#world’s most powerful passport

[neoseotipsblogs]

List of Top world Most Powerful Passports in 2024

The Henley Passport Index for 2024 has recently been released, shedding light on the global landscape of passport strength and travel freedom. This index, which ranks 199 nations based on the strength of their passports, provides valuable insights into the evolving dynamics of global mobility and soft power.

[banglakhobor]

জাপানকে টপকে বিশ্বের সবচেয়ে শক্তিশালী পাসপোর্ট সিঙ্গাপুর, ভারত কত নম্বরে?

বিশ্বের সবচেয়ে শক্তিশালী পাসপোর্টের তালিকায় এতদিন শীর্ষে ছিল জাপান ৷ এবার তাতে বদল ৷ জাপানকে পিছনে ফেলে সেই তালিকায় প্রথম স্থান দখল করল সিঙ্গাপুর ৷ Source link

[yuri-alexseygaybitch]

Israeli settlers casually fleeing back to the US or Europe or wherever they want to go really thanks to passport privilege while Palestinians are literally trapped in a giant cage waiting for the Israeli military to bomb the shit out of them highlights another power asymmetry of the Palestinian occupation: the freedom of movement, or lack thereof. Palestinians are not free to move across their own land. Everything is controlled through the most elaborate and heavily militarized borders, security checkpoints, military blockades, minefields, etc. in the world. Even if those didn't exist you can bet a Palestinian wouldn't be able to just get on a plane and go wherever they please without so much as a visa (not to mention the likely thousands of Palestinians who have been put on no fly lists due to be pure racism). When conflict breaks out they simply have nowhere to go. An Israeli can hop on a jet and fuck off back to Long Island or wherever until it simmers down.

[travelling-bird]

The Henley Passport Index reveals the world’s most powerful passports for 2023. How strong is the , Indian passport? Check it out here.

[that-butch-archivist]

"Femme correspondents connected with me in a different way. Many were grateful for my past work and for the opportunity to announce their identities in their own voices. Their statements reflected one bitter irony: if, in the straight world, butches bear the brunt of the physical and verbal abuse for their difference, in the lesbian-feminist world, femmes have had to endure a deeper attack on their sense of self-worth. Leather and denim, flannels and vests--butch women could easily adapt these prevailing signs of feminist gender resistance into superficial passports to acceptance, but the femme woman, in her lace and silk, high heels, and lipstick, had no place to hide. Many learned to pass as a "dyke" in public while in their homes and in their beds, they flew their flags of color and sensuality. The femme voice is underrepresented in historical records, though markings of her presence abound. Often, she is the security behind the butch display, the one who makes the public bravado possible. Lady Una Troubridge's words to Radclyffe Hall, while spoken by a white, upper-class, Christian woman, capture some of the enduring aspects of femme power: "I told her to write what was in her heart, that so far as any effect upon myself was concerned, I was sick to death of ambiguities ..." Yet to others, the femme woman has been the most ambiguous figure in lesbian history; she is often described as the nonlesbian lesbian, the duped wife of the passing woman, the lesbian who marries. Because I am a femme myself, I know the complexity of our identity; I also know how important it is for all women to hear our voices. If the butch deconstructs gender, the femme constructs gender. She puts together her own special ingredients for what it is to be a "woman," an identity with which she can live and love."

- An excerpt from "Flamboyance and fortitude: An introduction," written by Joan Nestle, the introduction essay for The Persistent Desire: A Butch-Femme Reader. (Emphasis in bold my own.)

[mapsontheweb]

The World's Most Powerful Passports in 2024

[akajustmerry]

it shouldn't be controversial for non-usAmericans to point out how usAmericans, regardless of marginalisation, can be (and often are) agents of US imperialism because of US Cultural hegemony and usAmericans do have inherent privileges because of that. And that privilege exists alongside your marginalisation in your own nation. I wish so much that usAmericans would understand that the world is built for you. So much of the world is built with your passports, your government, your military, your culture, your accents, your technology, your worldview, your politics. Hell, most people grow up with YOUR movies and YOUR pop culture, as much as if not more than their own country's. It's not every individual usAmerican's fault, but it is your responsibility to understand that at a global level your nation and therefore its citizens are scaled so high in terms of power that even marginalised people within your nation are granted the ability and power to mass murder people in the global south. even other countries in the global North are politically contigent on usAmerican policy which means as usAmericans with the ability to vote have the power to impact the lives of people globally. usAmerica is not the only place this is true about, I can say the same for people in Canada and the UK too and many other colonial countries, but even those countries to a degree bow to and mirror US policy on so many issues. It shouldn't be a big deal for USAmericans, including those with disabilities and USAmericans of colour, to acknowledge their privileges on a global scale. It's no different to acknowledging any type of privilege.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 11

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Though this is where the c.ai help ended because I was breaking the bot's pea pickin' mind. 😆

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten.

Eleven. 十一

You wake with a start. 

You’re naked, and Donaka is sprawled out in his bed beside you. Your eyes roam over the long lines of his powerful body, taking in his angles and curves. His broad muscled back, and tapered waist.

A more bitable little ass was never created by God or man. 

That bit of sanity you’d been hoping for once the hormones subsided mercifully returns to you. No matter how gorgeous this man is–no matter how good he fucks, or how many times he made you cum the night before with his hands and his cock and his tongue (sweet Confucious, Buddha, and baby Jesus, his tongue)–you have got to get out of here. 

It’s early morning, the blue light of pre-dawn. You slip out of bed, nearly dying of a heart attack when he stirs beside you–but does not wake. Quickly you throw on the tatters of your dress, and on bare feet you race as quickly and quietly as possible out the door, and down the hall. 

With your heart thundering in your ears you start rummaging through your drawers for that most essential of travel documents: your passport. The servants were not given access to lockers or any way to secure their belongings, so you’d hidden it in the bottom of your suitcase, inside a slit in the lining. As you stick your hand in it, fishing around, your hopes drop like a stone.

It’s gone. 

You feel again, frantic this time, finding once more–it’s not there. 

 “Missing something?”

Donaka’s voice from the doorway makes you start; you lose your balance, tumbling over on the floor. 

Anything you might say turns to ash on your tongue, as you look up at him, forbidding in a pair of black lounge pants, and nothing else. Why oh why does he have to be such a beautiful bastard? 

You realize there’s no lying to him, so you stick out your chin. “Where is it?” you demand. 

“In a safe place,” he answers, his lips pursing as he tries not to smile. “You have to admit…that wasn’t exactly secure.” He nods at your suitcase, and you clench your fist, the desire to hit him burning real in your bones. He made sure you didn’t have a safe place to put it. 

“How dare you?” He just rolls his eyes, and crosses the floor to you in two strides, pulling you up off the floor. 

“Come back to bed, darling. I was sleeping so peacefully before you had to go skulking around.”

“You can’t do this.” 

You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince–him, or you?

He just lifts an eyebrow, sweeping one of those big hands across your cheek, into your hair. His hold on you is just this side of menacing.  “There’s not a place in the world you could hide from me, y/n. Remember that.” 

He tugs on your hand…and fuck you, if you’re not so flabbergasted, you don’t follow him like a starstruck idiot, absolutely flummoxed by his nerve. 

Fine, you think. No passport? You just have to make it to your embassy. Surely they would put you in protective custody or something?

“You’ll never make it that far,” he tells you conversationally, his arm around your waist as you walk together down the hall. 

“Where?”

“The Embassy, of course.” 

Motherfucker. 

He makes you pause at the window in the living room with him, the first rays of dawn beginning to shine through the massive windows. The forest looks like a gilded emerald; the water beyond it a blanket of diamonds. He follows your gaze, taking in the marvelous sight. Shouldn’t it be storming outside? Rain falling down, on this bleak day? 

“How can you live with such an awful view?” he asks wryly, turning your attention back up to him. Before you can answer he kisses you, claiming your mouth for his as he presses you back against the window. His hand makes its way beneath your skirt, unimpeded as you did not take the time to even pull on your panties before making your escape from his bedroom. 

“Donaka…” you protest, feeling utterly exposed like this, in the big open room, with nothing but glass behind you. The rest of the staff will be waking soon. The thought of one of your colleagues walking in on you like this makes you want to die all over again. “Please not here…someone will see.” 

He scoffs at you, of course. “No one will interrupt us. This is my house. You are the only one here who never knew your proper place. We’re fixing that now.” 

A small sound escapes you, something between a whine and a growl. All it earns you is a hushed, dark laughter, and this terrible man lowers himself to his knees before you, pinning you against the glass with one large hand spanning your torso. He smirks up at you, delighting in your self-righteous rage, your tears of frustration glittering in the corners of your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he taunts you. “Isn’t this what you wanted all along? The bad man on his knees for you?” His smile is like a baring of teeth, and you both know who holds the real power here, no matter who is on their knees. His other hand has made its way up your thigh again, cupping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm against him, almost hurting you. 

“No,” you whimper, fighting the urge to cry, your legs about to collapse out from under you. 

“No?” he demands. “That’s not what I read.” His long fingers reach to test your center, finding your treacherous little cunt has cast her own vote for him yet again, moist and willing. You try to shy away but he pins you with his superior strength, utterly and completely.

“You missed the subtext,” you choke out, your heart breaking all over again. You were so resolved to fight the night before. That fire seems to have suffocated under the wet blanket of hopelessness again. 

“Were there underlying themes in all that filth?” he asks incredulously. 

Feeling idiotic all over again, your words lodge in your throat. But Donaka has paused in his ministrations, looking up at you with that laser-sharp gaze. “This isn’t what you wanted?” he asks with a deceptive gentleness. “My hands?” He pops the last buttons at the bottom of your dress, the garment gaping to bare all of you to his possessive gaze. “My mouth?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your lower belly, those plush lips upon your flesh making you tremble, curling your toes. He strums at your slick center, his sultry voice dropping low. “You didn’t want my cock to fill that aching emptiness inside you?” 

You writhe against the window, crying out as two of those clever fingers press up inside you, pleasuring you and pinning you as his tongue seeks out your needly little clit. You could murder him, for the way he makes you hate him and want him all in one breath.  

He stops as suddenly as he started, looking up at you expectantly. “Well?”  

You feel like the dumbest woman who ever walked the earth–but then, you suppose he already knew that about you. He’s had your measure from day one, and has simply been playing with you like a cat with a mouse ever since. Yet now, you would rather die than tell him what you’re really thinking. You shake your head tearfully, locking your heart up tight.

It doesn’t matter, because it seems this man can read your fucking mind. 

“Did you hope I would fall in love with you, y/n? You young, sweet thing.”

His words slide past your ribs and pierce your heart, deadly as a stiletto. You really were a fool. 

“Maybe I did want your love,” you admit, voice rough as you force it past the lump in your throat. “But all you want is submission.” 

He told you as much, over and over the night before. 

Yet he does not laugh at you, the way you expect him to. He looks up at you with such a weight in that dark gaze, you cannot breathe. “What is love, y/n? Do I not provide for you? Protect you? I let you talk to me with insouciance I would never tolerate from anyone else. I am not a tender man, but what little I have, I have given to you. Tell me, what is love, y/n?”

It’s almost as though he’s truly asking you.

Suddenly you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you. Does he love you? Or is he just fucking with you, the way he has been the whole time you’ve been here? You need to make up your mind about this, because the whiplash of wondering is going to be the end of you. 

“Donaka…”

Then he narrows his eyes, that fire returned therein. “You are the one who taunted me with talk of leaving. Do you love me?”

“You scare me,” you finally answer, which should be a no…but isn’t exactly.  

“You knew all along what I am, deep down. You sensed it, even without proof. You could have fled, but you stayed. You know why, bunny?”

You make a keening sound as he curls his fingers inside you, tormenting you with another wet kiss to your clit. “Do you know why?” he demands again. 

You can hardly find your voice. “Why?”

“Because I fascinate you, the same way you fascinate me. I’m more than willing to try to fuck it out of our systems, but I suspect–” He presses your clit with his thumb, tearing a sob from your throat, stealing your ability to think, to breathe. Your head rocks back against the glass, hard enough to bruise.  “I’ll be keeping you for a long time.”

Then his tongue dips into your slit, lapping at your clit, and you forget everything for a long while.

[partialbirthabortion]

Obviously it's not exactly a privilege to be obligated to pay into an oligarchical, murderous war machine for your entire working life, but I do think in their hurry compare to other "developed" nations, American leftists are wayyyy too fast to dismiss the huge global privilege that inborn American citizenship is. The quality of life for even the most desperately poor American far exceeds the QOL for average workers in many counties (the irrevocable right to emergency healthcare regardless of citizenship or even residency alone...). The almost total protection from war or invasion on your home soil. The access your passport gives you to just about any country in the world, and the protection you will get from our state department while there essentially no matter how stupid you are about it. The abundance of food available at all times due to subsidies and back storages. The power of our currency on the global stage.

I'm not #proudtobeanamerican by any stretch of the imagination (these are all products of empire, violence, colonization, slave labor) but I side-eye any serious leftist who wants to minimize the way this has influenced their perspective and experiences. Just as white people will have to lose real power and security to achieve racial justice and men will have to lose real power and security to achieve sex justice, any meaningful economic revolution will literally necessitate huge changes to American comforts and habits of consumption.

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

Any thoughts on the TOH pitch bible and pilot episode that were leaked? Anything you thought it was better than in the final product, or that the final product improved on?

Here is the pilot episode along with a lot of other Disney shows for those that missed it.

And the pitch bible

There were quite a few things I liked about the pilot better: the biggest being that Luz is actually bullied for her interests instead of pulling dangerous stunts that just make her look bad. Also, there's actual bigotry against humans in the Boiling Isles! Luz has to wear a disguise when sneaking into witch school! Lilith is more of a threat in this pilot than she was in the show! Luz and Eda feel more natural in the pilot; Eda still proclaims herself as the most powerful witch in the isles but it's obviously her ego talking while it's taken more seriously in the show. It feels like it's having more fun with itself instead of having an air of self importance.

A few things the actual show did better: Luz entering the Demon Realm. In the pilot, she just stumbles into it after trying to return Amity's passport (who is still a witch just attending a human high school for some reason). Luz trying to get her book back from Owlbert and being led directly to Eda works better for her character and the themes of the show. Also, in the pilot, Eda could just easily conjure a door to the human realm, which lowers the stakes a bit.

As for the pitch bible, it certainly is ambitious with how its world is set up: beta Belos was called Obron and was a councilor to the real ruler of the world, Emperor Pupa, who is currently in larval form and only its councilor's can understand what it's saying. Naturally, Obron is the real power behind the throne and plans on invading the human realm by possessing the Titan's body and he apparently needs a human soul to do that...

Yeah, I can see why this was simplified in the final version.

I do like some of the designs in the pitch bible better. For example, here's Willow, a.k.a. Paulina:

Here's Tibbles:

And lastly, even though everyone says this is beta Hunter, look me in the eyes and tell me that's not Baby Philip "Kill All Witches" Wittebane:

Come on, red outfit, blue eyes, hatred of witches, really hundreds of years old, the FREAKIN' DAGGER/SWORD.

That's a proto-Philip who was split into 3 characters, he's not simply beta Hunter.

Overall, both the pitch bible and the pilot are a mixed bag; the pitch bible has some overly ambitious ideas that (thankfully) became more grounded, but it also has more interesting character designs. The pilot has a lot going on in a mere 20 minutes but it's more fun to watch imo simply because it's not taking itself too seriously.

Despite all of these what-ifs, a show is only as good as how well it carries out its ideas. Toh has a lot of creativity and compelling concepts but its biggest struggle was always in its execution.

(P.S. any accusations that Disney made Dana add Hexside are now null and void because both the pitch bible and pilot had Lilith as the Headmaster of Amity's magic school)

[stressfulsloth]

In regards to your post “and now I'm. Just thinking about the loneliness that is SO pervasive through Elysium.”…

I have one thing to offer, or perhaps nitpick if you’d prefer it that way.

I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say the Sunday Friend isn’t a real friend. The Smoker On The Balcony believes him to be a real friend, even if he isn’t going to be there come Monday morn. But isn’t that enough? A friend on Sunday is still a friend, even if it makes waking up Monday all the worse.

Perhaps I’m biased though! Now that I think about it, most of my friends would fit the description. “Fair weather friend” feels to cold, but “sunday friend” is good enough.

And of course none of this is to say your post is at all wrong. It’s lovely and true. I just felt the need to quarrel publicly with that little detail.

To conclude, since I really just did not make myself very clear here; you are utterly correct to include the Sunday Friend in a post about loneliness but I take slight issue with saying he’s not a real friend. And so I wrote you a very long ask. And now as I reach it’s end I’m realising this was a very silly undertaking. But I’ve come this far so I’m going to grow a pair and hit “ask”.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope it isn’t too desperately obnoxious.

Peace out ✌️

Ahh man I'm sorry anon but I'm going to have to disagree with you pretty strongly here 😅 tbh I was a little too easy on him in the original post. It's not necessarily the temporary nature of their acquaintance that makes the Sunday Friend's friendship questionable on its own, although it doesn't help.

The Sunday Friend is quite literally not a friend. "Friend" in his title is a euphemism; he's not coming to visit the Smoker because he's his friend. He's coming to visit the smoker to do a bit of poverty tourism, to admire the crumbling place that his beliefs have helped to destroy, and a bit of heavily implied sex tourism too. A "first world" tourist, a bureaucrat from the international government, visiting one of the most impoverished districts of Revachol to spend his nights with a student. He's not the Smoker's friend, he's a client. They're using 'friend' as a stand-in for his actual role, which is a) as a part of the moralist bureaucratic system repressing the revolution and keeping the city as a whole trapped in a laissez faire purgatory easily exploited by foreign capitalists and ultraliberals, while still maintaining a friendly respectable face, and b) as the Smoker's customer, exploiting the poverty of Martinaise's residents to get what he wants for cheap and using the easy mobility that his money and status give him. Imo he's intended narratively as a parallel for the moralist coalition government; he views from a distance, focused on money and *ze price stabilité* but entirely divorced from the poverty and consequence of his work. Happy to dip his toe in and make use of exploitable populations in Revachol, but always ready to leave too. When asked how he became 'friends' with the smoker, his response is literally to describe the coalition occupying Revachol.

He knows so little about the Smoker beyond him being there to study art, but what kind? "Perhaps graphic design? Printmaking? Who knows?" As to your point about the Smoker thinking he's a real friend, the Smoker is under no illusions about who the Sunday Friend is. An injection of money. Someone with power, someone with the mobility afforded to him by ownership of a non-Revacholian passport, someone content to watch the place decay and do nothing but indulge himself in pet projects and worry about bureaucracy. Someone with the freedom to leave when things get bad; a freedom that is narratively only assigned to a rare few extremely bourgeois characters. Dora, on her flight to Mirova, Joyce and her boat, Trant and his academic travels, and the Sunday Friend who will be out of Martinaise like a shot the moment things start to kick off despite being a part of the overarching structure that is responsible for Revachol's subjugation and rising political tensions. The Sunday Friend will use the Smoker's labour, use the vulnerability of Revachol's precarious situation to his advantage, then once it becomes too precarious or he gets bored, he'll withdraw. In answer to your question, no, I don't think that's enough. Again I probably oversimplified in my last post but the loneliness all throughout DE is not just an emotional state but a political one. Alienation is a major theme. As is the impossibility of building community in the face of capitalism relentlessly subsuming anything in its path, in the face of shallow relationships dictated by the need for survival. The Sunday Friend embodies that concept perfectly. He is exquisitely shallow in conversation, a perfect moralist who at all times strives to remain impartial and distant.

Anyway. Tldr; my point is that the relationship between the Smoker and the Sunday Friend is far more transactional, and far more exploitative, than you seem to believe. "Friend" is not being used literally but euphemistically. A 'fairweather friend' is better than none, sure, but that's entirely inapplicable to this situation. Sorry for the long post and I hope it's not too rambling- I'm surviving on very little sleep right now but I hope it clears up for you a bit why I referred to the Sunday friend in that way initially.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 18

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: E Chapter warnings: Flashback-It's getting even hotter in here. There's a nipple! The flashback is sexy but hardly crossing to rated M. AN: Kit exists still. Yay? Can you believe Book One is about halfway done?!

Masterlist Kofi

~~~~~<3

It was nice having him back. She had missed him. More than she had thought she did. More than she expected. 

That was something she needed to tell him today. It was terrifying to consider admitting it to him though. It felt like if she told him, it would give him some sort of power over her. 

Was that safe? Was it so bad if it wasn’t?

“Tom?” Her voice was strangled, weak and oh how she hated it. He didn’t answer, probably didn’t hear her as he organized socks and folded underwear neatly. 

Mia was about to call out for him again, stronger she hoped but he called for her first. “How do you feel about travel?”

“What?” The question was random. 

“You and Sally- do you two travel often?” Tom leaned back, looking out of the closet at her from where he sat on the floor before unfolding himself and standing to move a few more things around. 

“No?” She stretched the word out. “Sally hasn’t even been outside of the city.” 

“Why not?” Tom stood back, admiring his little piece of space. He had a space in this home now and turning that idea around in his mind tickled him, bringing a smile to his lips that quickly faded when Mia sighed, drawing his eyes to her. 

“I haven’t exactly had the time.” As Tom made his way out of the closet and toward the bed, questions were clear on his face. “I’m lucky if I get two weeks of paid time off a year.” 

“But for holidays?” He took his time approaching her. 

“I work in a casino.” Mia laughed though bitterness tinged it. “I don’t get any holidays. I get 80 hours of paid time off and have to hope I get a few days left over to use for fun toward the end of the year after all the time off one of us being sick.” 

“80 hours?” Tom knew Americans tended to take less time off than was healthy or normal, in his opinion, but that was not much at all. If they typically work 8 hour days and five day work weeks, that meant they only took an average of - “That’s two weeks? And you have to use it for sick leave too?” 

“Yep.” Mia didn’t like how this conversation felt. “That’s normal.” 

“That is not normal.” 

“What’s normal to you?” It was easy to think they were the same, once she ignored the financial differences between them but it hadn’t occurred to her in the slightest that the cultural differences would potentially be fundamental. 

“Like six weeks once all’s said and done.” 

“That’s so long!” No wonder there were so many international guests at the resorts. They had time to travel around the world. “What do people even do with all that time?”

“We live,” Tom sat on the bed next to her. She was sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed -their bed. He was so close that her knee brushed against his thigh. “I can’t imagine having so much less.”

“We make the best of it.” Mia shrugged. “It’s not like wishing for more will make it change. And most of us can’t afford to take unpaid time off anyway.”

“If that wasn’t a factor, what would you like to do?”

This conversation felt more intimate than those they’d had before. This was personal and while they sometimes had deeper conversations on the phone, it felt different having him there with her. 

“I don’t know.” Mia leaned back on her hands, stretching her abdomen and trying to remind herself to stop slouching. “Travel maybe. This is all I’ve ever known, working. I can’t really picture anything different.”

“Would you want to go to London?” The question was out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider if he was pushing too much. It had caught her off guard too.

“Sure.” She said after a moment of thinking. “If I could ever manage the time off. I’d have to get a passport and figure out time off and how to afford it. It would be a whole thing.”

“You don’t have a passport?” Tom had always assumed most people had passports in America. It was certainly true of his home. 

“Nope,” Mia chuckled. “I never really thought we would need them. It’s not like I’m leaving the country any time soon.” 

Tom rested his hand on her thigh, bringing her eyes to his. “You’re in a international marriage now.” 

“Yeah, but-”

“Mia, there’s times where it may be advantageous for you to travel with me in the next year.” 

“For your career?” Mia didn’t know what she was expecting but she had hoped it was something different, something more. 

He realized he went the wrong route. It would take time to learn how they each communicated and avoid eachother’s landmines. 

“No! No. I just-” Tom decided to restart. “I told my mum about you. I- she’d like to meet you.” 

“Oh, does she know? Like, the real story?” Mia didn’t push his hand off her.

Tom laughed, “Yes, and she’d like to meet you.” 

“Is that a good ‘she wants to meet you’ or a bad ‘she wants to meet you’?”

“The good one.” The idea hadn’t occurred to him but Tom was flying by the seat of his pants. This seemed to be how he made the best choices anyway. “Mia, I’ve got a trip back home- London home, coming up in a few weeks.”

She knew that, they had talked about that before he had left but still, it made her sad. He had just gotten there and he was going to be leaving her again. These were things that were scheduled before he had even known her, let alone married her though. Had she any right to be sad? 

He had to go back home, just as he said. Las Vegas wouldn’t ever be home for him, she was sure of that. There wasn’t a lot of acting that happened in Las Vegas and surely he would need to act again. He had to work and live his life still. 

“I know,” She said after a long pause. “You can’t stay here forever. You’ve got family, friends and work that you’ve got to take care of.”

“You’re family now.” Tom pressed, fingers flexing against the soft of her thigh in a firm grip that lasted for only a second. “Both you and Sally. I would like for you to come with me.” 

“I can’t.” Mia’s heart sank. “Tom, I-”

“I know, I know.” Tom sighed, withdrawing his hand. “But I would like it if you could. If by any chance you could take the time off-”

“I can’t.” Mia interrupted.

“Hypothetically.” Tom continued talking over her, “How long would it take to get passports?” 

“A few weeks or so? Maybe a few months. Our government doesn’t move fast.” 

Tom’s shoulders slumped. Even if he could convince her to trust him with everything, including her financial ability to survive totally, she wouldn’t be able to go with. Oh well, it had been worth a thought. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to introduce his little American family to his home until the idea had formulated. 

“Would you consider getting them?”

“I guess,” She still wasn’t sold on the fact that they would need them. She couldn’t imagine needing them or having the ability to take the time off to make use of them. “It would be nice to have the option to go if things ever lined up.”

“Thank you.” Tom reached for her hand, weaving his fingers between hers before pulling her hand up to his lips to leave a soft kiss on her knuckles. 

“Why do you do that?” She hadn’t meant to ask.

“Because I want to?” Worry flashed across his face. Had he offended her? “Is that alright?” 

“People don’t do things like that.” Mia quickly stood up but his hand on hers kept her from escaping into the living room. 

“They do if they care.” Tom’s voice was soft and firm, something she would struggle with trying to describe to Ashley later. “And I care.”

Tom left her standing there, stunned by the admission. Here she was, struggling all morning to try and find a way to tell him that she missed him and was glad he had returned. But he just threw out an admission like that as if it was nothing when if he had meant it, it could be everything. 

He had managed to say those things quickly and easily. It was effortless for him to simply say he cared. Small affections came easily from him. If he kept that up, she was in danger of really falling beyond the point of return. 

Was that his goal? Was he being honest? Acting in good faith? Did he really care or was he pretending, hoping that if he pretended long enough the feelings would become real?

Was she worrying about it too much? What if he felt exactly as he said? What if she really did fall in love with him? What if? What if?

What if?

~~~~~<3

Tom was lounging on the couch, his phone in hand when she joined him fifteen or so minutes later. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable one in the world. Part of her wished she had not been so stubborn and gotten one from a nicer store but oh well, what’s done was done.

Tom didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t commented on the comfort level of the couch. Mia did feel a little bad about how poorly he fit on the couch though, seeing him overflowing off it. He was simply so tall and lanky that he didn’t fit well. 

Glancing up, he smiled at her as she sat down. Sally sat on the floor in front of the couch introducing her newest bear to her other stuffed animals all lined up sitting behind a small army of cardboard desks.

“She’s holding class.” Tom informed her with an amused smile. 

“Ah, a regular activity.” Mia grabbed her book and fidgeted with it. When they were comfortable with eachother, it was wonderful but it was finding those moments that Mia still struggled with. Tom seemed to fit right in and that terrified her. 

“I’ve got a script to pick up in London.” Tom locked his phone at set it on the arm of the couch. 

“What for?” 

“Another Marvel project.” 

“Do you like it?” She wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to ask. 

“The character?” Tom smiled warmly, turning to face her more. “Very much so, yes. He’s very Shakespearean and there’s much depth and complexity to still explore with him.”

“It sounded like you did in interviews.” She said before thinking. 

“You watched my interviews?” Tom’s eyebrow rose and she realized they never were quite level.

“I mean, I- a few clips, here and there. I just-” Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down and breathe. What did she have to be embarrassed by? “I wanted to get to know you more.”

“Ah.” The answer didn’t seem to disappoint him though he didn’t say more. He didn’t need to. The soft smile on his face said plenty for him. 

“And I missed you.” Finally, she said it. It felt good to say it. It needed to be said. He deserved to hear it. They deserved for it to be said. 

Warm fingers thread through her’s. When her eyes met his, he squeezed her hand with a smile. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me.” 

~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3

Tom gripped her ass under the skirt of her dress. The silky panties she wore were smooth under his hands but not nearly as smooth as her skin would be. He wanted to tease her and savor her but with how much he had drank, he feared quicker would be better.

Fingers struggled with buttons. It felt like the back of the dress was fastened with every possible fastening at the same time, designed by the devil to hamper men from sealing the marriage. He would swear he felt cords and buttons and a zipper track. What he wanted was the dress off of her. 

“Sorry, Darling.” Tom mumbled the words into the swell of her breast he had been kissing. 

With both hands, he ripped the back open. It was harder than he expected, taking a few yanks to rip the fabric to the small of her back. with the tension that had been holding her breasts in place gone, they sank slightly into a more relaxed, natural position.

Mia was self conscious for a moment. Her body had been through stresses and showed the wear from a life lived. Though she had never been uncomfortable with the size of her breasts, she knew they lacked the fullness of many women in their twenties. 

Her breasts were natural and that excited him. Pulling the bodice down, he was rewarded for his efforts with a warm palmful of soft flesh. He took a pink nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue over the nub. 

He needed her and he needed her now. 

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller, @alexakeyloveloki, @jennyggggrrr, @dangertoozmanykids101, @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom  @buttercupcookies-blog @violethaze @kats72 @soulpiercing @evedia

[johannestevans]

That native news post saying all jews are white and are siding with our opressors is Antisemitic and as a Jewish fan of your work I'm heartbroken that you would blindly attack Jews in what you acknowledge to be a time of rising antisemitism. I'm begging you to do research into what Antisemitism is and look for perspectives from actual jews of color who get to be both thrown under the bus by gentiles of color for being jewish and thrown under the bus by white Jews who suffer the most when you reblog and condone shit lile that. I want to believe you're capable of being a better person who isn't Antisemitic and hateful.

That post doesn't say all Jews are white, in fact, and I would advise you read it again.

"The rise in antisemitism isn't rising alone, it rises with hate for Queer, Muslims, Arabs, indigenous and Black people, immigrants, leftists, the disabled, and women."

Antisemitism is inherently linked to all other forms of bigotry under imperial white supremacist movements, because the goal is to flatten outside forms of culture underneath that yoke, and engage others to copy and further that violence. Rafael is saying that these forms of bigotry are linked in themselves to and are fed by antisemitism - all forms of bigotry like this feed into one another.

"Yet it's my fellow Jews and women using it to say we should leave our allies to join oppressors.

Why? White supremacy."

Rafael Shimunov is also Jewish - and? Same?

The movement of white Jews to join in apartheid and colonial projects, such as in the violent creation of the state of Israel in Palestine and also in other acts of white supremacy throughout the world, such as in the US or the UK - specifically in taking part in aspects of white imperial society that allow us greater acceptability or whatever is like. Evil.

Israel has long engaged in a very careful and stringent selection of which Jewish people to permit under the Law of Return. Reform Jews, patrilineal Jews, Jews of the wrong colour or culture, etc. One could note particularly that Palestinians are denied a passport as a matter of course, that once they leave the confines of the occupied borders, they cannot return. Is this right? Even were we to accept this cruelty and ugliness of apartheid - what of Palestinian Jews? Is their Jewishness meaningless, because they are also Palestinian?

If your desire is to be an oppressor, to cling onto whiteness more than other precepts of your belief (such as in justice and equality) then, yes. It would appear so.

The movements of oppressed peoples to attempt assimilating into those colonial powers out of trauma and fear, out of a desire to be safe, is an understandable instinct - and an instinct that is misplaced.

It is not just not antisemitic to criticise these acts of evil and dismantle the systems that allow for them, to stand up for those who are most violently hurt and oppressed by them - it is our duty.

You have misread the post - perhaps you did so unintentionally and struggle with your reading comprehension, in which case I'd advise you to read through the post and mine a few more times, slowly. It can be frightening to be challenged on things we have previously considered to be true and ideologies that ultimately do not serve us, and I appreciate that. Give yourself time to digest and consider, and remember that you can always change and dismantle beliefs of yours that do not line up as they should with your moral and ethical standpoints.

Listen to this song, maybe, and consider the final verses.

I think it's potentially likely you thought that this message would somehow make me panic at potential criticism and back down from my long-standing moral views on the evils of our unjust society, regardless of who enforces them, as if I'm some sort of coward. You can see why I'm obviously more likely to believe the former.

[oneweek-mkg]

“Hello, to all of those listening to this. My name is unimportant, and what is lies in what it is that I do. One week ago today, the world was met with a flurry…of cards.“ 

“Every man, woman, non-binary individual, and seemingly sentient soul upon this earth was given what we’ve elected to refer to as ‘Tarrow Cards’, with a title on the front and a single word on its back.”

“Regardless of age, your card appears to have given you a new fascinating ability, most of which the world has never seen before. The world is changing quickly, it seems. No matter your belief on the state of the world before that day, it is now impossible to deny the supernatural state of this landscape we all live within.”

“Over the past ten years, you’ve likely read about the experimental city being built over international waters in the Atlantic Ocean. In this past week, due to the abilities of certain individuals involved, we’re able to now announce the opening of said city, in one month’s time.“ 

“We will require no passports, and no qualifications for citizenship. We have food, shelter, optional employment, and anything else you may wish to find.”

“I’ve been studying these cards, and the changes humanity has gone through very carefully. And I can state now, without a shadow of a doubt…this is a change for the better.”

An announcement that all throughout the world heard. Through the radio, through the papers. You heard or read it. The world is changing. It’s for the better, then…? 

Followed by an announcement that all throughout the world heard, but none remembered.

The voice echoed throughout the world, seemingly without a source, heard both everywhere and nowhere. Somewhere within all that nowhere, this voice reached a room, lit by a single computer monitor. And in that room, something listened.

“WOW! THAT’S A LOTTA WORDS TO SAY, ‘DO NOT TRUST ME, I PROBABLY SMELL!’”

“C'MON, ‘MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT,’ ‘NO QUALIFICATIONS FOR CITIZENSHIP,’ ‘FREE FOOD,’ LIKE HELLO? RED FLAG? THAT’S SOME MONDO SUSPICIOUS SHIT.”

“HONESTLY IF THOSE CHUDS BELIEVE THAT, THEY SHOULD GO TOUCH GRASS. I DID IT ONCE. HATED IT. BUT IT WAS GOOD FOR ME! NOW I HAVE SPECIAL EYES THAT LET ME SEE THROUGH BULLSHIT LIKE THIS.”

“… EH, I COULD USE SOME ENTERTAINMENT! MIGHT AS WELL GRAB A FRONT ROW SEAT FOR THIS SHITSHOW.”

“NOW, I JUST NEED TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET ANYWHERE.”

“THIS MIGHT TAKE AWHILE…”

—

One Week: Brand New Life is a discord based 20+ Danganronpa OC roleplay, featuring discord submission trials and an active, plot-relevant deadzone, allowing dead characters to continue to freely interact with the living if they wish. Our cast will be exploring their recently developed powers in an ever expanding city over international waters that you yourself will help define and build. Twenty characters from across the world will get to experience a unique, extended prologue that will cover one year of in-game time, before the actual MKG begins. We aim to bring you a potentially lighter, relaxed environment, both in and out of character; while still being following the typical killing game formula.

The game will feature a flexible 4 to 5 week schedule over 5 chapters, as well as a prologue and endgame, with trials that last several days to accommodate varying timezones and schedules. Our trial system will be submission-based over discord, allowing players to submit their trial posts directly to the server’s trial channel, while still managing a flexible queue. The game will allow for supernatural, alien, robotic, and fantastical characters, as well as normal humans - although no matter your character’s initial status, everyone will be experiencing a new power set, to spread the love! The game will not feature a mistrial system, but will pledge itself into working dutifully with its murder teams to create cases that are both satisfyingly difficult, as well as ultimately solvable, without pushing cast nor killer unnecessarily far.  APPS OPEN / APPS CLOSE 3/10!

About | Hopeful | Hopefuls Discord | Mods | FAQ | Rules | Application

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Three Broken Threads

Hat tip to @myemuisemo for another excellent post that covers much of what I was planning together:

Data protection was not really a thing back in 1889. However, paper hotel registers would be something filled in by the front desk staff, not the guest. They would contain details of extra charges incurred as well, all stuff generally done by computer, but you can still buy paper copies today. Particularly for the Indian market, where less than half the population have Internet access. These registers are generally mandatory and in some countries, the data will still be passed to the police when it concerns newly arrived foreigners. That's why they ask for your passport.

Newcastle upon Tyne, the one people generally talk about as opposed to Newcastle-under-Lyme in Staffordshire, was at the centre of a major coal mining area in North-East England, the Durham and Northumberland coalfields being in close proximity. The industry was still employing children - boys as young as 12 could work in mines - and was still a pretty dangerous, not to mention unhealthy industry.

The British economy was heavily reliant on coal, especially the newly built electric power stations. While the railways had a big coal trade for internal transport for domestic purposes, boats also played a big role, either going via canal or down the East Coast of Great Britain to the London Docks. This route would become vulnerable to German attack in the World Wars, particularly in the second war from fast torpedo boats known to the British as "E-boats"; the East Coast convoys are a lesser-known part of the naval war, with Patrick Troughton having served with Coastal Force Command.

The Mayor of Gloucester, like most civic mayors in England, is the chair of the council, elected to a one-year term by their fellow councillors. The current holder is Conservative councillor Lorraine Campbell. It's a mostly ceremonial role involving going to various events while wearing a red cloak and a big hat:

Gloucester's Deputy Mayor is called the Sheriff of Gloucester. There is still a Sheriff of Nottingham, by the way.

The Anglophone Canadian accent was historically noticeably different to an American one and of course had its own varieties. They've gotten closer over the decades, especially due to television.

Sir Henry would have limited luggage space on the ship over, so three pairs of boots would be reasonable. He'd have to ship over anything else at further cost, so it could be cheaper to buy new in London.

Deliveries of telegrams that weren't in the immediate area of the office cost extra. Bradshaw's Guide for Tourists in Great Britain and Ireland would state the nearest telegraph office for a town, as the 1866 edition demonstrates:

Sir Charles' estate was worth around £80m in today's money, but that would not even get him onto The Sunday Times Rich List, which starts at £350m (Sir Lewis Hamilton, i.e. the F1 driver). It tops out with Gopichand Hinduja and his family at an estimated £37.2 billion, whose conglomerate is many focussed on India, but also are the biggest shareholders in US chemical company Quaker Houghton.

Westmoreland was a historical county in Northern England; it was absorbed into Cumbria in 1974, but its area became part of the Westmoreland and Furness unitary authority in 2023.

"Entailed" means that Sir Charles has stipulated in a legal document that the Baskerville estate would have to pass to Sir Henry's heir intact. This was a feudal era practice that has now been abolished in most jurisdictions, with limited remaining use in England and Wales. Simply put Sir Henry is not allowed to sell the house or the land, even part of it. He can do what he likes with the cash and probably the chattels, the movable property like the candlesticks and the toasting forks.

This page covers it in relation to the works of Jane Austen with relevant spoilers:

Borough is another name for the area of Southwark. It got a Tube station in 1890, when the City and South London Railway opened, now the Bank branch of the Northern line. It also is famous for Borough Market, then a wholesale food market under cover of buildings from the 1850s. Today it is a retail market for specialty food; kind of like a farmers' market.

In 1888, the 10:30 from Paddington would get to Exeter at 15:35, a journey of five hours. @myemuisemo provides route maps. I would add at this point, GWR services to SW England went via Bristol, adding a lot of time to the journey, while the LSWR route from Waterloo was a lot more direct. Wags dubbed the former "the Great Way Round". The construction of two cut-off lines allowed the GWR to go via Westbury and Castle Cary.

I will cover the modern day condition of the route in my Chapter 6 post.

The GWR still had some broad-gauge track at 2,140 mm(7 ft 1⁄4 in) left that Brunel had favoured, but this would be finally eliminated in 1892.

Finally, Holmes is referencing the sport of fencing when he learns the cabbie has been given his name. The foil is the lightest of the three swords used in competitive fencing, such as the Olympics.

In an age before electronic fencing equipment, point scoring relied on the eyesight of the umpire... and the honesty of the competitions.

I was in my fencing club at university. I can't say I was that great. I preferred the epee, which doesn't have the priority rules...