a hundred years from now

10

I plan on being an engineer at NASA, but I can’t do that without taking them classes at that all-white high school, and I can’t change the color of my skin. So I have no choice but to be the first, which I can’t do without you, sir. Your Honor, out of all the cases you gon’ hear today, which one is gonna matter a hundred years from now? Which one is gonna make you the first?

Hidden Figures (2016) dir. Theodore Melfi

8

I plan on being an engineer at NASA, but I can’t do that without taking them classes at that all-white high school, and I can’t change the color of my skin. So I have no choice, but to be the first, which I can’t do without you, sir. Your honor, out of all the cases you gon hear today, which one is gon’ matter hundred years from now? Which one is gon’ make you the first?

Hidden Figures (2016) dir. Theodore Melfi

8

I plan on being an engineer at NASA, but I can’t do that without taking them classes at that all-white high school, and I can’t change the color of my skin. So I have no choice, but to be the first, which I can’t do without you, sir. Your honor, out of all the cases you gon hear today, which one is gon matter hundred years from now? Which one is gon make you the first?

10

Movies Watched in 2017 [4/?] Hidden Figures (2016) dir. Theodore Melfi

“I plan on being an engineer at NASA, but I can’t do that without taking them classes at that all-white high school, and I can’t change the color of my skin. So I have no choice, but to be the first, which I can’t do without you, sir. Your honor, out of all the cases you gon hear today, which one is gon matter hundred years from now? Which one is gon make you the first?” 

I love the whole “Humans are the Weird Aliens” stuff but, like, consider.

One of our future goals in medicine is to be able to perform transplants with no problems, and many people donate their dead bodies for such a thing. Furthermore, we’re resilient as a species and won’t lose a fight until we die.

So a few hundred years from now, we’re integrated into the galactic community, and you don’t want to fuck with a human. Even if you cut they’re arm off, they’ll just take the severed arm and beat you to death with it, and then go to a hospital to get an arm donated by a dead guy grafted on as a replacement.

Consider the idea that maybe only Earth Life naturally produces adrenaline and the rest of the Galactic community treats it like a drug. Imagine having your non-human friend suggesting you go to rehab for your “problem” not realizing it’s literally a biological function?

I’ve seen stuff like Death People and Space Orcs but to be honest we’ll probably be considered more like Drugged Up Death Orcs.

Bitch - Part 2

2,500 Followers Oneshot

Word Count: 1,834

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Part 1


“It’s pretty shady that you were so close by. You’re not stalking us are you?” Dean barks obnoxiously, stomping by you on the way to Baby. Having just finished the poltergeist case, the awkward tension is painfully palpable.

Expecting an immediate wise ass remark, Dean pauses and quickly turns his head. He witnesses you and Sam having a silent conversation, automatically causing his blood to boil.

“I live around here.” You state calmly, unfortunately your nervous habit of biting your bottom lip betrays you.

“Wait…” Dean aggressively slams the trunk shut then bolts in your direction.

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Moriel Meta - in which Moriel is actually a healthy and respectful relationship, who knew?

I dislike the ‘Mor has to fix the Cass/Az/Mor situation/Mor should just talk to Azriel about everything/Mor has to be the one to change things and convince Az that he’s worthy of her’ for a number of reasons, most of which I’ve whinged about before (largely that it’s…kind of gross that all the emotional responsibility for this triangle is placed on..the only female character involved in it which is…deeply unfair) but apart from that I think it just shows a lack of understanding as to these characters and how they work and why Mor hasn’t said anything after all this time? 

And people say she should just get on with it and she should just say something and stop all of this but…I don’t think they consider the more problematic aspects of that? Azriel is in love with her and has been for a very long time and she knows this. I think that…In a way if she confronts him about it it’s like telling him that he has to be with her now. She puts him on the spot and forces him to approach a subject that she knows he’s not ready for

“So if he were ever interested would you … ?”
“The issue, actually, wouldn’t be me. It’d be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn’t move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

 This scene has been approached in a whole host of different ways from people thinking that Mor is flat out wrong to assuming that this has happened before and she knows this from past experience but…I always just kind of read it as it was written. Az doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. It doesn’t matter what she does. It doesn’t matter if she tells him that she wants him. It doesn’t matter if she peels her clothes off and offers him every inch of her. This isn’t a question of want. It never has been. The problem isn’t desire, it’s not even love, it’s worth. 

We’re talking about the person that Mor spent four hundred years convincing it was okay to take a break from work every now and then and go to a club. We’re told Az’s dedication to his work and the lengths he push himself to border on sadistic. This is not someone who takes what they want. This is someone who struggles hugely with self-esteem and self-worth. This is someone who was locked in the dark as a child and set on fire by his brothers as a game because he was that disposable and that insignificant and had that little value. This is someone who is terrified of ever being in that position again and who therefore works ceaselessly and denies himself the things that he wants, even small things like rest or leisure time, because he cannot let himself not be useful again for even a moment because what if they lock him away again because he doesn’t matter? 

So, fine, let’s say Mor does what everyone says she should do. She goes to Az, tells him how she feels, tells him how she knows he feels, tells him what she wants, puts him on the spot, forces him to do something about it. Either: he does as Mor (who’s known and loved him for 500 years) believes and simply does nothing, freezes up, doesn’t move, doesn’t act. Or, okay, maybe he gives in to her because this is the woman that he loves, you know? The woman he’s devoted to. The woman he would look up from a pool of his own blood and snarl at the king who controls the poison running through his veins in order to protect. So maybe he yields. Maybe he says okay. Maybe he accepts her because well this is what she wants. 

For a start that…Doesn’t change anything? Mor going to him and telling him she loves him and wants him and peeling her clothes off in front of him isn’t going to change a damn thing. Rhys making him prince of Velaris isn’t going to change a damn thing. There is nothing that can be done externally to change Az. (And Mor is not under obligation to change him just because she’s a prospective partner that’s a seriously damaged way of thinking too) Az has to change Az. Az has to decide within himself that this relationship is something that he wants, something that will be good for him (and Mor), something that he deserves, something that he can have. Mor cannot do that for him. 

You can’t fix someone’s insecurities just by telling them that you love them/want them? That’s…Not the way this works, especially not for someone like Az where it’s such a deep rooted thing. This is something that he has to work himself through and in the meantime Mor (and Cassian who is…in this almost entirely for Az) will make damn sure that he has the time and space that he needs. However much of it that might be. 

And for a second thing her doing that would be…really unhealthy? Think about it. She’s essentially going up to this insecure, damaged person who’s deeply in love with her and saying: right, I love you, I’m tired of waiting, I’m making an executive decision here, one that isn’t really mine to make (it’s not Mor’s decision/up to Mor to say when Az is ready) and I’m telling you we’re doing this. That’s…Not okay? Like that’s borderline emotionally manipulative? She knows how Az feels. She confronts him about it and she uses that to get what she wants? And it’d be damaging for him. No matter how much he wants this. He. Is. Not. Ready. For. This. Relationship. 

And so many people call Mor out for this? As though it’s her fault? As though it’s a bad thing that she respects his boundaries, respects his insecurities, doesn’t try and force him to change for her because it would give her what she wants? She waits for him. She has waited five hundred years for this man to be ready. She has never pushed him. She has never pressured him. She never will. 

Because this is Mor. And is it really so difficult to understand why Mor, who suffered horrendous abuse of her own as a child, which shapes her just as much as it shapes Az, would wait? Is it so difficult to imagine her refusing to put Az on the spot and pressure him and control him the way she was controlled? Because oh well everyone around you expects you to do this so you should.

 Is it really difficult to imagine her refusing to tell Az who he should love and when he should be with them even though he’s not ready? The way her family told her that she should be with a prince of the Autumn Court, even though she wasn’t ready and didn’t want that? 

Is it really so difficult to imagine Mor, who spent her early life being broken by the demands and expectations and pressures of others - her family, those who were supposed to be closest to her, love her, protect her- refusing to put similar demands or expectations or pressures on another? Especially someone she loves so much.

 Is it really so difficult to imagine Mor, who was shown so little respect that once she was no longer of use or value she was treated like an animal and cast out to die, to be someone else’s problem, would be able to muster up enough respect to let the person she loves so much make their own choices in life? The things that were denied her? 

Is it so difficult to imagine that Mor wants to allow Az a choice? That she feels he should be allowed to choose what he is ready for? And not have her decide for him? Not have her step up to him and say, this is what’s best for you, this is what you want, this is what I’m deciding that you should have?

Is it really an indication that Mor doesn’t love him that she waits? That she’s waited for five hundred years. That’d she’d likely wait the same again, that she’d likely die before feeling like she’d forced him into a relationship with her because she decided that it was time and he was ready and that this was what was best? And therefore that gave her the right to strip away his choices because she knows what’s best? 

Is it really such a terrible thing for one partner to actually respect the other, their history, their situation, their insecurities and understand that they can’t just make these disappear with ~the power of love~ because that’s not the way that mental health works? And that maybe the best thing they can do is not put any extra pressure onto them and give them time and space and support to work through things in their own time and way? 

And is it really so difficult to believe that this is actually the healthiest and best thing that Mor could do both for Azriel and her relationship with him? And that anything else is unfairly pressuring him and manipulating him and forcing him into accepting something that he himself isn’t ready for? And that an emotional abuse victim doesn’t want to emotionally abuse the person that they love? And that that really isn’t a bad thing, you know; that anything else would be toxic and one-sided and selfish and unfair?

Is it? 

TL;DR: Mor is actually capable of respecting Azriel and demonstrates her love for him through that respect in allowing him space, time and a choice in his own life and the relationships he feels ready to pursue. Her keeping her distance from Azriel, the man she loves, for over five centuries is selfless af and I am tired of seeing it twisted around to make her appear to be the opposite. She’s actually dealing with this situation in the best, healthiest way possible and if you’ve got an alternative to what’s happening that doesn’t involve a fukc tonne of coercion and emotional manipulation backing Az into a corner and forcing him to deal with something he’s not ready to face I’d love to hear it :) 

I remember saying that to you. We were dancing at my prom. It’s funny the things we remember of all the years that go by. I remember how you told me that when I was ready for you, you would be ready for me. I’m ready now. I think a part of me has been ready for this day since the moment I first saw you. The new mystery guy in the hallway at school. I will always remember this moment, a hundred years from now. I will remember this moment for the both of us.
—  Caroline Forbes’ vows to Stefan Salvatore (8x15)

“I plan on being an engineer at NASA, but I can’t do that without taking them classes at that all-white high school, and I can’t change the color of my skin. So I have no choice but to be the first, which I can’t do without you, sir. Your honor, out of all the cases you’re going to hear today, which one will matter a hundred years from now? Which one is going to make you the first?”

Hidden Figures (2016)
dir. Theodore Melfi

Flood my Mornings: Twentieth of October

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment:  Stones (Jamie struggles with what separation from Jenny and his loved ones really entails.)

Anon requested: Claire takes Jamie to the North End in Boston for Italian food.


October 20, 1950

It was not the first time I had noticed that Jamie’s raised eyebrow was quite dashing, no matter how scornfully-raised. “And you’re certain this is what ye want for your birthday, lass?”

“Positive! Dig in, darling!”

The restaurant was dimly lit, but even in the candlelight, I could see that he was staring at the plate of spaghetti bolognese as though it were a sleeping wolverine. 

He poked the fragrant mass with his fork. “It just looks so—unwieldy.”

“I have full faith in your ability to wield your dinner,” I laughed, sipping my wine before picking up my fork again. 

Jamie watched me carefully, studying, then slowly imitated my motions of twirling the pasta around the fork using the bowl of the spoon as an anchor. I tried my best to stifle giggles into my wine glass as the load slipped off his tines halfway to his mouth not once, but twice. He fixed me with a gimlet eye. “If ye wished your present to be me making a fool of myself, I could think of half a dozen other more enjoyable—” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I snickered, “I’m not laughing, I promise.” I tightened my lips and looked angelically over at him. “Come on, once more?” 

He sighed, twirled once more, and managed to get the bite into his mouth. 

“So…? What do you think?” I asked eagerly. 

“But it’s good!” he said through his mouthful, sounding highly surprised. “A bit slippery, but the sauce is quite nice.” He took a swallow of wine and sat, considering. “Aye, that’s lovely. How d’ye say it? Spag—?” 

“Spagh-EH-tti,” I said, in my best exaggerated Italian accent, digging in to my own plate. “I’m so glad you like it! I haven’t had much Italian food before, either, but this is one of Tom and Marian’s favorite joints. You’ll have to have lasagne next time! Definitely less effort required!”

He managed another bite, losing only one noodle on the journey. “Do they have any wee bibs like the ones we have for Brianna? Tasty as it is, I dinna ken how I should be able to finish the serving wi’out splattering myself filthy.” 

In the end, he settled for a napkin tucked into his collar, and good thing, too, for otherwise his white shirt would have taken two direct hits before the meal was out.

It was a lovely evening, with good food, good wine, and a gorgeous trio of singers serenading the diners from the far corner.  

As the raucous Funiculì Funiculà was replaced by the sweet, sad strains of Musetta’s Waltz over our coffee and tiramisu (which Jamie did not enjoy— “It’s just wet cake!”), Jamie took my hand and squeezed it, his eyes crinkling with happiness. “Happy Birthday, Sassenach.”

“Thirty-two,” I said, a bit ruefully. “I think that means I’m firmly out of the spring chicken years, don’t you?”

“Hey, now, I’ll have no such talk,” he chided gently. “Every year we have together will be the best year—no matter how old we grow.”

I felt my face grow flush with feeling and in seeing the fervor in his expression. “That’s a good way to think of it. Think we’ll still be this happy when I’m seventy-two?” 

“Oh, aye, I’ll stake my life on it. I canna wait to see ye wi’ grey hairs. You’ll be the Sexiest grannie ever seen.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I laughed. “But thank you.” 

He stood halfway to lean across the table and kiss my hand. “I’m verra, verra glad ye were born, mo chridhe,” he murmured.  

My throat felt thick. “I’m glad you were born, too.” 

“Aye, but it’s no’ yet my day for it,” he grinned. As he sat back in his seat, he suddenly looked sharply up at me. “I didna think on it before, but this day is significant for another reason, forbye.”

“Oh? What reason is that?” 

“'Tis five years to the day since ye first told me the truth….” he said, eyes wide and wondering. “….about where ye truly came from, aye?”

I gasped, remembering. 

“Do you know when I was born?” I had hissed, voice tremulous, my hair wild and my eyes staring. “On the twentieth of October, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and eighteen.”

“Do you hear me?” I demanded, for he was blinking at me unmoving, as though paying no attention to a word I said. “I said nineteen eighteen! Nearly two hundred years from now! Do you hear?” 

I had been shouting, but he’d nodded slowly. 

“I hear.” 

And then a long time later, many frantic words and tears later, he’d looked down at me and smiled faintly. 

“Happy Birthday, Sassenach.” 

It took me completely by surprise and I’d just stared stupidly at him for a moment. “What?” I’d managed at last. 

“I said, ‘Happy Birthday.’ It’s the twentieth of October today.” 

“That was quite a day, no?” the present-day Jamie said, refilling my coffee cup and scooting the rest of the tiramisu toward me. 

“I was… so scared,” I said, feeling suddenly breathless from the remembered terror.

“Christ, me too,” he agreed with a shudder. “When I saw ye there on the platform in Cranesmuir—To think they might have burned ye, if I hadna arrived in ti—”

“No, no,” I cut in, “not then. I mean, I was terrified during the trial, of course…but it was there in the woods, that I meant. With you.” 

That startled him, and I went on. “I was so frightened to tell you about my past. I was convinced you would think me mad—or even the witch you’d just vowed publicly that I wasn’t.” 

That same faint smile crossed his lips but he said nothing. 

“Tell me truly, Jamie…” I started, my stomach suddenly in knots, dreading the answer. “Did you really believe me… or did you just care for me enough that it was easier for us both that you should pretend to?”

He spoke without hesitation. “No, I believed ye, Sassenach.”

My exhale of relief and my, “But how? Why?” seemed to escape me simultaneously. 

“Because your face betrays ye, mo sorcha—it always has. It’s why Colum and Dougal didna trust ye for a moment. They didna ken what it was ye were hiding, only that something was there ye wouldna tell. And in the time after we were made man and wife,” he reached across the tiny table and laid a warm hand on my cheek, “just as I kent your feelings for me were growing wi’ every passing day, I could see that there was something ye were holding back, still, even from me. It’s why I said ‘secrets, but no’ lies,’ aye?” He lowered his hand to gently hold my chin. “But this day, five years ago, was the first time I saw ye look back into my eyes wi’ nothing held back: no lies AND no secrets…. Your eyes told me that ye spoke true, no matter how unbelievable the truth was. And it slew me, Claire, then slew me again…because I knew I had to let ye go; go back to him.” 

I couldn’t speak, just then, and he sat back in his seat, shaking his head, dazed. “I still canna believe ye chose me; still canna fathom what I felt when I awoke to find ye there in my arms…thought I surely was dreaming.”

I reached for his hand. “I just…couldn’t give you up.”

“And I thank God for it every day.”

“Me too.”

We sat for a time in silence, touching each others’ rings and feeling the warmth of our hands together. 

Jamie was the one that broke the stillness, pulling away with purpose. “Now, as glad as I am that you’re a woman for whom watching a numpty suffer through a plate of Spaghetti is a sufficient birthday present—” he reached down to his feet and withdrew a parcel wrapped in brown paper, “—I did get ye a proper gift as well.”

I grinned and reached for it; a book, surely, from the size and weight. Sure enough, as the paper fell away, I could immediately see the crisp page-edges and the shiny binding that read: Medical Education in the United States: rankings and reviews (1950 ed.)

“Oh, Jamie…” I breathed, opening the cover and flipping through the pages. Harvard. Princeton. Stanford. Osteopathic and Medicine programs of California. Texas. Pennsylvania.  MCAT procedures. Top residencies by specialty. And on and on it went. 

“I ken we’ve been talking a great deal about the new bairn and the hope that we’ll conceive soon; but I didna wish ye to think I’d forgotten your other wish. I’ve been reading up on what it’s like—the requirements and the different options you’ll have. I didna ken there were half so many programs in Massachusetts, let alone the whole country!“ He gave a small shrug. "Perhaps it all goes wi'out saying, but I wanted ye to hear from my lips that I want ye to go to the best medical school ye can, if that’s your wish—even if it’s in—” He hesitated, speaking tentatively. “Hah-wheyyy?

Hawai’i,” I corrected, laughing with happy tears in my eyes.

“Aye, there,” he grinned, “or wherever the best spot for ye may be. Whither thou goest, I will go.” 

“Thank you, darling,” I whispered.

“My only requirement,” he said, suddenly stern, “is that you make it so they have to republish this wee book soon, for there isna a single mention of the possibility of a woman attending. Tis all ‘his’ and ‘him’ and ‘gentlemen in the class of such and such.’ You’ll need to change that, aye?”

I grinned at him and shook his hand playfully. “It’s a bargain.”

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