are hating all this. They hate that we know they’re in trouble, and they hate accepting help. They won’t want to lose face.”

“I understand. What else?”

“And even if they’re united on this, they’ll be divided among themselves about what to do with us. Some will want to accept our help for a while. Some will try to make it impossible for us to function. Others might try to get rid of us—”

“By force?”

“By subterfuge, more likely. Secretly, so that half of them won’t know whether it’s a sanctioned operation or not. The saying in our office goes that Romulans don’t tell their left hand what their right hand is doing.”

The admiral nodded. Yes, he recognized that.

“That makes them inconsistent and unpredictable,” Raffi said. “Not to mention damn annoying. They’ll say one thing and do another, and they won’t even know themselves what their real policy is toward us. Expect the unexpected, sir.”

“I see. Would it help at all, Commander, if I approached Ambassador Spock and had him petition the Senate to instruct cooperation with this mission?”

“Excuse me, sir? How would that help?”

He looked surprised. “The ambassador surely commands considerable respect—”

Raffi laughed out loud. “Spock? They think he’s a nutcase!”

His eyes opened wide. Shit, she thought, me and my big mouth. She had a vision of herself, explaining to Gabe: No, the admiral hated me, and that’s why I’m being court-martialed… Hold on. Was he… smiling? “Sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “No, I wouldn’t advise that. Ambassador Spock’s mission to Romulus may look very laudable to us, but from the Romulan perspective he and his supporters are outliers. Reunification of Romulus and Vulcan? Hey, when I was a kid, I wanted a unicorn. With wings. I didn’t get one. I didn’t even get a damn pony—”

“A personal mission of peace, the ambassador calls it.”

“Well, the Romulans consider it very personal. Almost…” She scraped around for a word that wouldn’t offend. “Um. Idiosyncratic?”

“In other words, they think he’s a crank.” He was most definitely smiling. “Carry on talking so frankly to me, Commander,” he said, “and we shall get along very well. Very well indeed.”

The door buzzer sounded. He called out, “Come.” Kaul came in.

“Apologies for the interruption, sir, but you asked me to let you know immediately when the ship was ready for you.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Kaul! Yes, I’ll be on my way shortly.” He turned back to Raffi. “The Starship Verity has been assigned to lead the first fleet out to Romulan space. A nice name, don’t you think?”

“Sure…?”

“ ‘A true principle, especially one of fundamental significance.’ ” He looked pleased. “I believe that remembering such things will be crucial to the success of our undertaking. Above all, we are on a mission to protect, preserve, and save lives.”

Raffi nodded, faintly. This meeting was not going in the slightest how she had anticipated. No presentation. He said he’d already watched it half a dozen times. He clearly didn’t want it in person. For some reason they were now discussing eternal verities. She was a simple intelligence officer, maybe turned a mite suspicious by having to think like a Romulan twenty-four hours a day. She wasn’t any kind of philosopher. Why was she here?

“Lieutenant Kaul,” added Picard conversationally, “was on staff here before even I was. Seconded from Admiral Bordson’s office. Their loss has been my gain. She’ll be vital to operations here on Earth.”

There it was again, that extraneous information, as if giving her a picture of the setup here.

“Sir,” said Raffi, “may I ask you something?”

“By all means,” said the Great Man. “You must always feel you can speak freely to me.”

She’d never had any superior officer say that to her. Sometimes quite the contrary.

“This isn’t a briefing, is it?” said Raffi. “This is an interview.”

“That’s correct, Commander. My apologies if I kept my cards close to my chest, but I wanted to see how you answered my questions face-to-face.” He sipped some of his revolting tea. “You’ve answered them most satisfactorily.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means I’d like you as my XO.”

She put down her cup with a rattle. Tea spilled. “Shit!”

His mouth twitched. “I sincerely hope not. Most certainly we have some difficult times ahead. More difficult than either of us can imagine.”

She turned and looked out through the transparent aluminum partition into the busy office. All those people, dashing about, putting the nuts and bolts of this mission together, building this operation from data, information, decisions, actions. Sure, it was easy to take the piss out of the padd pushers, but nothing could happen without them. Working out what was needed, where it could be found, how to get it all to the right place at the right time. She had no idea how to do this… She took a breath. How do you say “no” to a legend?

“Sir,” she said, “I’m not an administrator.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, this is a flattering offer, sir, I hope you understand that. Truly flattering. But an operation like this?” She gestured to the room beyond. “I’m not cut out for this kind of work. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “Ah, there has been a misunderstanding. I have a very able administrator arriving to head up the office here on Earth, Commander Crystal Gbowee. She’s on her way from Starbase 192 as we speak. She’s worked with the UFPHCR coordinating numerous missions— she was on Bajor for a while after the Occupation, and on Cardassia Prime during the reconstruction effort there. Once she arrives, I shall move over to the fleet. This mission must get underway, and soon.” He glanced out across the busy room. “No, the appointment here is filled, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment.”

His eyes were quietly twinkling with suppressed mirth. No, of course he didn’t want her here. She’d be no damn good here, would she?

“Then—”

He leaned forward in his seat, held her eye, very serious now. “I’m asking you to come aboard my ship, Commander. Be my first officer on the Verity. But I’m asking more than that, and I think you know it. I have left my crew behind on the Enterprise. I must replace them, and if I am to succeed, I need an excellent XO. And what I require above all from my XOs is honesty. I shall need you always to tell me the truth. What do you say? Is that something you believe that you could do?”

Shit, she thought, and managed not to say it out loud this time. No, this was not what she’d been expecting when she’d walked into this room.

“It’s a big decision,” he was saying. “There may be all manner of ties keeping you here on Earth…”

Gabe had a soccer match next week. She’d missed the last one putting together that damn presentation. “When does the ship leave?”

“Six days.”

So she could make Gabe’s match. But there would be the next match, or the match after, the long months away, the individual seconds and moments of simply being present that were tiny for her, but that constituted the whole of Gabe’s life, his childhood.

“I…” Damn, she wanted this post. She could do this job. She was made to do this job. She’d known the second she walked into this room that she wanted to work with this man in some way. But she’d never imagined she would be offered this. Right hand to a legend. Right in the middle of the greatest operation that Starfleet would ever mount.

He was smiling at her. “Would you like to see the ship, Commander? The Verity? You’d be spending a lot of time there, after all. You can make your decision after that.”

“Yes,” she said, already knowing what her decision would be. “I’d love to see the ship.”

[bhreathe]

I wrote this a year ago. 29 February 2020. I am still here now, almost a year later. But i just thought this is necesaary for my own diary.

30 year old, no business, jobless, gay, atheist or perhaps agnostic, raped, hiv-positive man living in a conservative country with conservative extended family with probably more open-minded small family

I used to be in control of everything. I was 26, healthy, with loved ones, proper career, and sufficient business experience.

I felt i could do anything.

I thought the stair to the world was built and stacked.

But, now, i feel my best qualities and circumstances are gone

I am growing darker. I keep saying sorry to others, because nobody is saying it to me. Nobody is sorry of what they have done. And i dont want others to see me like this.

I worry that i will pollute us, our home, our air, our life.

I wanna believe that everything is falling into place eventually, but i simply cannot dismiss that the perspective is falling apart instead.

Unfortunately this is why i do not want to be closer to anyone. I feel like i am a corruption that would infect you with my ego, my selfishness, my negative perspective in life. I do not want to grow into a manipulative one. If you are drenched in tears right now, thank you, as that would be the last manipulation i want to attempt to you.

I am saddened by our circumstances and my choices. But we are family. I know why you all did what you did. Why you all do what you do.

I know why Mom chose to build herself a walk in closet when i barely have space to live because she needed to maintain her own sanity.

I know why Mas decided to take over the restaurant when it was clearly what i was planning to do because he needed to make sure his budding family is safe and sound.

I know why my Dad ignored what happened to me because he was also tired of non-fulfilling life, and Mas Raffa gave him life.

I know. I know.

I know why you all did what you did. Why you all do what you do. Mbak Nadia, Mas Raffa, his younger siblings, are the new leaf. New loan of life for our family.

Mom, remember when i was small, i dreamt of you passing away. In the dream, The journey back home after burying you was a labyrinth, consisting of long and winding paths. Your specter showed up here and there telling me i was okay. I woke up from the dream, sobbing with you next to me.

Dad, remember when i was young, i went to the pesantren retreat. When the time to go home finally came, me and my brother were waiting for you. And yet you were not there. So we had to board the bus. My brother was so annoyed by my cries.

But I am aware at that point of time that i loved mom and dad so very much. I needed you all so very much. And you too Mas, Mbak.

My friends, especially the one i spent most of my times in the most recent years. Thank you for spending it with me. For my hiv-positive friends, keep living, i know its ironic for me for saying that, but i hope i shed some lights to the issue that we are facing.

For the closest ones, K and Y, who have taken me in as refuge, thank you. Thank you for accepting almost everything about me.

For my ex-es, thank you for ever embracing me in your arms. For A, thank you for trying your best to accept me and pamper me, even in our worst moment. My last memory is filled to the brim with our time spent together. It was beautiful and i would rather have it as my last moments.

Masodo, thank you for being a strong brother for me. You are kind. But you need to learn that the world does not revolve around you. People will talk when they need to talk. When you force other to talk when they do not want to, it speaks louder on your issues rather on theirs. I am only telling you this, not because you are a man of the family, but because you are the leader of the family. You are the only heir now. Be kind, be patient, and be earful. Listen. Really listen.

Mbak Nad, i am sorry for leaving you like this. Please take care of mom and dad, for my brother is not built for that. He may provide for money but he was not tuned for tending to my parents, but i believe you can.

Mas Raffa, (dan adik-adiknya) always do the right thing. Be a good person. Be kind to others and yourself. Be powerful, beautiful and knowledgeable so that you can protect and nurture others. Learn to be strong and benevolent so that you can stand back and let others shine along.

Remember, a sun can only make a solar system. But, millions or billions of stars can concoct a galaxy.

Remember that anger and jealousy are not necessary. Everyone is equal, despite the differences in skin color, race, religious belief, nationality, sex, sexual orientation, or ability. Never judge others unless it is related to life and harm, for you can only imagine how one person journey was and to be, but you could have never been really in their shoes; even if you are their twin. The world will always be unjust, unfair and unkind, that does not mean you shouldn’t be just, fair, and kind. God may be exist, but god may also not be exist; but the learning from the religious teachings is nevertheless a valuable thing.

You know, the worst part about having a depression, is people expect you to behave as if you don’t have one. And maybe because i have put on so many masks in my life, just to get by, i believed that people would not believe me if i told my story.

If only, i am smart enough. To think of other alternatives, other possibilities, other conjunctures in my life. I may choose a different path. But i am not, so that’s that.

If i am no longer breathing upon this message was received, understand that, this is my choice. None of you; dad, mom, mas, mbak, my past partners, my closest ones, my friends, or my colleagues, are responsible for this.

I am merely exhausted. Drained of life. Tired of how i should live well and according to society. Constantly pretending that i am sturdy, benevolent, and clever, as if i am the desired child and person is exhausting. I am as brittle as a chip of ice. I am as benevolent and clever as Rasputin kind.

You may call me coward. But, At least i am brave enough to take my own life, right Bi? and not being called annoying coward for keep complaining. Rather than living and become a monthly major burden. I would rather be a yearly minor burden. I hope it is minor, as the grave should not cost as much money as my living necessities. Hehe. Sorry for this dark humour, it has always been a part of me.

If one day you meet a person who is similar to one of my many characteristics, be that older than 30 years, have no job, have no business or busy-ness, part of queer community, part of atheist/agnostic community, experienced the horror of rape or sexual assault, has hiv-positive status (or other situation where they might be shunned by people or their own thought), or simply a refuge from where they used to live, please grace them with support, kindness, and sincerity for part of me is living among them.

[gstqaobc]

THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, May 21, 2021

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

Meeting the Queen online

For Dr. Steve Beerman, it was in many ways like having a pleasant conversation with his 92-year-old mother. Except it wasn’t his mother. It was the Queen. Beerman, a retired family physician in Nanaimo, B.C., spoke with Queen Elizabeth online the other day as she gave him — virtually — an award recognizing his longstanding work in drowning prevention. “I’m very delighted to be able to present you with this cup, a very large cup, which one day you might see if you come to London,” Elizabeth told Beerman as she honoured him with the King Edward VII Cup during the virtual session with the Royal Life Saving Society. Beerman, co-chair of the Canadian Drowning Prevention Coalition, was quick to reply that it was “a pleasure and a humbling honour to be with you.” Being with the Queen in this way has become the way of the royal world during the pandemic. Many observers have said that virtual sessions involving the Queen have offered new insight into the 95-year-old monarch, who has more often been seen from afar, giving formal speeches or doing a walkabout. “Many people who commented to me about the interview [said] that they had never seen her have what they would describe as a nearly normal conversation with some people,” Beerman said. “My own mother is 92. This was not a whole lot different than talking to my own mother.” Beerman, a trustee with the Royal Life Saving Society, had met the Queen at Buckingham Palace a handful of times in connection with that Commonwealth organization. But his most recent session with her was memorable in a new way. “It was more chatty,” he said. “It was more communicative than when I’ve experienced these encounters in real life, face to face. So I thought this was actually a better way to do this.” A seven-minute video of the session involving Beerman and others honoured for their drowning prevention efforts was posted online, but the overall virtual encounter lasted about 20 minutes, and came after participants had two practice sessions. “In the second one, we actually rehearsed what we were going to say and we were coached in a very nice way by the people from the royal household about pausing and being slow enough to allow her to interject with comments or questions,” Beerman said. “We were very much encouraged to participate in a conversation as opposed to doing an acceptance speech.” Still, there was a bit of nervousness for Beerman as the call began. “There’s always some nerves about are you going to misstep or say something in a way you might regret or that might be perceived to be awkward by others,” he said. As the conversation progressed, Elizabeth shared her own memories of receiving a life-saving award as a teenager. In 1941, she became the first person in the Commonwealth to receive the Royal Life Saving Society’s junior respiration award. “I didn’t realize I was the first one — I just did it, and had to work very hard for it,” Elizabeth said. “It was a great achievement and I was very proud to wear the badge on the front of my swimming suit. It was very grand, I thought.” Beerman sees the shift to the virtual world for the Royal Family as a signal the House of Windsor can change with the times. “I think it’s a strong statement of ... we can pivot when we need to, we are flexible, adjustable and, like the rest of the world, we have to respond to the reality that we live within.”

The deceit behind the Diana interview

The interview was as devastating as it was haunting. And now, 26 years after Diana, Princess of Wales, sat down with a BBC journalist and told the world “there were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded,” an inquiry has found that Martin Bashir acted deceitfully to gain the interview. It’s a finding that will echo through both the royal and journalistic worlds.   In response, Princes William and Harry made statements that lay bare the deep pain the interview with their mother has left with them. “It is my view that the deceitful way the interview was obtained substantially influenced what my mother said. The interview was a major contribution to making my parents’ relationship worse and has since hurt countless others," William said in his statement. "It brings indescribable sadness to know that the BBC’s failures contributed significantly to her fear, paranoia and isolation that I remember from those final years with her." But what saddens William the most, he said, “is that if the BBC had properly investigated the complaints and concerns first raised in 1995, my mother would have known that she had been deceived.” Diana was failed, he said, “not just by a rogue reporter, but by leaders at the BBC who looked the other way rather than asking the tough questions.” Prince Harry said their mother “was an incredible woman who dedicated her life to service. She was resilient, brave and unquestionably honest.” He said what “deeply concerns” him is that similar journalistic practices are still widespread. “Our mother lost her life because of this, and nothing has changed. By protecting her legacy, we protect everyone, and uphold the dignity with which she lived her life. Let’s remember who she was and what she stood for.” Observers suggest it will all have a significant impact on how the BBC is viewed. “It shakes the real core of journalism because people will no longer look to that broadcaster and trust them wholly because we now know that they're prepared to lie to coerce people into taking part in interviews,” marketing consultant Diana Young told the CBC’s Tesa Arcilla. Diana and Prince Charles were divorced in 1996. She died after a car crash in Paris in 1997.

Babies and the line of succession

(Peter Byrne/Press Association via The Associated Press Word this week that Princess Beatrice and her husband, Edoardo Mapelli Mozzi, are expecting their first child will add yet another shuffle in short order to the line of succession. The child, due sometime this fall, will be the 12th great-grandchild for the Queen, and the fourth baby to arrive in a matter of months. Beatrice’s younger sister, Princess Eugenie, and her husband, Jack Brooksbank, welcomed their son, August, in February. The following month, Princess Anne’s daughter Zara, and her husband, Mike Tindall, welcomed their son Lucas. Prince Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, are expecting a daughter, with a due date thought to be in early summer. That baby will take the highest spot in the succession among the new arrivals, landing at No. 8, following her father, Harry, who is sixth in line to the throne and Harry and Meghan’s first child, Archie, now sitting at No. 7. The passage of time can mean marked shifts in the line of succession for those who enter it somewhat lower in the roster. Take, for example, Sarah Chatto, daughter of Princess Margaret. When she was born in 1964, she was No. 7. Now, she is 26th.

Royally quotable

"Planting a tree is a statement of hope and faith in the future."

— Prince Charles, in a video posted online to mark the launch of the Queen’s Green Canopy,

a tree-planting initiative to mark Queen Elizabeth’s Platinum Jubilee

next year that aims to enhance the environment now and for future generations.

Royal reads

1. Prince Harry says the pain of Diana’s death

pushed him to drinking and drugs

. The Duke of Sussex’s latest comments, along with further criticism of how he said the Royal Family neglected both him and his wife, Meghan, came in an interview with Oprah Winfrey in The Me You Can’t See, a new Apple TV series about mental health debuting Friday. [CBC]

2. Queen Elizabeth’s

first major ceremonial duty since the death of her husband

, Prince Philip, came during a scaled-down state opening of Parliament. [The Independent]

3. Prince Michael of Kent, a cousin of Queen Elizabeth, has

denied reports

he was willing to use his royal status for personal profit and provide access to the regime of Russian President Vladimir Putin. [BBC]

4. There was

lots of taffeta and no tantrums

during the creation of Diana's wedding dress, recalls one of its designers. [The Guardian]

5. One of the Queen’s two new puppies, which she reportedly received a few months ago from Prince Andrew for companionship,

has died

. [The Daily Mail]

6. The succession for the British throne is clearly laid out, but succession can in some other countries be

considerably more complicated

. [The Guardian]

Cheers!

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royalfascinator@cbc.ca

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💜🙏🏻🙂✝️💟PG💟✝️🙂🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿.

[linguist-breakaribecca]

There is this reductionist, ableist assertion among white liberals, stating that anti-Blackness can be fixed just by reading a book — that the source of all racism is clearly just not knowing any better, so all we need to do as white people is to share articles and form book clubs and shazam no more racists.

It makes the commenter feel better by signaling they are of the superior educated class; it demonizes rural people, poor people, and people who have suffered within power structures that tie education to generational wealth and property values; and it ignores the fact that the racists with the most power right now are all college-educated.

The assertion also serves as a weapon to tone-police activists, saying things like “they’ll never listen to you if you cuss or riot! you just need to be patient and teach them! if you can’t take uncompensated hours of your time to educate the people pointing guns at you, then you’re just making things worse!”

Half the officers complicit in George Floyd’s murder were students of the University of Minnesota, enrolled in the Sociology of Law, Criminology, and Deviance program. The program’s description on the UMN site includes:

[Image ID: two screenshots of the course description from the University of Minnesota website. It reads, “Sociology of Law, Criminology, and Deviance. Our sociology of law, criminology, and deviance program examines the socially constructed nature of deviance, whose definitions of deviance prevail, and an understanding that links deviance to power in society. Sociologists seek to understand the relationship between deviance, social control, and the criminal justice system using scientific research methods such as statistical analysis, survey research, ethnography, conversational analysis, and content analysis. — Understanding Social Processes. Different categories of people experience deviance, social control, and the criminal justice system differently, and through the course of this program, you will begin to understand the social processes by which individuals are labeled as deviant or conforming. The results of sociological investigations of law, criminology, and deviance help develop new theories and inform — components, dynamics, and philosophical structure of criminal justice and agencies; enforcement and impact of law on social change and the rights of individuals; the science of crime as a social phenomenon; theories and structures of community corrections programs, and penal policies and practices; current trends in women's participation in crime and their treatment in the legal system; media representations or distortions of prevailing knowledge about crime and punishment”. End ID]

These cops were plenty educated and prepared to act.

Amber Hamilton is a PhD student in the UMN Sociology Department, and raised the public alarm both about the cops being undergrad students there, and about her department subsequently sending out an email directing staff and students not to discuss the matter.

“Stop rioting and go read a book” is a useless direction when anti-Black racism is baked into the academia that produces the books.

[Image ID: A series of screenshots of tweets by Amber Hamilton, @ayeemach, June 5, 2020. “2 of the police officers charged with aiding and abetting the murder of George Floyd were previously students in the Sociology dept. at the University of Minnesota. Yesterday, my dept. sent the grad students an email requesting we stay silent if contacted by media. Y’all. (1/n) - My fellow grad students have issued excellent email responses to that request calling it out for what it is: an attempt to cover-up something that is politically unfashionable in this moment. 2/n - Our dept has a Law, Crime, and Deviance track that is actively marketed to students as a path to law enforcement. So this dept. is actively recruiting and training folks who go on to join the MPD and other law enforcement agencies in Minnesota and beyond. - If you actively market your courses to folks who want to be in law enforcement, you have to accept the consequences down the line. When those officers kill/abuse/main citizens, you can’t shy away from your role in that 4/n - Several of my grad school colleagues have realized that they were instructors/TAs for the two officers and are sick about it. But this is what it is. The Soc dept. has to stand in this and choose a path forward. 5/n - Either they can continue to actively market the LCD major as a path toward law enforcement or they can choose to divest from that practice. But what they can’t do is request my complicity and silence about their failures 6/n. - Last thing: this thread is going to burn bridges for me and I’m probably going to get emails about it. That’s just what it is. But I’m not going to stay silent about Black deaths and white complicity.” End ID]

[creepingsharia]

Must Read: “They Thought They Were Free”

…But Then It Was Too Late.

If you read nothing else this weekend read this excerpt in its entirety. It could easily apply to The Americans, 2001 – 201?. (some bold font added)

Originally posted on Creeping Sharia - December 17, 2011

Excerpted from:

They Thought They Were Free

The Germans, 1933-45

Milton Mayer

But Then It Was Too Late

“What no one seemed to notice,” said a colleague of mine, a philologist, “was the ever widening gap, after 1933, between the government and the people. Just think how very wide this gap was to begin with, here in Germany. And it became always wider. You know, it doesn’t make people close to their government to be told that this is a people’s government, a true democracy, or to be enrolled in civilian defense, or even to vote. All this has little, really nothing, to do with knowing one is governing.

“What happened here was the gradual habituation of the people, little by little, to being governed by surprise; to receiving decisions deliberated in secret; to believing that the situation was so complicated that the government had to act on information which the people could not understand, or so dangerous that, even if the people could not understand it, it could not be released because of national security. And their sense of identification with Hitler, their trust in him, made it easier to widen this gap and reassured those who would otherwise have worried about it.

“This separation of government from people, this widening of the gap, took place so gradually and so insensibly, each step disguised (perhaps not even intentionally) as a temporary emergency measure or associated with true patriotic allegiance or with real social purposes. And all the crises and reforms (real reforms, too) so occupied the people that they did not see the slow motion underneath, of the whole process of government growing remoter and remoter.

“You will understand me when I say that my Middle High German was my life. It was all I cared about. I was a scholar, a specialist. Then, suddenly, I was plunged into all the new activity, as the university was drawn into the new situation; meetings, conferences, interviews, ceremonies, and, above all, papers to be filled out, reports, bibliographies, lists, questionnaires. And on top of that were the demands in the community, the things in which one had to, was ‘expected to’ participate that had not been there or had not been important before. It was all rigmarole, of course, but it consumed all one’s energies, coming on top of the work one really wanted to do. You can see how easy it was, then, not to think about fundamental things. One had no time.”

“Those,” I said, “are the words of my friend the baker. ‘One had no time to think. There was so much going on.’”

“Your friend the baker was right,” said my colleague. “The dictatorship, and the whole process of its coming into being, was above all diverting. It provided an excuse not to think for people who did not want to think anyway. I do not speak of your ‘little men,’ your baker and so on; I speak of my colleagues and myself, learned men, mind you. Most of us did not want to think about fundamental things and never had. There was no need to. Nazism gave us some dreadful, fundamental things to think about—we were decent people—and kept us so busy with continuous changes and ‘crises’ and so fascinated, yes, fascinated, by the machinations of the ‘national enemies,’ without and within, that we had no time to think about these dreadful things that were growing, little by little, all around us. Unconsciously, I suppose, we were grateful. Who wants to think?

“To live in this process is absolutely not to be able to notice it—please try to believe me—unless one has a much greater degree of political awareness, acuity, than most of us had ever had occasion to develop. Each step was so small, so inconsequential, so well explained or, on occasion, ‘regretted,’ that, unless one were detached from the whole process from the beginning, unless one understood what the whole thing was in principle, what all these ‘little measures’ that no ‘patriotic German’ could resent must some day lead to, one no more saw it developing from day to day than a farmer in his field sees the corn growing. One day it is over his head.

“How is this to be avoided, among ordinary men, even highly educated ordinary men? Frankly, I do not know. I do not see, even now. Many, many times since it all happened I have pondered that pair of great maxims, Principiis obsta and Finem respice—‘Resist the beginnings’ and ‘Consider the end.’ But one must foresee the end in order to resist, or even see, the beginnings. One must foresee the end clearly and certainly and how is this to be done, by ordinary men or even by extraordinary men? Things might have. And everyone counts on that might.

“Your ‘little men,’ your Nazi friends, were not against National Socialism in principle. Men like me, who were, are the greater offenders, not because we knew better (that would be too much to say) but because we sensed better. Pastor Niemöller spoke for the thousands and thousands of men like me when he spoke (too modestly of himself) and said that, when the Nazis attacked the Communists, he was a little uneasy, but, after all, he was not a Communist, and so he did nothing; and then they attacked the Socialists, and he was a little uneasier, but, still, he was not a Socialist, and he did nothing; and then the schools, the press, the Jews, and so on, and he was always uneasier, but still he did nothing. And then they attacked the Church, and he was a Churchman, and he did something—but then it was too late.”

“Yes,” I said.

“You see,” my colleague went on, “one doesn’t see exactly where or how to move. Believe me, this is true. Each act, each occasion, is worse than the last, but only a little worse. You wait for the next and the next. You wait for one great shocking occasion, thinking that others, when such a shock comes, will join with you in resisting somehow. You don’t want to act, or even talk, alone; you don’t want to ‘go out of your way to make trouble.’ Why not?—Well, you are not in the habit of doing it. And it is not just fear, fear of standing alone, that restrains you; it is also genuine uncertainty.

“Uncertainty is a very important factor, and, instead of decreasing as time goes on, it grows. Outside, in the streets, in the general community, ‘everyone’ is happy. One hears no protest, and certainly sees none. You know, in France or Italy there would be slogans against the government painted on walls and fences; in Germany, outside the great cities, perhaps, there is not even this. In the university community, in your own community, you speak privately to your colleagues, some of whom certainly feel as you do; but what do they say? They say, ‘It’s not so bad’ or ‘You’re seeing things’ or ‘You’re an alarmist.’

“And you are an alarmist. You are saying that this must lead to this, and you can’t prove it. These are the beginnings, yes; but how do you know for sure when you don’t know the end, and how do you know, or even surmise, the end? On the one hand, your enemies, the law, the regime, the Party, intimidate you. On the other, your colleagues pooh-pooh you as pessimistic or even neurotic. You are left with your close friends, who are, naturally, people who have always thought as you have.

“But your friends are fewer now. Some have drifted off somewhere or submerged themselves in their work. You no longer see as many as you did at meetings or gatherings. Informal groups become smaller; attendance drops off in little organizations, and the organizations themselves wither. Now, in small gatherings of your oldest friends, you feel that you are talking to yourselves, that you are isolated from the reality of things. This weakens your confidence still further and serves as a further deterrent to—to what? It is clearer all the time that, if you are going to do anything, you must make an occasion to do it, and then you are obviously a troublemaker. So you wait, and you wait.

“But the one great shocking occasion, when tens or hundreds or thousands will join with you, never comes. That’s the difficulty. If the last and worst act of the whole regime had come immediately after the first and smallest, thousands, yes, millions would have been sufficiently shocked—if, let us say, the gassing of the Jews in ’43 had come immediately after the ‘German Firm’ stickers on the windows of non-Jewish shops in ’33. But of course this isn’t the way it happens. In between come all the hundreds of little steps, some of them imperceptible, each of them preparing you not to be shocked by the next. Step C is not so much worse than Step B, and, if you did not make a stand at Step B, why should you at Step C? And so on to Step D.

“And one day, too late, your principles, if you were ever sensible of them, all rush in upon you. The burden of self-deception has grown too heavy, and some minor incident, in my case my little boy, hardly more than a baby, saying ‘Jewish swine,’ collapses it all at once, and you see that everything, everything, has changed and changed completely under your nose. The world you live in—your nation, your people—is not the world you were born in at all. The forms are all there, all untouched, all reassuring, the houses, the shops, the jobs, the mealtimes, the visits, the concerts, the cinema, the holidays. But the spirit, which you never noticed because you made the lifelong mistake of identifying it with the forms, is changed. Now you live in a world of hate and fear, and the people who hate and fear do not even know it themselves; when everyone is transformed, no one is transformed. Now you live in a system which rules without responsibility even to God. The system itself could not have intended this in the beginning, but in order to sustain itself it was compelled to go all the way.

“You have gone almost all the way yourself. Life is a continuing process, a flow, not a succession of acts and events at all. It has flowed to a new level, carrying you with it, without any effort on your part. On this new level you live, you have been living more comfortably every day, with new morals, new principles. You have accepted things you would not have accepted five years ago, a year ago, things that your father, even in Germany, could not have imagined.

“Suddenly it all comes down, all at once. You see what you are, what you have done, or, more accurately, what you haven’t done (for that was all that was required of most of us: that we do nothing). You remember those early meetings of your department in the university when, if one had stood, others would have stood, perhaps, but no one stood. A small matter, a matter of hiring this man or that, and you hired this one rather than that. You remember everything now, and your heart breaks. Too late. You are compromised beyond repair.

“What then? You must then shoot yourself. A few did. Or ‘adjust’ your principles. Many tried, and some, I suppose, succeeded; not I, however. Or learn to live the rest of your life with your shame. This last is the nearest there is, under the circumstances, to heroism: shame. Many Germans became this poor kind of hero, many more, I think, than the world knows or cares to know.”

I said nothing. I thought of nothing to say.

“I can tell you,” my colleague went on, “of a man in Leipzig, a judge. He was not a Nazi, except nominally, but he certainly wasn’t an anti-Nazi. He was just—a judge. In ’42 or ’43, early ’43, I think it was, a Jew was tried before him in a case involving, but only incidentally, relations with an ‘Aryan’ woman. This was ‘race injury,’ something the Party was especially anxious to punish. In the case at bar, however, the judge had the power to convict the man of a ‘nonracial’ offense and send him to an ordinary prison for a very long term, thus saving him from Party ‘processing’ which would have meant concentration camp or, more probably, deportation and death. But the man was innocent of the ‘nonracial’ charge, in the judge’s opinion, and so, as an honorable judge, he acquitted him. Of course, the Party seized the Jew as soon as he left the courtroom.”

“And the judge?”

“Yes, the judge. He could not get the case off his conscience—a case, mind you, in which he had acquitted an innocent man. He thought that he should have convicted him and saved him from the Party, but how could he have convicted an innocent man? The thing preyed on him more and more, and he had to talk about it, first to his family, then to his friends, and then to acquaintances. (That’s how I heard about it.) After the ’44 Putsch they arrested him. After that, I don’t know.”

I said nothing.

“Once the war began,” my colleague continued, “resistance, protest, criticism, complaint, all carried with them a multiplied likelihood of the greatest punishment. Mere lack of enthusiasm, or failure to show it in public, was ‘defeatism.’ You assumed that there were lists of those who would be ‘dealt with’ later, after the victory. Goebbels was very clever here, too. He continually promised a ‘victory orgy’ to ‘take care of’ those who thought that their ‘treasonable attitude’ had escaped notice. And he meant it; that was not just propaganda. And that was enough to put an end to all uncertainty.

“Once the war began, the government could do anything ‘necessary’ to win it; so it was with the ‘final solution of the Jewish problem,’ which the Nazis always talked about but never dared undertake, not even the Nazis, until war and its ‘necessities’ gave them the knowledge that they could get away with it. The people abroad who thought that war against Hitler would help the Jews were wrong. And the people in Germany who, once the war had begun, still thought of complaining, protesting, resisting, were betting on Germany’s losing the war. It was a long bet. Not many made it.”

Copyright notice: Excerpt from pages 166-73 of They Thought They Were Free: The Germans, 1933-45 by Milton Mayer, published by the University of Chicago Press. ©1955, 1966 by the University of Chicago. All rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that this entire notice, including copyright information, is carried and provided that the University of Chicago Press is notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the consent of the University of Chicago Press. (Footnotes and other references included in the book may have been removed from this online version of the text.)

http://www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/511928.html

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[brooken-tcc]

2.

Owen

"Don't you ever go home for the weekend?" She asked me.

"Not much to go home to." I shrugged. "What about you?" I knew some things about her background, somewhat troubling to be honest.

Child of immigrants, swedish mother and italian father. Never actually asked if she spoke either of those languages, that would be admitting I looked at her profile. Her father is in real estate and I don't mean renting out one or two apartments, more like the entire country. Her mother went missing four years ago, when Brooke was admitted to Townsend. Hasn't been found yet, but her father was the main suspect.

"Same." She replied, surprisingly calm while thinking about her family. "You do know every girl up there is daydreaming about you, right?" Not sure where this question came from, but I figured she wanted to change subjects. "Wishing they were in here with you, door closed."

I had a... charming reputation at Townsend. I was among the younger teachers, 34, athletic, well groomed, and I think most importantly down to chat with anyone, unofficial most of the time.

And yes some of these girls took that as a sign or flirting, but I knew how to play it down. I've always been popular with women and Townsend being a girls only boarding school, I figured I shouldn't take any of these crushes seriously, they didn't have many options. If anything, I just found them sweet, although my female colleagues enjoyed teasing me about them.

It was only Brooke that fucked up my head, just something about her made me lose my mind and only go after my heart, or more truly my dick.

"Not as fun as one would imagine, hmm?" I looked at my phone nervously, not knowing what I should say to her, what she needed to hear.

I fucked up. I did, and it was unforgivable. I used her.

"I'd like to apologize for our last interaction." I got straight to the point.

She was looking at me with puppy eyes, sitting on that bed, her legs pulled up underneath her, vulnerable. A sweet smile appeared on her face and she didn't look awkward or nervous at all. How?

"No need to be so official." She murmured but I wanted to be professional, as much as I could be after an incident like that.

"Let's just talk, okay?" I sighed and put my hands on my knees, trying to find the right words. "Letting you do that was not only unprofessional and unethical of me but a form of abuse as well. I wasn't thinking clearly and that's no excuse, so I take full responsibility and hope we can find a good solution to the problem."

"What problem?" She moved a little bit, starting to look awkward.

"The fact that we had a sexual interaction when our relationship doesn't reach above a professional level, and our statuses here do not allow us to be equal." I let it all out, maybe a bit too strictly.

She looked... I'm not sure. Mad, upset, surprised?

"I'm sure you can find a solution then, sir." She stood up fast, heading for the door quickly. "If you're so fucking up there, status-wise." She stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

I stayed sitting there for a few minutes, trying to sort my thoughts. That was definitely not the best way to break it to her, too strict, a teacher-like way to explain my side. And I couldn't even listen to hers.

I understood where she was coming from with that reaction, I myself act that way sometimes, but it's not the way to solve problems. We needed to communicate, but I didn't want to step over any more boundaries. So I didn't go after her, didn't try to explain, didn't apologize, and didn't listen to her side of the story.

I didn't see her the next few days, we passed each other in the hall once or twice, but she never said hi, never made eye contact. And that was alright, probably what we needed, but it'd have been better to first talk and then cut contact. Especially if she was going to be playing lacrosse on my team next season.

I tried to keep my distance from her. Normally I asked for the positions close to her, supervised her year, her dorm, trying to see her and get to know her, but now I made a conscious effort to keep away, I shouldn't be making her see me and feel awkward.

And after a while, it just became the new norm, I got to know new students better, like Penelope and Isabella, befriended the teachers of  younger years, and didn't think about her much anymore, didn't get tense when seeing her around.

Finally I stopped wondering what she was doing, who she was with, what she enjoyed and what she hated, and maybe most importantly, what she thought of me.

Then came the end of January, almost 4 months after the last time we had a real conversation, and she was turning 18. I knew about her birthday, but somehow managed to forget about it up until I saw her friends carrying a cake they ordered to the school.

I wanted to congratulate her, maybe this could be like a white flag, saying I don't want any tension, especially with lacrosse season coming around.

I found some time between dinner and her birthday celebration to catch her in the hallway, she looked a bit surprised.

"Hello there." I smiled at her and she smiled back.

"Mr. McField." She nodded and wanted to keep walking. It was weird hearing her call me by my last name.

"Can I walk with you?"

"Why?" She stopped, looking a little pissed off.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm legal now, if that's what you want." She shrugged, looking like she wanted to murder me.

"Come on, you can't possibly think that." I shook my head, starting to see her emotions didn't calm down over the months. "Just wanted to reconnect a little."

"Well I hope you got a good fucking connection." She flipped me off and walked away.

"Happy birthday." I yelled after her and looked around to make sure no one saw this little talk, they'd probably question what had just happened.

She was an emotional person, with a quick temperament. I understood her, yeah, but didn't know weather I should do something about it or not. We didn't need to be friends, at least I didn't. I wanted to, but didn't need to. And maybe it wasn't my job to know what she needed, but I honestly couldn't even guess at this point.

I walked away and stopped at my office to do some prep work for my classes, just needed something to get my mind off of her. Penelope and Isabella showed up not long after, they enjoyed hanging with me and I liked the company, this little group of us had been hanging out since November, when I took the two of them on a maths tournament.

"How long do you think you'll be here tonight?" Penelope asked me.

"Not sure, why?" I looked up at her, only noticing now how short her hair was. "Where'd you leave your hair?" I smiled and looked back at the papers on my desk.

"Got it cut this weekend." She answered. "I'm just supposed to be at Brooke Donovan's birthday party, and really don't want to go."

Brooke. Of course. She is everywhere in this fuckig school.

"Didn't know you were friends." I looked up at her again, she'd sat down by now.

"We're not, that's why I'm hiding from her." She laughed.

"Then why are you expected there?" I laughed too, what was up with these girls?

"Pen's sister is Brooke's best friend, and she wants Pen to be cool or whatever, so she makes her hang with them but she doesn't like it. She's scared of Brooke." Isabella filled me in, who was sitting on the floor for whatever reason.

"What's so scary about Brooke?"

[laura-elizabeth91]

"Theresa May's Style: Put Your Head Down and Get to Work" By STEVEN ERLANGER for the New York Times JULY 13, 2016 LONDON — Her beloved father, an Anglican vicar, died in a car crash when she was 25, after she had been married only a year, and her mother, who had multiple sclerosis, died a few months later. For Theresa May, a cherished only child, the shock was devastating. It brought her even closer to her husband, Philip, two years younger, whom she had met at Oxford, at a Conservative Party disco. They bonded over cricket and silly university debates, like the one where Philip induced her to speak for the motion “That sex is good… but success is better.” Both became bankers, and Ms. May threw herself into the Conservative politics that had entranced her since the age of 12, when she liked to argue with her father and he asked her, in order to maintain neutrality in his parish, not to parade her Tory colors in public. “Politics captured me,” Ms. May said in 2014. “That sounds terribly trite,” she said, but “I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to be part of the debate.” On Wednesday, Ms. May, 59, became Britain’s prime minister, the last adult standing after other senior members of her party — the clever younger men from Britain’s elite schools, like her predecessor, David Cameron — schemed each other out of contention. For Ms. May, only Britain’s second female prime minister, it is a job she never publicly acknowledged wanting, until Mr. Cameron, bluff and self-confident, pushed his luck once too often,lost the referendum on keeping Britain in the European Union and quit. Ms. May, who had been home secretary, is considered “a safe pair of hands,” not flashy and even dull, who seems to be a candidate of continuity. But the country’s dire circumstances may demand more. And Ms. May, a traditional economic and social conservative in many respects, has signaled a desire to give her party a new focus on the need to build a fairer society. With Britain deeply divided over its decision to leave the European Union, its place in the world in flux, its unity threatened by calls for Scottish independence and its economy at risk, the times may require that Ms. May be both steady and bold. Her six-year tenure at the Home Office showed her to be a tough operator and put her in charge of a number of flash-point issues. She demanded police reforms to reduce racial profiling. She helped push through surveillance policies that had to balance fears of terrorism against civil liberties and confronted public pressure to reduce immigration, failing to meet government targets for doing so. If sometimes at odds with Mr. Cameron’s inner circle — she was a quiet critic of the government’s budget austerity — she nonetheless built a reputation as smart and competent. Damian Green, who worked for her as Home Office minister until 2014, said that “Theresa doesn’t do verbiage, doesn’t do speeches for the sake of making speeches. One of her virtues is that when she says something today she means it tomorrow.” But she will have to bind a badly torn party in which she has won esteem but few close friends. She will also have to juggle competing priorities in negotiating the withdrawal from the European Union under the watchful eye of Brexit supporters who remain wary of her commitment to their cause. Even though she publicly if tepidly supported remaining in Europe out of loyalty to Mr. Cameron, saying it would be best for the nation’s security, at heart “she is a Euroskeptic,” said Catherine Meyer, a former treasurer of the Conservative Party and a friend of the Mays’. “When she says Brexit means out, she means it.” While respected within the European Union as a tough and unpretentious negotiator, Ms. May will have to find the right balance between more controls on immigration that the voters demanded and at least partial access, if she can manage it, to the single market of the European Union. Friends say that her early religious upbringing — she is an Anglican but went to a Roman Catholic school — has given Ms. May a moral base, a steady personality and a feeling for the disadvantaged. “Her background has shaped her into somebody who is not going to feel sorry for herself or blame others for her mistakes, and who finds solace in moving forward, not to sit but to fight,” said Ms. Meyer, who worked with Ms. May on a charity for abducted children. A young woman who hunched her shoulders at school to seem less tall has grown into a proud master of her responsibilities. She lives for her work and her husband, a well-off investment banker, and their time together in their neat house in Sonning-on-Thames, in Berkshire, in the heart of her Maidenhead constituency, a village she shares with better-known types like the guitarist Jimmy Page and George and Amal Clooney. She likes to cook and owns more than 100 cookbooks, and will likely be glad that the Camerons took the heat for remodeling the ancient kitchen at 10 Downing Street. Mr. Cameron valued her workaholic talents, naming her Home Office secretary, one of the four senior cabinet posts, only the second woman to hold the job. Wary of her quiet ambition and wanting to protect his own favorite, George Osborne, the chancellor of the Exchequer, he never promoted her further. But he did not demote her, either, even as she failed to deliver on one of the government’s key pledges, to curb immigration. She was famous for fighting her corner, knowing her subject and keeping clear of the Cameron “chumocracy.” Ms. May is polite but not chummy, works late and does not hang around Parliament’s bars. Her lack of a “set of friends” was considered one of her great liabilities in the race to succeed Mr. Cameron, said Crispin Blunt, a Conservative member of Parliament who is one of her supporters. “There wasn’t an army of mates for her,” he said, but it allows her now to make appointments to her government on the basis of her own priorities and assessments. “In government, sometimes it’s difficult to be a woman surrounded by lots of men,” said Ms. Meyer. “Like Margaret Thatcher, she likes the company of men, but she’s capable of putting her fist down.” Ms. May was co-founder in 2005 of a group called “Women2Win,” to elect more women to Parliament and then nurture them, something that Mrs. Thatcher, the first woman to lead Britain, was often criticized for failing to do. In office, Ms. May has been rigorous, largely sticking to her brief, which she knew in depth, and not often consulting cabinet colleagues. One former minister, Kenneth Clarke, called her “a bloody difficult woman,” a description she embraced. She tends to work alone or with a small number of aides, like Fiona Hill and Nick Timothy, and has a tendency to micromanage, a senior civil servant said, asking anonymity. After two failed attempts, she was elected to Parliament in 1997. In 2002, when chosen to chair the party, Ms. May gave a speech about the need to reach out to the less fortunate. “Our base is too narrow and so, occasionally, are our sympathies,” she said. “You know what some people call us? The nasty party. I know that’s unfair, you know that’s unfair, but it’s the people out there that we have to convince.” In 2014, she again earned attention for taking on the powerful police union, the Police Federation, limiting “stop and search” because of racial bias and imposing elected oversight commissions on the police. To a stunned conference of police, shesaid: “The federation was created by an act of Parliament and it can be reformed by an act of Parliament. If you do not change of your own accord we will impose change on you.” Among her most controversial acts was helping to push through a so-called “snooper’s charter,” giving the police and security services new powers in a world of digital communications and terrorism. After criticism that the measure impinged too much on civil liberties and individual rights, she agreed to some changes. Ms. May has been compared to Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany – both daughters of Protestant clergymen, both with quiet, private husbands, both without children, both hardworking and rather distant. Ms. May clearly sees the similarities, including being underestimated by men. “If you look at somebody like Angela Merkel and think of what she’s actually achieved, you know, there are still people who don’t rate her, are a bit dismissive, perhaps because of the way she looks and dresses,” Ms. May said in a 2012 interview with the Daily Telegraph. “What matters is, what has she actually done? And, when you look at her abilities in terms of negotiation, and steering Germany through a difficult time, then hats off to her.” She has only rarely spoken publicly about her personal life, though it briefly became a campaign issue when one of her challengers, Angela Leadsom, seemed to suggest that she had a greater stake in Britain’s future because she has children and Ms. May does not. “You look at families all the time and you see there is something there that you don’t have,” Ms. May said in the 2012 interview with The Daily Telegraph, when asked about not having children. “You accept the hand life deals you.” Ms. May took the same attitude to her diagnosis of diabetes, for which she said she gave herself four injections a day. “Just get on and deal with it,” she said. She has made a calculated effort to show some inner life and spark by her choice of clothes, especially her kitten-heeled animal-print shoes, which the British press chronicles avidly. “You can be clever and like clothes,” she has said. “One of the challenges for women in politics is to be ourselves.” When asked on Desert Island Discs what single novel she wanted as a castaway, she answered, “Pride and Prejudice.” And her single luxury? “A lifetime subscription to Vogue.”

[scruffyhappaboreherder]

This is for @thereigning-lorelai, who supplied this prompt:

When your soul finds the soul it was waiting for When someone walks into your heart through an open door When your hand finds the hand it was meant to hold Don't let go

(from Demi Lovato's "Heart by Heart")

Content and other warnings

soulmate AU, with soulmarks caused by a virus

author knows very little about virology

among other issues the reasons for the creation of the virus were eugenicist and so there is some of that rhetoric

allusions to unethical medical experimentation

author quotes some canon dialogue and rewrites other parts

mention of characters from Rebel Rising

minor reliance on the novelization

~2k words.

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

Whatever I Do

At first, it seemed like a mild, ordinary skin condition.

The index case appeared on Coruscant.  A few senators and some members of their staff reported an itching sensation, followed by a rash, usually appearing on the arms.  Physicians and med-droids examined them, but the tests they ran were negative for all known pathogens.

After a few days, the rash healed.  In most cases, there was nothing left to show that it had ever been there.  In one out of a hundred cases, however, vividly contrasting marks remained even after the itching subsided.  It was only when one of the doctors attached to the Senate noticed that two of her patients had identically-shaped marks that it attracted any particular attention outside the medical community.

The two patients, a senator and a diplomat from planets in the Mid Rim, were married within a year.  Others found that they developed marks after months or years, and a few other such matches were made.

As the phenomenon spread to other communities on other worlds, some wondered if it was a manifestation of the Force.  Others argued against it: the marks only appeared on the arms of human couples.  Invariably, the couples comprised a male-assigned and a female-assigned member.  While there were no Jedi left to consult, the lore of most sects held that the Force acted upon beings of all races.

Still, those who ended up with identical marks on their arms seemed to share a romantic compatibility.  The marks were dubbed soulmarks, the couples who bore them were popularly referred to as soulmates, and the speculation about the cause of the phenomenon continued.

Almost no one noticed the disappearance of research scientist Galen Erso and his family shortly after the first soulmarks appeared.  Those who did knew better than to speak of it.

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

As the child of a project member, Jyn Erso had been infected with the virus shortly after laboratory testing indicated that the latest version was stable and would behave as expected.  This had been done without her parents' knowledge, but soon after she was infected, her parents had fled Coruscant.  He wondered, as he had before, if they had absconded to keep their child out of the reach of the project, or because Galen Erso no longer wished to participate, and knew that resignation was not an option.

It didn't really matter, in the end.  It had taken years, but Jyn Erso was available to the project again.  They could question and study her.  They had questioned and studied the young man they had captured with her, but it seemed that there was nothing special about him; for Jyn Erso, he was the sort of partner choice that the virus had been designed to prevent.

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

"What have you heard?"  Cassian tried to keep his voice soothing.

"It's a virus."  Tivik's steps sped up.  "I have to leave."

"What kind of virus?"

"I don't know!  A cargo pilot defected.  He says it has to do with soulmarks.  That it's a virus that makes them."

"Soulmarks?"  What did soulmarks have to do with anything?

"The pilot said Galen Erso sent him.  An old friend of Saw's."

The sound of stormtroopers' boots approached, then paused outside the alleyway he'd drawn Tivik into.  "What's all this?"

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

Jyn slumped on the bench in her cell.  The light was glaring, as it almost always was.  She'd lost track of how many days it had been since Hadder had disappeared from the cell across from hers.  Akshaya had been taken away weeks before that.

The door beeped as its reader granted someone access.  She didn't bother looking up.

"Stand up."

"You can take my blood without that."

"I'm not here for blood.  You need to come with me."

Jyn looked up.  It was a man she hadn't seen before, wearing an ill-fitting orderly's outfit.  "Fine."  She stood and let him steer her out of the cell.  When they were in the main hallway, she broke out of his hold easily and elbowed him in the face, and ran away, toward the emergency evacuation door.

She'd just flung open the door when something grabbed her by the throat and flung her to the ground.

"This is an extraction.  Please do not resist."

She stared up at the droid, unable to speak.

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

The man looked at her like she was something he'd stepped in and needed to scrape from his boots.  "Jyn Erso.  Daughter of Galen Erso, known collaborator in Imperial biomedical research."

"Who are you?" Jyn asked warily.

"The Alliance to Restore the Republic," said the woman in white.  "We hope that we can help eachother."  Mon Mothma.  That was Mon Mothma.

Jyn snorted.  "Are you looking for some blood samples?  There are more of you than there are of me.  You'll get what you want eventually, one way or another."

The woman left her place at the table; Jyn watched her approach with narrowed eyes.  She pushed up the sleeve of her gown, and Jyn saw a mark shaped like a rough quarter-circle with three spiky rays issuing from it.  "The exposure of my connection to the Alliance wasn't the only reason I fled Coruscant."  She put her sleeve back into place, and glanced away.  No: toward the man who stepped from the shadows where she'd been looking.  

"We want to make contact with your father," said the man from the shadows.

"This is Captain Cassian Andor, Alliance Intelligence," Mon Mothma explained.

"I haven't seen him in fifteen years.  As far as I'm concerned, he might as well be dead."

"Better dead than an Imperial collaborator?"  He paused.  "When was the last time you had contact with Saw Gerrera?"

"Years ago."

"But he would remember you, speak with you.  If you came as a friend."

"We don't have time to chase stray nerfs, girl, so if you won't cooperate, we'll put you in another cell."  That was the disdainful man who'd spoken first.

"I don't know where to find Saw."

"We know where he is," said the captain.  "We need someone who he'll talk to, and not shoot out of hand."

"You're all rebels, aren't you?"

"Saw has refused to work with the Alliance since it was formed.  His extremism has rendered the Alliance illegitimate in the eyes of many.  But we have no choice, now.  He has crucial information about your father, and we need to find him."  Mon Mothma looked at her gravely.

"What does my father have to do with anything?"

"There's an Imperial pilot in Jedha who was captured by Saw Gerrera.  He claims the Empire is creating a virus that has something to do with the soulmarks.  The pilot says he was sent by your father."  The captain's sharp eyes watched her for reactions; she held herself still.

"We don't have a clear picture the Empire's motivations in creating the virus, but we know that it reduces freedom of choice in many areas.  We can't allow it to spread throughout the galaxy, especially if they've developed a more effective version."  Mon Mothma rubbed her arm.

"Captain Andor's mission is to confirm the pilot's story, and to trace your father, if possible."  As if I care, you sneering creep.

"Our intelligence suggests that your father is the chief designer of this virus.  We hope that you can persuade Saw to help us locate your father, and bring him before my colleagues in the Senate to testify."

"Why should I do it?"

Mon Mothma rubbed her arm again.  "We'll make sure you go free."

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

Cassian shook his head as they took off.  He had Kay for backup, but he was going into a war zone with a woman who was clearly traumatized by medical torture.

He would treat her like any other informant: try to put her at ease and make her feel like she could trust him.  He brushed the thought of Tivik away.

He turned to look at her and saw that she was sleeping.  Well, if she needed rest, it was best that she get it.

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

Once they were walking toward Jedha, he decided to start a conversation.

"I'm glad you can use a blaster," he allowed.  "You're right that we're heading into a war zone."

She shrugged.

"Thank you for proving Kay-Too wrong and not using it against me."

"I wouldn't have gotten very far if I did.  Your droid demonstrated that when your guy showed up to break me out."

"Kay has been good backup ever since I reprogrammed him.  I hope he didn't hurt you."

"I've had worse."

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

Jyn shuddered involuntarily as the hologram of her father appeared.  She was frozen, immobile, as he talked about loving her and missing her.

"There is a countervirus," he was saying.  "And a vaccine.  Krennic's superiors insisted that I make one, just in case the virus was transmitted to someone who they thought was unworthy, or to someone who could insist on their freedom of choice.  The records exist, in the Citadel Tower on Scarif."

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

"We can stop this," Jyn Erso insisted.  "They call it the Choice Virus.  But they have no idea that my father is telling the Alliance how to stop it.  You're wrong about him."

"He did create the virus."

"He knew they'd do it without him.  He made a choice.  He sent Bodhi with the information that there's a vaccine and a countervirus."

"Give me the message."  

"It was a hologram," she said desperately.

"You don't have it."

"You don't believe me."  Her voice was flat.

"I'm not the one who decides."  He's going to have to follow orders and kill her father.

"You said there was a countervirus," Baze Malbus observed.

"A countervirus and a vaccine.  The records are on Scarif.  You need to send word to the Alliance."

"I have."

"They have to know there's a way to stop the virus.  They have to go to Scarif."

"I can't send that.  We're in the heart of Imperial territory."

"Then we'll find my father.  And bring him back, and he can tell them himself."

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

Jyn clambered up on the platform and ran to the motionless man.  "Papa.  Papa, it's me.  It's Jyn."

"Stardust."

"I've seen your message.  The hologram, I've seen it."

"The virus must be stopped.  For you ... for everyone."

"I know.  I know.  We will."

"Jyn.  Stardust.  I have so much to tell you."  He reached up, and his hand touched her cheek weakly, and then fell away.

"Papa?  Papa.  No!"  She shook him, but he remained still and mute.

A hand gripped her shoulder.  "Jyn.  Come on.  We've got to go."  It was Andor.

"I can't leave him."

"Listen to me.  He's gone.  There's nothing you can do.  Come on."  He pulled her to her feet, and she stumbled away from her father's body, following the rebel even though she didn't know where he was leading.

My father is dead.  My father is dead.  The volume of the thought gradually decreased, and her mind ground into motion, and she turned on Andor.

He tried to tell her that he'd been fighting and following orders since she was a child, as if she hadn't done the same thing and learned exactly what happened when you did.

Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you.

But was it?

It had always been real.  It had been a long time since it mattered.

She took a deep breath, and prepared to address the Council.

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

"They prefer to surrender," she told Baze and Chirrut.  A remark that "The Empire has the means of biological warfare; the Rebellion does not" and Mon Mothma's hollow apology still echoed in her mind.

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

She and Cassian exchanged glances as they went up the ramp to the stolen shuttle.  We're going to die doing this.  But we're going to do it.

Some of them do die.  But she and Cassian make it out.  They have the process for the countervirus, and the vaccine, and the virus itself.

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

Cassian sat next to Jyn in the makeshift isolation room.  They'd both been cleared to leave their individual cells once Too-Onebee and Harter Kalonia determined that he and Jyn had been unharmed by the vaccine and the treatment respectively, but it was fascinating to watch the little trickle of Council members stream in to receive their injections, starting with Mon Mothma.  The Alliance is synthesizing and stockpiling the vaccine and the treatment, in case of future need.

"Imagine if all the people who think that soulmates are romantic could see this."

Her hand closed around his.  "Oh, I think romance is still out there in the galaxy."  She brushed his shoulder with hers, closing the distance between them, and he leaned against her.  "And soulmates, too."