field labor


4 Page introduction to my comic, Jack and the Scholar!
And if you haven’t guessed it, She is the descendant of an old friend.

Woo! I’ve been working on this for weeks!

Taken place in the beginning of the 50 year time gap proceeding the events  of Season 5, Jack has recently lost his sword and we begin to see his transition into frustration and mental distress.

Here he is buying the first weapon of his new armor, his pistol. Something that he is not too pleased about. The merchant suggest he could ‘sneak up from behind’ which is a very un-honorable way to conduct yourself in battle. Especially for Jack. But he needs a weapon non the less.

He bumps into a field laborer distracted by her reading. In passing she casually mention historical facts and stories that Jack hadn’t heard in so long and honestly didn’t think anyone else knew. When he finally gets a good look at her, he senses something familiar, he just can’t quite put his finger on it.

Of course, she’s a woman of science and fact, so when Jack tells her that he is a time traveling Samurai from feudal japan with no sword named ‘Jack’…she doesn’t really believe him. Brushing him off, the woman turns to leave only to have her facts corrected by Jack. It may of struck a nerve with her, perhaps she had lost something in translation?

Jack’s mind is in the beginning process of deteriorating.  It begins to play tricks on him, taunting him of a childhood friend and fooling him into believing that perhaps he still in his own time. However the thoughts only destroy him more, he’s haunted by what he can not chase nor escape from.

But the woman seems to have an agenda of her own.
Perhaps they just got off on the 
Hopefully you like the introduction! If I get a good response I’ll finish chapter 1!

Special thanks to 

For their help with editing / script! 

Feedback appreciated! 

Protest against child labor, New York City, May 1, 1909 (Labor Day). Two young girls proudly wear sashes calling for an end to child labor, referring to the practice as “child slavery.” The signs are written in both English and Hebrew. Jewish immigrants, forced out of Russia and Eastern Europe because of pogroms and anti-Semitic laws, came to New York City in large numbers. Many immigrant Jews worked in the garment industry, a field rife with unfair labor practices. The New York City garment industry, along with the Jewish immigrant population, were centered around Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Men and Women Will Never Be Equal Until Women...
  • have to sign up for the draft
  • get ridiculed for being abused by their husbans
  • get arrested for having an abusive husband
  • aren’t congratulated for hitting a man
  • can be refused admittance to a shelter on the basis of their gender
  • get the same prison sentences for the same crime
  • aren’t congratulated on TV for cutting off their husband’s dick
  • can be refused custody of their children due to their gender
  • can’t rape a man and then sue him for child support if they become pregnant
  • can’t get away with lying about rape/abuse and will be punished it they’re caught lying
  • are called freeloaders and deadbeats for being a homemaker
  • can’t wear masculine clothing without being harassed
  • are punished for lying about taking birth control like men are for sabotaging a comdom
  • having a women’s only space is deemed sexist
  • can’t give up parenthood unless her boyfriend/husband allows it
  • can’t be misandrists without being called out for their sexist behavior

I never see feminism advocating for these things. Weird, huh?

I tried to keep this list away from things like statistics and things that would require the word “more” in the statement (ex: “…until more women join labor intensive fields”). I also tried to stay away from generalizing statements, instead rewording them to make them less, well, generalizing (ex: “…until women stop lying about being raped” to “…until women can’t get away with lying about being raped”). If you add on to this list, I ask you to do the same.

If you don’t understand a bullet point, please feel free to ask what I mean by it.

Emptiness is silence. It is not stillness of the grave. It is midnight silence, when the wind rests, birds sleep, and the sun is hours from rising. It is the quiet that falls with snow, when the fields of labor are covered in white and trees have withdrawn into patience. That quietness is not the cessation of shouts, pounding feet, and pumping arms, but their origin. It is the source of day and the origin of spring. Silence is not the end. It is the beginning. Wuji is essential stillness, the packed potential before the beginning. It is the beginning of the beginning. Only after silence breaks into sound does emptiness become all things.
Deng Ming-Dao, The Living I Ching

my mom told me I looked like an “underpaid, overworked grad student” when I was leaving for work this morning. I can dig that aesthetic, I guess.

I’ve been restoring some lately, and the baggy field clothes + hard labor are proving to be amazing distractions. Plus, working makes me feel like a productive citizen instead of just a malnourished lump.

I feel hopeful today.

anonymous asked:

Aahhh!! For my birthday I would love Hidge with sick pidge if that's okay??? -Rae

@godhelpthesickies happy birthday lovely! I hope that you’re having a wonderful day!

“Matt!” Pidge shrieks, her voice going an octave higher with panic. “Where are you?”

She stumbles, her foot catching on a rock in the middle of the path, but keeps moving. The planet they’d landed on-the one where her brother had supposedly been sent to work on-is hot, the air stifling with the scent of sulfur and ash. The gravity here is stronger than normal, making each step feel like a chore.

Sweat trickles down Pidge’s face as she climbs over an enormous boulder. She scrapes her hands and knees on the descent but the pain doesn’t even register. She keeps moving. The work site should be just up ahead. It would be nice if she could see more than a few steps ahead, but the atmosphere on this planet is thick, almost like fog.

Almost there. Pidge squeezes between two rocks, and scampers over another small pile of rocks. Matt is close. She can feel it. She follows the path around another bend and stops dead in her tracks.

The sight that greets her is terrifying beyond words.

Instead of a field where the laborers work, there’s just a giant, gaping chasm. Pidge stares, horror welling up in her chest as she stares down into its unfathomable depths. Her brother is gone, she thinks numbly. She was too late.

The world seems to shift suddenly, and Pidge snaps awake, sitting bolt upright in her bed and screaming her head off.

She screams for what feels like an eternity, but eventually the words from the person sitting next to her filter through the haze clouding her mind. “Sh, sh, it’s alright Pidge, it was just a nightmare. You’re okay, it’s just the fever talking.”

Slowly she starts to come down from her panicked high, forcing herself to take deep breaths. Her throat feels scraped raw from screaming. Right. It was just a dream. She’s safe in her bed back on the ship, and her brother is still out there somewhere. He’s strong.

“I heard you screaming and came in,” Hunk explains, rubbing a soothing circle on her back, between her shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” she mutters hoarsely, a little embarrassed. Her skin feels clammy and her hair is damp with sweat; not to mention that her body feels like she went ten rounds solo against a Galra soldier. She’s definitely sick. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Hunk says, his tone warm and comforting. “You should probably get some more sleep. Do you need anything? Water, medicine, another blanket maybe?”

“Stay with me?” Pidge blurts out without thinking, a blush painting her cheeks that are already rosy from fever. “My brother used to stay with me when I had a bad dream.”

“Sure thing,” Hunk replies, laying down and scooting up next to her. She curls up, feeling safe and secure next to him.

Even without Matt, she’s not alone.

The Museum of Hyrule, Chapter One

A Cooler Shade of Darkness

Zelda is a policy analyst with political connections in high places. Ganondorf is a museum curator who possesses evidence of a hidden history that Zelda only suspects. Together they will bring Hyrule’s dark secrets to light.

In this chapter, Zelda meets Ganondorf by chance one morning in a museum that has just opened and hasn’t yet gotten its rush of visitors. Ganondorf takes advantage of the quiet atmosphere to give her a tour that gradually becomes more intimate.

Chapter 1 / 4 ☆ 3,200 words ☆ SFW ☆ (Also on AO3)

* * * * *

The outside air was sweltering, and the sun was brighter than it had any business being this early in the day. When Zelda stepped through the heavy glass doors at the entrance to the museum, the cool darkness was a welcome relief. A docent behind a desk greeted her and held out a map, but Zelda waved it away. She only wanted to find a place to sit down out of the heat.

The museum had just opened, and the large rotunda that served as the central hub of its wings was still empty. Dim rays of light shone down through the clouded clerestory windows, creating small rainbows as they refracted off the water of the fountain at the center of the room. Several benches surrounded the fixture, and to Zelda’s eyes they looked heavenly. The sound of her bootheels was amplified by the acoustics of the domed ceiling as she walked across the room, and the thud of her leather satchel echoed across the space as she sat down and dropped it beside her.

Zelda’s office, which specialized in public policy analysis, had been contracted to provide an expert in the field of migrant labor at a special hearing of a council committee, and Zelda had been designated as that expert. She’d been headhunted by the firm even before she finished her graduate degree, and in the two years since she accepted their offer she had proven herself to be competent and professional. She handled a number of high-profile assignments, but this was the first time she had been called on to do official government work at this level. It hadn’t gone well.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

was a lot of a manorial court's work just adjudicating conflicts over whether one neighbor stole another's goat, or shifted a boundary stone a few inches over

That was part of it, but a lot of the manorial court’s work was in organizing agricultural labor (what fields were to be fallow and what sown in which crops, and so on) and the payment of rents, taxes, and labor, which feeds back into the organizing labor b/c usually the way that the lord’s lands are to be farmed would set the pattern for the peasants. 

See, the thing about medieval agriculture is that even though the land was carved up into little individual strips to which each family had leases and rights, it was farmed collectively. 

Matthew 6:25-34 (HCSB)
“This is why I tell you: Don’t worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Isn’t life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the sky: They don’t sow or reap or gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you worth more than they? Can any of you add a single cubit to his height by worrying? And why do you worry about clothes? Learn how the wildflowers of the field grow: they don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these! If that’s how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and thrown into the furnace tomorrow, won’t He do much more for you—you of little faith? So don’t worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For the idolaters eagerly seek all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided for you. Therefore don’t worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.