cannot have both


So I’m studying Legal Language for my midterm today, and our teacher absolutely freaking loves West’s Business Law, a very handy book that very neatly explains law in an understandable way for us dummies.

So here I am, reading through the Negotiable Instruments part and….

Guys. Guys

One of the authors is absolutely a Dragon Age nerd.

anonymous asked:

How do you combine science and religion? They're basically the opposite. I wish I could without feeling one is a lie.

Ahhhhhhh, nonny, nonny, nonny.

The answer is because, truly, nothing fuels my love for & faith in my religion more than science. And nothing keeps me motivated & driven to keep learning and working in science more than my religion.

I don’t try to analyse my Gods with the scientific method, the same way I don’t try to analyse my experience of being in love. Even if there is specific phenomenology one could identify, neurotransmitters being released, activity in parts of the brain, that’s not what those things are fundamentally about. Science does not hold all the answers to all the facets of the universe or life or the human condition. And a good scientist must always remember the limits of her theory and her experimentation.

But -

On Sunday night I watched David Attenborough’s Planet Earth II and had tears in my eyes at the infinite diversity and beauty of the natural world. Watching thunder clouds rolling over steppes and feeling filled up with love for Sif and Thor. Every sequence of predators chasing down prey resonating so deeply with the part of me that works with the Wild Hunt. And looking at every incredible living thing shown and knowing - that by the wonder of evolution - we are all cousins - all related - our ancestors are the same.

But everything I learn about molecular biology, the incredible, incomprehensible complexity of every cell in every living organism and how they interact - all hewn out of twenty amino acids, coded by four bases, all evolved from a single cell across billions of years - just increases my sense of awe and wonder and faith in the Gods. This is what they gave us.

As does the stunning beauty and elegance of the laws of physics. The wave equation. Dirac’s equation that knew more than he did. The energy-matter equivalence. Quantum-electro-dynamics, which is accurate to a degree equivalent to measuring the distance between New York and Los Angeles to within the breadth of a single hair. The fact that I can look up at the night sky and see light from millions of years ago. 

This is beauty, this is poetry, this is magic, this is where I find my Gods.

  • Sato Ryuji as Kashuu Kiyomitsu
  • Sakiyama Tsubasa as Ishikirimaru

Not gonna lie, one of the reasons why I was ecstatic that Kiyomitsu and Ishikirimaru were selected to participate in subsequent musical productions of the Musical Touken Ranbu was new idol outfits! xD And look at how gorgeous they both are *_*

Scan credits: aokinsight
Source(s): ( x , x )

I love how acephobic gatekeepers will go “the split attraction model is problematic and ace people are homophobic for using it!”, then turn around and without missing a beat go “well, you may be asexual, but you’re heteroromantic, so you still count as het”. Like, buddy, either the split attraction model is valid or it isn’t. You cannot have it both ways.


2 times when Even probably took Isak’s hands 


My kind of aesthetic, Taekook’s body differences. Dem shoulders, peck and arms doe jeon jungkook.

Gosh I was just thinking earlier about how people (homophobes!) seem to have no sense of what sorts of things Holmes and Watson would have had to conceal and what sort of things it makes no sense to conceal. For example, I have seen people argue that despite all the assertions to the contrary, Holmes was definitely in love with Irene Adler/Maud Bellamy/some lady. Well. What would have been the point of being demur or subtextual about that? All the persecution heterosexuals were facing at the time?

But you’ll see those same people insist that Holmes and Watson couldn’t have been a couple, and people who think they were are reading too much into things. You simply cannot have it both ways. Is there subtext or isn’t there? And if there is subtext, what sort of information would necessarily have been confined to subtext?

We can not enjoy creativity while punishing marginal deviance.

We cannot have it both ways. We cannot love the art around us, yet punish the slight oddities from the minds that create these works. 

We cannot fear and isolate the unobtrusively different, only to turn around and enjoy their products from a distance. 

These differences in creation change minds, worlds, positions, and connections. They are the fuel for the destination of expansion. 

The illusion of normalcy is damaging to both the minds of the artists, along with those who view their work and wish to flex their own spirit. 

We must grow and expand to accept those who are from the edge, even if we do not live there ourselves. 

Thanks for reading. 

anonymous asked:

Could you post all the times Jamie and Claire say 'I love you' please? I love your blog!

With pleasure, anon!


He cast a glance at the horizon, where the sickle moon hung low and rising. “It’s nearly winter, and the nights are long, mo duinne.” He leaned across the fence, reaching and I stepped into his arms, feeling the heat of his body and the beat of his heart.
“I love you.”

He drew me close again, kissed me gently and whispered in Gaelic, “He
will let you go because he thinks you are helpless. I know you are not.” Releasing me, he said in English, “I love you. Go now.”

“I love you.”
“Oh.” I was mildly surprised, but undeniably pleased. “I love you too.”

Dragonfly in Amber

“Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi’ loving you.”

“Mm. You’d forgotten how to say anything’ except ‘I love you,’ but you said that a lot.”
The chuckle came back, louder this time. “Oh, aye? Well, could have been worse, I suppose.”

The slight breeze was welcome, for the early autumn sun was still hot on my shoulders and calves.
“I love you,” I said softly, not meaning him to hear me, but only for the pleasure of saying it.
He did hear, though, for the hint of a smile curved the wide mouth. After a moment, he rolled over onto his belly on the plaid beside me. A few blades of grass clung to his back and buttocks. I brushed one lightly away, and his skin shivered briefly at my touch.

“I love you,” he muttered, half-awake.
“I know,” I said, and fell asleep at once, holding him.

“I know it,” he said quietly. “I do know it, my own. Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there’s no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them. Go back to sleep, mo duinne.”


“But here,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him, “here in the dark, with you… I have no name.”
I lifted my face toward his, and took the warm breath of him between my own lips.
“I love you,” I said, and did not need to tell him how I meant it.

“No.” He swallowed; I could hear the sound of it clearly, and feel the pulse beat in his neck where I held him. “But now I have taken ye back from her, as well. I love you — and I love Ian, like he was my own. And I am thinking maybe I cannot have ye both.”

“I forgot. I love you,” he said, giving me another shake for emphasis. “And I’m glad you’re no dead. Dinna do that again!”

Drums of Autumn

“No,” he said softly, still looking out at the night. “Not then. There are things worth dying or starving for—but not words.”
“Maybe not those words.”
He turned to look at me, features dim in starlight, but the hint of a smile visible on his mouth.
“Ye know of words that are?”
….“What about—'I love you’?”
He reached out a hand and touched my face. A breath of air stirred past us, and I saw the small hairs rise along his arm.
“Aye,” he whispered. “That’ll do.”

“Jamie,” I said hesitantly. “Do you believe I love you?”
He turned his head and looked down at me for a long moment before replying. The moon shone on his face, picking out his features as though they had been chiseled in marble.
“Well, if ye don’t, Sassenach,” he said at last, “ye’ve picked a verra poor time to tell me so.”
I let out my breath in the ghost of a laugh.
“No, it’s not that,” I assured him. “But—” My throat tightened, and I swallowed hastily, needing to get the words out. “I—I don’t say it often. Perhaps it’s only that I wasn’t raised to say such things; I lived with my uncle, and he was affectionate, but not—well, I didn’t know how married people—”
He put his hand lightly over my mouth, a faint smile touching his lips. After a moment, he took it away.
I took a deep breath, steadying my voice.
“Look, what I mean to say is—if I don’t say it, how do you know I love you?”
He stood still, looking at me, then nodded in acknowledgment.
“I know because ye’re here, Sassenach,” he said quietly.

I stepped close to him and put my hands on his shoulders.
“I love you.”
He looked down at me for a long moment.
“I’m glad of it, Claire,” he said quietly, and touched my face. “Verra glad. Come to bed now; I’ll warm ye.”

The Fiery Cross

I unscrewed the stopper and inhaled. Whisky, and very good whisky, too.
“I love you,” I said sincerely, and he laughed.
“I love ye too, Sassenach,” he said, and gently touched my foot.

“Jamie—I love you. Be careful!”
He didn’t remember Culloden, he said. I wondered suddenly whether that loss of memory extended to the hours just before the battle, when he and I had said farewell. Then I looked into his eyes and knew it did not.
“‘Good luck’ will do,” he said, and his hand tightened on mine, likewise frozen to the current that surged between us. “‘I love ye’ does much better.”

“Sassenach … I love ye now, and I will love ye always. Whether I am dead—or
you—whether we are together or apart. You know it is true,” he said quietly, and touched my face. “I know it of you, and ye know it of me as well.”

“I love you, a nighean donn. I have loved ye from the moment I saw ye, I will love ye ’til time itself is done, and so long as you are by my side, I am well pleased wi’ the world.”

“When the day shall come, that we do part,” he said softly, and turned to look at me, “if my last words are not ‘I love you’—ye’ll ken it was because I didna have time.”

A Breath of Snow and Ashes

“Yes. Just now, I was actually trying to rank ‘I love you, I like you, I worship you, I have to have my cock inside you,’ in terms of their relative sincerity.”

I leaned back against the pillows, feeling a bit better. The fever had quite gone, but I still felt wraithlike and weak, barely able to sit up unassisted, and I fell asleep almost without warning, after the least exertion.
Jamie, still snorting, took my hand, raised it to his mouth, and kissed it. The sudden warm immediacy of the touch rippled the fair hairs of my forearm, and my fingers closed involuntarily on his.
“I love you,” he said very softly, his shoulders still trembling with laughter.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling quite a lot better. “Well, then. I love you, too. And it will grow, after all.”

“Jamie …” I said, feeling my throat close.
“I love you,” he said, so softly that I barely heard him, close as we were.
I lay still for a moment, feeling the stone grow warmer in the palm of my hand.

…Then I came back to bed, saw his hair a dark mass on the pillow, and the shine of his eyes in the moonlight.
“I love you,” I whispered, and slid under the sheet beside him, putting my arms around him, hugging him close, warmer than the stone—so much warmer—and his heart beat with mine.

An Echo In The Bone

“Tell Jamie,” I kept saying to a misty Ian. “Tell Jamie that I love him.”
“Open your eyes and tell me yourself, Sassenach,” said a deep, urgent voice somewhere close.
I tried opening my eyes and found that I could. Apparently I had not died after all. I essayed a cautious breath and found that my chest moved easily. My hair was damp, and I was lying on something hard, covered by a blanket. Jamie‘s face swam above me, then steadied as I blinked.
“Tell me,” he repeated, smiling a little, though anxiety creased the skin beside his eyes.
“Tell you… oh! I love you. Where… ?” Memory of recent events flooded in upon me, and I sat up abruptly. “The Teal? What—”

What would he say to Claire in such circumstances? he wondered suddenly. Probably what he had said to her, in parting. “I love you. I’ll see you again.” He didn‘t see any way of improving on the sentiment, after all.

Written in My Own Heart’s Blood

“I love you, a nighean,” he said, very softly, his breath warm on my skin.
“I love you,” I answered just as softly, taking the ribbon from his hair and loosening his plait between my fingers. I pressed his head closer to me, not in invitation, but out of the sudden urgent need to keep him close to me, to protect him.
He kissed my breast and turned his head, laying it in the hollow of my shoulder. He
took one deep breath, one more, and then was asleep, the relaxing weight of his body against me both protection and trust.
“I love you,” I said, almost soundless, my arms wrapped tight about him. “Oh, dear God, I love you.”

“Are ye all right, Sassenach? Is it bad, then?”
“No,” I said, and wiped my eyes hastily on a corner of the sheet. “No—it—it’s fine. I just —oh, Jamie, I love you!” I did give way to tears, then, snuffling and blubbering like an idiot. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to get hold of myself. “I’m all right, there’s nothing wrong, it’s just—”

If ever in the midst of your running, you glance over your shoulder and hope to cling to what you must forsake, you will soon realize that you have a decision to make. Do you want Jesus or do you want the world? You cannot have both. But remember this: Christ comes to the threshold of your life, with arms wide open, shouting, ‘You must love me more! You must love me more!’ He knows the world will fail you in every devastatingly possible way, but He will never do the same. So, when the world tempts you, turn your head around to face the light once again. Abandon hesitation and replace it with haste. Run faster than ever before.
—  Ellie Johnson, Hold Out For No ‘Heroes’