our interventions

Silent (Soulmate!Thomas Jefferson - Part One)

Originally posted by youforfeitallrights

A/n: My friend is on an internship in New York, and she has tickets to see Hamilton… which got me thinking… I was bored and procrastinating… and I hadn’t written a soulmate AU in years… I need to reclaim my title as soulmate queen. (Also, apologies, I don’t know the tags for this fandom, sooo… This is a thing right?) 

Soulmate AU where the first words your soulmate says to you appear on your arm. Written in third person. Starts in James Madison’s POV then shifts to Thomas Jefferson. No warnings other than Thomas has a bad attitude. 

Part Two     Masterlist

There are three facts about Thomas Jefferson of which James Madison was absolutely certain: 1) Thomas Jefferson does not have a soulmate. 2) Thomas Jefferson doesn’t want one. 3) It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.

James had known Thomas for many years now, and he doubted any living person knew the man better. Even so, it didn’t take an expert to know Thomas’s view on the subject. Any person with eyes could look down at Thomas’s arm and see it lay bare of words. Any person who’d had a conversation with him on the subject could see he didn’t want to find any words there, and every person who’d ever encountered Thomas, even in passing, had likely come to the same conclusion as James. It was for the best. The universe was saving whatever poor woman would have been latched to him from a life playing second fiddle to Thomas’s ambition and hubris.  

Looking across the banquet hall, James could see Alexander Hamilton, who had been deep in conversation with Thomas for much of the afternoon, coming to those same conclusions. Hamilton had been among the first batch of people to approach Thomas when he arrived, and James barely salvaged a moment to warn Thomas of the situation before he dove into a lengthy discussion with the young immigrant.

James couldn’t decide whether he was amused or terrified. The pair seemed to be amicable enough at the moment, but that could change in a flash. Hamilton and Jefferson were both as stubborn as each other, and they were both fully equipped with sufficient verbal ammunition to break out into an all-out war right in the hall. James had a sneaking suspicion the only reason the two had yet to shed any blood was due to the close proximity of President Washington, the host of tonight’s affair.

“Someone should really go and separate those two before they realize how terribly opposed their views are. I’d hate to get any blood stains on the new rug.” James glanced up to see it was Martha Washington who spoke.  

Smiling James offered a hand out to greet the woman, “I do believe that will happen regardless of our intervention, ma’am.”

Martha gave a simple nod in the direction of his hand, and James’s hand dropped, realizing both of hers were occupied. In her left Martha held a nearly empty glass of wine, and in her right she held a hand, not her husband’s either.

James studied the younger woman attached to Martha’s side with interest. She had a death grip of Mrs. Washington’s hand and looked to be cowering behind the older woman. To her credit, Martha also appeared to be shielding the girl, who looked about ready to sink into the floor. The forlorn expression on her face and the tightness on Martha’s told James that neither of them particularly wanted the young woman to be there. Whether that was because Martha did not care for her to be at the banquet or whether Martha cared to protect her from it, James could not be sure.

“Mrs. Washington, I do not believe I’ve had the honor to meet your acquaintance,” James addressed the unknown woman with a slight bow of his head, “James Madison.”

“Oh, of course,” Martha flashed a forgetful smile James would have believed had he not seen it before. “Mr. Madison, this is my dear younger sister, (Y/n) Elizabeth Aylett.”

“Pleasure to meet you ma’am,” James bowed his head.

The woman, whom he now knew to be (Y/n) Elizabeth), gave a one-handed curtsey in response and a rather hesitant smile. Her grip on Martha’s hand loosened slightly, but she made little move to approach him any closer or step out from behind Martha’s guarded stance.

“Has your sister been introduced to Mr. Jefferson or Mr. Hamilton? Perhaps we could make their acquaintance on that pretense,” James suggested, waving a hand to where his oldest friend stood, still in deep, uninterrupted discussion with the new Secretary of Treasury.

“James!” A familiar voice boomed as a hand came down firmly to clap James on the shoulder. “I am so glad you could come.”

James turned to face George Washington and extended a hand, “Mr. President, did you really think I would miss a welcome banquet for my oldest friend?”

George accepted James’s hand and shook it firmly. “Your oldest friend who has spent the majority of the night politely refuting every word that has left the mouth of Secretary Hamilton.” George gave James a pointed smirk. “I dare say those two are cut from the same cloth.”

“I don’t know if I would go that far, sir.” James nodded his head in the direction of the pair, who seemed to have been quietly escalating their disagreement. “Even if they were, I doubt either would admit it. However, I do think they are both stubborn enough to continue this fight until someone forces them to cease blows.”

“Oh let them stew for a moment more,” George waved off James’s concern with a light chuckle. “They both work best when they’re angry. Perhaps if we leave them to it long enough they’ll build the whole country while trying to outdo each other.”

James did not share George’s confidence in the pair of men. He didn’t know who he was more concerned for. He’d seen Hamilton work. The young man had an unmatched determination, and put to work it could do some serious damage. However, Thomas Jefferson was not a man to cross, probably a fourth fact to add to his list if he ever felt like expanding it. There had been more than one occasion over the course of their friendship that he found himself thanking the heavens Thomas was on his side not against him. Nevertheless, James allowed George to table his concerns and the conversation to steer away.

“You know James,” George glanced down at the younger man’s sleeve covered arm with a knowing smirk. “Mr. Burr is here tonight.”

James’s hand instinctively went to his arm. Under the sleeve, the first words from his soulmate, Mr. Burr speaks very highly of you, Mr. Madison. “I’m afraid I have already met all of the women you have invited tonight, not including Mrs. Aylett.” He gestured to Martha’s sister. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

“Well no danger of that tonight, Mr. Madison.” Martha piped up, still holding firmly to her sister. “Perhaps the next banquet,” with a kind smile she added, “We’ll see to it Mr. Burr is invited to all of them.”

“How kind of you, Mrs. Washington,” James nodded politely.

James waited silently as George turned to address Martha about the time dinner would begin. His eyes wondered over to (Y/n), who also seemed very uninterested in the conversation. Her eyes had wandered away, and her guard had dropped slightly as she looked around the room. James followed her gaze to Jefferson and Hamilton who had since been joined by Aaron Burr, the same Aaron Burr who would one day introduce James to his soulmate.

‘No danger of that tonight,’ James reminded himself of Martha’s words, harsh but true. It occurred to him at first that she may have spoken prematurely. He knew everyone else in the room, but her sister had yet to speak a word to him. It didn’t seem likely, given that (Y/n) probably did not know Aaron Burr and had no reaction herself to his first words to her. Even so, Martha had said it with an odd sense of finality. If James could not see the looping cursive peeking out from under (Y/n)’s sleeves, he’d have assumed Martha was so assured in her statement because her sister had no soulmate. He supposed, now, it must have been because she knew the words on her sister’s arm, or that her sister had already found her soulmate. Though if that was the case, why was he not here?

A million possibilities were running through James’s mind. There wasn’t anything else particularly interesting to do that night.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, didn’t anyone tell you the war was over?” The voice of Aaron Burr echoed across the hall. Clearly James had been too soon assuming the night would be uninteresting.

George caught James’s eye. “Let’s go end the squabbling; shall we?” George offered an arm to his wife, and (Y/n) reluctantly dropped her death grip on Martha so her sister could accept.

The married couple led the way, and James followed after them beside a meek-looking (Y/n) who still refused to speak. The poor, quiet girl was walking into a lion’s den with Burr, Jefferson, and Hamilton. If she was hesitant around him, he could only imagine how badly she’d be spooked by the other three men. James made a concerted effort to circle around to her other side and place himself between her and the other three. He’d thought he’d been subtle with the gesture, but the sheepish smile (Y/n) sent his way told him otherwise. His only reply was to nod in confirmation.

“Mr. President,” Aaron Burr gave a bow of his head to the approaching group, effectively halting all conversation between Hamilton and Jefferson. “How are you this evening?”

“Quite well, Mr. Burr. How are you? Enjoying the festivities, I see,” The president looked between his two secretaries admonishingly.

Hamilton, at least, had the respect to look scorned, “My apologies, Mr. President. Secretary Jefferson and I were simply discussing…”

“Enough of that,” George waved away Hamilton’s concerns. “This is meant to be a celebration. Mr. Jefferson has only just returned to us from France. Let’s leave our work to the office, shall we?”

“Of course, Mr. President.” Thomas Jefferson gave a respectful bow of his head. “Thank you for hosting this dinner tonight. I appreciate your hospitality.”

“And we appreciate your assistance. I look forward to working with you, but for now let’s enjoy our evening.” George addressed the pair of them.

Hamilton bowed his head and turned his attention from the group. “If you all will excuse me, my soulmate is speaking with Mrs. Adams and appears to want my attention.” He went off with one last nod to the President.

“You haven’t even made it into work yet, and the two of you are already finding things to bicker over,” George’s tone was teasing, but there was a certain sense of warning to it that none of the group missed.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it bickering, merely a difference of opinions unrelated to work. I’m sure we’ll be able to put it aside in future work.” Thomas politely refuted the President’s concern.

“Unrelated?” James cut in. He knew both men well enough. They had plenty of points of contention related to politics. He couldn’t imagine they would have had enough time to make it through all of them and find something else to argue about.

“Soulmates, of course,” Thomas waved his hand in the direction Alexander had retreated. “He brought up the topic and seemed rather disgruntled by my stance on the subject.” Thomas was being very careful not to launch into his opinion again. He doubted this group, Martha and the woman he didn’t know in particular, would appreciate it.

“Ah yes,” George mused. “Alexander mustn’t be familiar with your perennial bachelorhood.”

“I was married once, you know,” Thomas pointed out to George with a teasing tone that in no way seemed to disagree with George’s statement.

“It happens sometimes,” Martha seemed to miss the tone in Thomas’s voice and took him more literally. “You know, people getting married outside of soulmates.” Her eyes trailed to the other woman in the group, standing between George and James and trying desperately to avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

Thomas’s eyes trailed over the girl. “Who might your friend be, Mrs. Washington?” The question was addressed to Martha, but his eyes were firmly on the woman, expecting the answer to come from her.

She made no move to answer or even acknowledge Thomas’s presence, and Martha piped up immediately in response. “Mr. Jefferson, this is my sister, (Y/n) Elizabeth Aylett.”

“Can she not answer for herself?” Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes when he looked back to Martha.

“As a matter of fact -” Martha sputtered out, agitation bubbling up in her expression.

“Mr. Jefferson,” George warned coolly, all pretense dropping from his voice.

Thomas wanted to scoff. He couldn’t get a word out today without being berated, first by Hamilton, then Burr, now the Washingtons. This banquet was supposed to be in honor of his return, and all he wanted to do was leave. Any other day he would have been the epitome of cordial, but that Hamilton had wound him tight. He wanted none of this.

Turning to (Y/n), he practically growled out his first words to her, “What? Are you mute or something?”

Everyone froze for just a moment. Aaron Burr was looking at him aghast. James’s expression was simply exasperated. George Washington had the stern expression of a no-nonsense general, and Martha looked a mixture of angry and shocked at his side. The woman, (Y/n), simply looked resigned. She was meeting Thomas’s gaze now, but the look in her eyes was not that of a woman scorned. It looked more like a woman broken.

The look in her eye was all Thomas needed to realize he’d made a mistake.

(Y/n) turned to her sister and made a quick gesture, wiping her fingers twice over the palm of her outstretched hand, before she turned for the door.

“Wait, I-,” Thomas reached out to the woman, ready to apologize. Instead, his hand was snatched away.

When he looked back, he was expecting a disappointed James or maybe a wary Aaron Burr. He was certainly not expecting to have to look down into the eyes of an absolutely livid Martha Washington. “You… You…” She was trying desperately to form sentences, but her anger was suppressing her speech.

“I’m sorry, deeply sorry.” Thomas looked away ashamed. “It has been a rough evening. I didn’t intend to take it out on your sister.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Martha’s voice was growing louder with her building rage. “You should be apologizing to (Y/n)! Not just for this, for decades of hating herself! Do you realize how much damage you’ve done to her?”

Now Thomas was confused, very confused. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“Every day she wakes up to those words burned into her arm! Ashamed of who she is and knowing you’re ashamed of it too!” Martha’s ranting had attracted attention from a good portion of the banquet hall now. George reached out to his wife, trying to rein her in.

Thomas tried placating the irate woman. “I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs. Washington. Perhaps, I should just go find (Y/n) and…”

George took the matter on himself and pulled his wife from Thomas, stepping up close to the man so none of the now eavesdropping guests could hear his voice carry. “Your words are on (Y/n)’s arm. You must be her soulmate.”

“I don’t have a soulmate.” Thomas replied almost mechanically, turning his arm slightly so George could see the blank expanse of skin.

“Well yes,” George conceded. “If (Y/n) is your soulmate you wouldn’t have words on your arm. She’ll never speak to you… She is mute.”

The Talk - Bruce Wayne x Reader

So I know I said I was away at some of my friends’ place, but everyone went to bed early because we’re suppose to wake up super early in the morning to go and visit Brussels and I have no self-control (or common sense apparently) so I’m on the internet while everyone sleep and..yeah basically I have time to write a fic, it’s silly and not great, wrote it in litteraly twenty minutes, but here we go, hope you’ll like it : 

WARNING FOR LANGAGE AND ALSO a bit NSFW

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

______________________________________________

When J’onn J’onzz, aka Martian Manhunter, asked where the Batman was, he wasn’t expecting to blush for the first time in his life. 

So that’s how it felt to be so embarassed that your face changed color…it wasn’t pleasant. It was a very human emotion. 

************

He came in the common room of the Watchtower looking for the bat because he had infos for him, infos he asked and said were highly important for one of his current case back in Gotham City.

J’onn scanned the room quickly. 

Aquaman was conversing with Green Arrow and Black Canary. Wonder Woman was arm wrestling Hawkgirl, AND Zatanna AND Green Lantern (not allowed to use his ring of course), and the amazon was clearly having a blast “fighting” them, not even a drop of sweat on her face. Flash was playing ping-pong against himself, under the gaze of Shazam who was trying to keep up

Superman was sitting on one of the couches, on his own, away from everyone (which was unusual), visibly grumpy.

…A lot of J’onn’s colleagues where there, the World being rather calm, but no trace of Batman, or his wife, or even his children. Mm.

Well, the next best thing to locate the bat,a after you and his kids, was to ask his best friend, Clark. 

J’onn went to him and sat down in front of him. 

-Hello Clark. 

Still frowning, and clearly not happy, Superman turned to give a sideway look at his fellow alien friend and said, a bit coldly : 

-J’onn.

There was a short and awkward silence, and Clark was definitely avoiding J’onn’s eyes, which made the martian question : 

-Have I done anything to offend you ?

Surprised, Superman finally turns his head fully toward his friend and, after a moment of confusion says : 

-What ? No. No no you’re fine, it’s not you the problem don’t worry. Sorry…

-You seem on edge, are you alright ?

-Yes, I’m okay. 

-I’m here to talk if you want to, and…

-I’m fine J’onn ! Just a bit…distracted and annoyed, that’s all.

-Why ?

-It’s none of your goddamn business. It’s annoying and there’s nothing you can do about it !

-It’s not like you to be so…harsh. You know you can tell me Clark. What is distracting you like so ?

Clark pouts and crosses his arms, burrying himself deeper in the couch, and doesn’t seem to want to talk further, but after a moment finally says :

-It’s because of Bruce and (Y/N).

Keep reading

A Stanford dean on skills every 18 year old should have

1. An 18-year-old must be able to talk to strangers — faculty, deans, advisers, landlords, store clerks, human resource managers, coworkers, bank tellers, health care providers, bus drivers, mechanics—in the real world.

The crutch: We teach kids not to talk to strangers instead of teaching the more nuanced skill of how to discern the few bad strangers from the mostly good ones. Thus, kids end up not knowing how to approach strangers — respectfully and with eye contact — for the help, guidance, and direction they will need out in the world.

2. An 18-year-old must be able to find his way around a campus, the town in which her summer internship is located, or the city where he is working or studying abroad.

The crutch: We drive or accompany our children everywhere, even when a bus, their bicycle, or their own feet could get them there; thus, kids don’t know the route for getting from here to there, how to cope with transportation options and snafus, when and how to fill the car with gas, or how to make and execute transportation plans.

3. An eighteen-year-old must be able to manage his assignments, workload, and deadlines.

The crutch: We remind kids when their homework is due and when to do it— sometimes helping them do it, sometimes doing it for them; thus, kids don’t know how to prioritize tasks, manage workload, or meet deadlines, without regular reminders.

4. An 18-year-old must be able to contribute to the running of a house hold.

The crutch: We don’t ask them to help much around the house because the checklisted childhood leaves little time in the day for anything aside from academic and extracurricular work; thus, kids don’t know how to look after their own needs, respect the needs of others, or do their fair share for the good of the whole.

5. An 18-year-old must be able to handle interpersonal problems.

The crutch: We step in to solve misunderstandings and soothe hurt feelings for them; thus, kids don’t know how to cope with and resolve conflicts without our intervention.

6. An 18-year-old must be able to cope with ups and downs of courses and workloads, college- level work, competition, tough teachers, bosses, and others.

The crutch: We step in when things get hard, finish the task, extend the deadline, and talk to the adults; thus, kids don’t know that in the normal course of life things won’t always go their way, and that they’ll be okay regardless.

7. An 18-year-old must be able to earn and manage money.

The crutch: They don’t hold part-time jobs; they receive money from us for what ever they want or need; thus, kids don’t develop a sense of responsibility for completing job tasks, accountability to a boss who doesn’t inherently love them, or an appreciation for the cost of things and how to manage money.

8. An 18-year-old must be able to take risks.

The crutch: We’ve laid out their entire path for them and have avoided all pitfalls or prevented all stumbles for them; thus, kids don’t develop the wise understanding that success comes only after trying and failing and trying again (a.k.a. “grit”) or the thick skin (a.k.a. “resilience”) that comes from coping when things have gone wrong.

Remember: our kids must be able to do all of these things without resorting to calling a parent on the phone. If they’re calling us to ask how, they do not have the life skill.

so i’ve seen a lot of posts that ask “why do bi women experience domestic abuse at higher rates than lesbians?” which is a good and fair question. but then these posts add something like: “you can’t say it’s because of men, because that’s victim-blaming.”

i’m a bi woman and i abhor the idea that bi women are to blame for their own abuse. and — not but — i think the reasoning above is dangerous to bi women, and actually, counterintuitively, encourages victim-blaming. let me explain why.

i’ve seen people say that bi women are more likely to be abused because they’re more likely to be with men and that this is their own fault for being stupid enough to date men, which is absolutely disgusting. it’s important to understand, though, what’s going on in rhetoric like this.

the people who say this are NOT just making one claim, but two separate claims — one is a fact claim, and the other is a moral claim.

the fact claim is that bi women are more likely to be in relationships with men, and that this is related to their higher rates of abuse.

the moral claim is that therefore bi women are at fault, that they somehow deserve the abuse they suffer at the hands of men.

by treating these two claims as one inseparable claim, one actually does the victim-blamers’ work for thempeople who blame bi women for their own abuse want you to believe that this blame — the moral claim — follows directly from the fact claim. but the truth is that it doesn’t.

by accepting these claims as one claim and dismissing the fact claim on the basis that it inexorably leads to the moral claim, one suggests that if the fact claim were proven true, bi women actually would be at fault.

i reject this and maintain that no explanation for bi women’s abuse rates would actually imply that they deserve that abuse, and that a serious attempt to reduce bi women’s abuse rates will require considering all the potential factors, while actively opposing any attempt to place blame on victims.

because if it turns out that bi women’s abuse rates are related to their relationships with men, and we ignore this because we’re afraid on some level that it would mean we’re to blame, then we’ll miss opportunities to understand and address that aspect of the problem (i.e. men’s homophobic and misogynistic partner violence) and our intervention will be less effective. this is one way in which our internalization of this victim-blaming narrative can do concrete harm to bi women.

fight victim-blaming; reject the idea that blaming the victim is the natural conclusion of any explanation of bi women’s abuse rates.

“Intervention” - Part 2

“Intervention” - Requested Oneshot 

My Masterlist - Here

Part 1 - Here

Father!Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1,150

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Self Harm, Anxiety, Self Hatred, Intense Drinking, Mental Issues, Blood. If I missed any, please let me know.

Summary:

Author’s Note: This is one of my most heaviest stories. I really hope you all get something from this. I hope this helps anyone who needs it in one way or another.

Also, I apologize to everyone who has requested prompts to me. Things have been more difficult than I thought recently and caused me to have a delay in all of my writing.

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces (All Works, Specific Fandoms, or Specific Multi-Parts), please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

I hope you all are okay. If you ever need a friendly conversation or need someone, please talk to me. If you can’t confide in me, please reach out to someone. There are people to help you through any situation. You are not alone. You are loved.

<3

- DreaSaurusREX


You’re in the familiar lab with Tony and Bruce. Bruce was still in his pajamas but ready to help. Your dad put you down on the medical bed they kept around for times like these. Your breathing has gotten closer to normal. You still felt sort of numb after all of the injuries you caused to yourself tonight, but now you were also very tired. It was difficult for you to sit up straight.

You tried your hardest to avoid your father’s face. You knew you hurt him. His little girl was a messed up basket case that sliced herself up and stole liquor in order to slow her self deprecating thoughts when they took over at night. So you just closed your eyes and tried to ignore everything, which didn’t help your sleepiness.

Bruce quickly assessed the cuts and started working on the two big ones that were under the washcloth. You tried your best to ignore the pain of the process of stitches. This was made a bit easier when you had conversation to focus on as Bruce was finishing up the last of the stitches.

Tony sat in a chair next to you and grabbed your hand as he spoke.

“Honey, you know this isn’t something I can just brush off and ignore. What I walked in on was not okay. You’re not okay. And I’m scared about you.” 

You knew what people thought about self harm and drinking, but you saw it as a way to bring yourself back to reality and punish yourself for all the stuff you do wrong.

“I’m fine. I don’t have a problem or anything. I do it cause it makes sense to me. Don’t worry. I got it. You got better things to worry about.” You were still a bit tipsy, but not as swimmy as you were before your dad found you in your bathroom. But you still talked as if you weren’t really all there mentally. 

Tony sighed and just sat there confused, running a hand up his face and through his hair. Bruce finished off the stitches and cleaned the rest of the smaller cuts. He had you lay back a bit for comfort.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet. You can do that when you get back to your comfortable bed instead of this lumpy cot.” He then looked over at Tony. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

The two men walked into the hallway, out of earshot of you. Bruce took a sort of deep breath before speaking.

Keep reading

astrological chart of the USA

looking at the chart of a country/nation can provide basic insights about its government’s/society’s attitudes as a whole. looking at the charts of nations or real-world events is usually called mundane astrology, which is what we’re looking at today. just as a general disclaimer, this is not meant to provoke or offend any with strong nationalistic attitudes, just to examine the chart of the united states with a critical eye. 

this is the chart of the adoption of the declaration of independence. this is what we will be considering as the “birth” of the country.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Goingtoburn - do you have any more for that? Is it gonna be Mace/Obi or another pairing? How's the investigation going? Poor Obi, how we love to hurt you.

“If what Queen Amidala has forwarded to us is true, then we are in deeper shit then even we thought.” Mace growled out quietly, eyes flickering between the rest of the council member.

None of them called him out on his profanity.

They knew Windu could do worse.

Shaak stared at the reports they had been forwarded. “…Always two there is.” She whispered, echoing Yoda’s words from the skirmish at Naboo. “Under our nose this entire time and we haven’t noticed.”

“He’s a popular chancellor.” Plo rumbled. “What can we do against hi-”

“Deal with him as a Sith we need not.” Yoda offered grimly in return. “Heard the Queen you all did, treason against his own planet he has committed, bring it up with their current Senator she will. Our help we shall offer to bring him back to Naboo.”

Mace looked at him. “You think they’re going to call for a vote of no confidence?”

“Trust someone who attacked their own planet the Senate will? Far it has fallen but so far not yet it has gone.” Yoda looked back at Mace then to the rest. “Our help we shall offer. Prepared against a Sith we shall be but shield the thought we shall so unprepared he thinks we are. Come quietly he will not once realize he does.”

Then the old troll sighed. “Disturbing the findings from the creche has been too, many instances of bullying not reported… outside intervention in our creche I fear we need.”

The mood turned even glummer at that.

Koth rubbed his face. “I didn’t think it would be that bad, I knew that my own days as an Initiate hadn’t been the happiest but… I did not expect the level of animosity in children and unwillingness to listen to them by adults.”

Depa gave a deep snort. “We are not perfect. To believe that would be arrogant and cruelty can be breed anywhere and by anyone.” She looked around the room. “Qui-Gon Jinn often accused us of being arrogant and we accused him of the same back. Both statement are true, he was and so are we. It stops now, we can’t afford it, not with a Sith Lord that’s been able to hide right beneath our noses.”

There was a stunned little silence in the chamber before one by one, everyone quietly agreed.

It was hard to argue against the tangible belief they now possessed.

“Deep meditation we all need. Darkness exists in our temple, find out how to deal with it we need. Know how to deal with the Sith we do.” Yoda looked around the room. “Our task clear is.”

He received nods.

The old troll then turned to Plo. “With Obi-Wan things are better?”

The kel dor sighed. “Somewhat. I have convinced him that mind healers would do him some good and he now goes but he has also asked that I bring before the council a request.” He stapled his hands together, it was obvious from his pose that he expected it to be rejected.

Yoda’s ears rose. “A request?”

“He wishes to go to Tatooine with Anakin and find his mother, to allow his padawan to see and speak to her. He put forth a compelling argument for the why.” Plo added quickly when Mace opened his mouth.

“An argument?” Even tilted his head.

Plo sat up slowly. “Anakin Skywalker is not like most in the temple. He was an older child and we did not want him at first but his mother wanted him, loved him and sent him of to what she hoped was a better life. He knows her, he’s held her hand, smelled her scent and heard her voice. He is already attached and will not let go of that attachment just because he is told to.” Plo looked around the room. “So his needs are different from the creche children. He is different and that is a good thing. This is Obi-Wan’s argument. That the boy needs are different and that he needs to see his mother to assure the darkness we so fear in his future. Because it is fear we feel, if we can admit to arrogance, we can admit to fear.” He sat back.

There was quiet once again, each councilor settling into deep thought, some by meditation and some simply by nature.

“…I say we allow it.” Shaak offered quietly. “Obi-Wan is right. The boy is different from the creche children, he knows his mother.” She settled on.

Slowly they came to agreement, some more reluctantly then others.

Anakin and Obi-Wan would be allowed to travel back to Tatooine.

About May 4th, 1970

Hi y'all, I thought since I’ve mentioned May 4th, I would make a post with a bit more information for you.

I have been a student at Kent State for two years now, and for my first year, I worked at the May 4th Visitor’s Center. I’ve talked to professors that were there, my parents who grew up in Ohio, survivors, and endless amounts of people on tour through the museum and memorial. Some people come with just a curiosity to understand what happened, others come to confront a horrible day in their memory…most are just kids being forced to go to the center for a diversity requirement for a class. Regardless, May 4th is a watershed moment and day for not only Kent State or Ohio or even the United States, but for the world in general. On that day, and the days following at Jackson State, we found the real cost of freedom – human lives.

I’m not here to give you an entire history lesson. In fact, it’s pretty straightforward how this came to be. On April 30th, President Nixon announced the expansion of the war in Vietnam across country borders into Cambodia. Most people who were a part of the anti-war movement saw this as an escalation and expansion of a conflict that was already wasting too many lives. The anti-war movement was spearheaded by young, college-aged students, and often flourished on campuses across the nation. Most kids, after all, had gone to college to avoid the draft. Those unlucky enough to afford college (especially POC), were instead drafted. If they managed to come back from Vietnam, which was honestly unlikely, they were filled with rage and anger and PTSD from what they had seen and done. College students were seeing their friends, at ages 18-25 come back from a foreign country disabled, scared, angry, and addicted. They saw friends commit suicide, fall into drinking and drug habits, and have their lives destroyed before they even started.

So, in response and following a few incidents (including the burning of the campus ROTC building – which i don’t condone. As a ROTC cadet, I can tell you that it isn’t the military’s fault. It’s the government’s.), the planned peaceful protest on May 4th was disbanded, and the National Guard, which had been on campus for several days, was told to disperse the crowd. When the gathered students did not disperse, the Ohio National Guard opened fire, killing four students and injuring nine, one suffering from permanent paralysis.
It’s still contested if the order to fire was ever given. Some say yes, others say no, others say that the sound of a rock hitting pavement sounded like a gunshot, so the ONG responded. But that isn’t what is important. What is important is that young adults just barely on their own and just starting their educations were killed, two of which weren’t even protesting – they were just walking to class.

And what’s more important for us so many years later is the impact the Kent Four had on our nation and how Kent State continues to shape dissent culture. Kent State spurred colleges across the nation, from Jackson State to Washington, to take action. To tell our government that kids will not die overseas and at home. It was a beautifully tragic moment in which American youth reared with their ugly, awesome power and finally pushed back, and for once, they were heard. While not at first or not as fast as wanted, the tragedy of May 4th is ultimately the turning point when it comes to American public opinion on the war in Vietnam. I guess people didn’t like it when the war was brought to our doorsteps.

As for today, if you don’t live in Kent, or haven’t attended Kent, it’s hard to understand how important this day is, and I understand that. I live in Johnson Hall, which overlooks the hill the ONG marched up. If I look out the window from where I’m currently sitting, I can see the pagoda where Allison Krause stood mere minutes before her death. I can see where the ONG knelt and took aim at the students in the parking lot. If I want to go to the Student Center, or my classes, I have to walk through the parking lot, and see the four eerie, roped off squares of ashphalt, sitting there like tombs for a war I never knew. I can point out exactly where Jimmy Miller’s brain was found, I can show you where a bullet struck a sculpture, I can walk you over the same path the National Guard took.

But more than that, I can tell you that Kent State changed American culture irreversibly. Perhaps without Kent State, the war in Vietnam would have lasted longer, or still be going on. Our grandparents and parents that were born during or after the war might not have lived through it. In our museum actually there’s a great display showing, based on birthdays, who would have been drafted. My entire family would have gone. Or maybe, without Kent State, we would have used the draft again in the War on Terror, or the Gulf War, or even some other future, imaginary war. Or, without Kent State, we would think it’s okay to use fatal military force against protesters, or we’d think it’s okay to park a tank in front of a university library.

One of my professors last year, Chris, was six feet from Allison Krause when she fell. The only reason she wasn’t shot was because she was washing tear gas out of her eyes. My flute teacher’s husband was working in Taylor Hall and heard the crack of rifle fire outside his office window. A man I gave a tour to was frantically searching for his girlfriend in the parking lot when the ONG crested the hill. My dad’s old boss was a soldier in the National Guard, stationed on campus.

In a day and age where GOP officials have called for “another Kent State” to deal with dissent, May 4th is more and more relevant to understanding our rights as human beings to protest, to fight for peace, and to be free and safe while doing so. I pray another Kent State will never happen, because no one deserves to die to prove a point. And honestly, Kent State left such a bad taste that never again will college students fear violent intervention. Sometimes, our lessons are forgotten, but never again will a student or anyone else die for believing that flowers are better than bullets.

Remember the Kent Four, and more importantly, remember what they gave you – freedom, at the cost of their lives.

  • Blake: Why is there a banner reading 'Intervention' across our room?
  • Weiss: Blake, sit down, Ruby, Yang, and I need to talk to you.
  • Blake: What's this about?
  • Yang: We need to talk to you about your tuna addiction.
  • Blake: I don't have an addiction.
  • *Ruby sighs and reveals her cape, being used as a bag, before dropping a mountain load of tuna cans onto the floor.*
  • Ruby: These alone were just under your bed along with some books that Yang wouldn't let me read.
  • *Blake fidgets nervously before diving into the cans and grabbing as many as she can.*
  • Blake: YOU CAN'T TAKE THEM AWAY FROM ME!
  • *Blake promptly jumps out the window and runs away dropping cans as she goes.*
  • British MPs: What can we do to end the violence in the Syrian Civil War, which is in large part due to the regional instability and emboldened Islamists created by our decision to illegally invade two other Middle Eastern countries in the early-to-mid 2000s, and which is being fuelled by our continued intervention in the form of arms dealing, patronage of 'moderate' anti-working-class political forces, and covert operations?
  • British MPs: I KNOW! Let's strip the Syrian President's wife of the British citizenship she hasn't taken advantage of in 17 years. That oughtta do it!
  • British MPs: *wait for spontaneous cessation of hostilities*
Playing Villain

A day late for @shanceweek Day 2 - Hero/Villain. This is a loose interpretation but if I repeat the words enough it’ll stick, right? Ending entirely inspired by @hardlynotnever‘s art - I like the concept enough that I hope I can pick this up again sometime! AO3


“My Lord Zarkon.”

One knee on the floor, head dipped. As it should be. Obedience, deference.

“Report, Commander.”

Commander Rylak’s impassivity slipped; when Zarkon looked again he saw he was almost bursting with excitement. Good news, then.

“We have captured two of the paladins.”

Keep reading

“ I don’t think it’s possible to be a medic in a conflict zone and not have something stay with you. Something that you didn’t have before you went. I have the hardest time forgetting this little girl. She was brought to our post one day. Two men ran toward us carrying a bundle of blankets. And they’re yelling in Pashtu. And at first all I can see are these bloody blankets, but then I peel them back, and there’s this little girl inside. She stepped on a landmine while playing soccer and she’s gone below the knee, gone below the elbow, gone below the hand. And everything is seething. And I can smell the flesh. And she’s screaming. But I’m trained to drown it out. I’m trained so well that I almost don’t hear the screaming. I focus on our interventions. Stop the bleeding. Apply tourniquets. Administer the IV. I overdosed her on morphine. I’ll never forget that. I just kept pushing until the screaming stopped. And then a helicopter came and got her. And she lived. And I was fine throughout the whole thing. I was just like a robot. I’d been trained for chaotic situations. But they don’t train you for the aftermath. They don’t train you for when the helicopter has lifted off, and suddenly everything is quiet.”

People might wanna look up things like the Munich Agreement before they start insisting that Europe should be “grateful” for our intervention in WW2.

Also, if you’re using WW2 as an excuse for getting your own way over Brexit, you might wanna remember that the spirit of co-operation and survival after WW2 was the main reason the EU was set up in the first place.

In a way, it would probably be more useful from a UK point of view if European politicians would stop talking about Brexit for a while. We all know many British people (and probably most Leave voters) can get incredibly arsey if they think a person from another country is *gasp* having an opinion on British matters (even when they do affect the rest of the world). The Sun in particular loves an excuse to pretend we’re being persecuted.

But then if I was living in any other EU country right now, I would definitely want my leader to stand up and say “no no, we won’t be having any more bullshit from the British, don’t you worry.” So who can blame them?

Everyone told you that Brexit would be difficult and we would probably not get a good deal. Everyone. Don’t jump into a river and then complain that you’re fucking wet.

The physician does not come to the sick man and say, “You fool! How did you get this way?” He does not berate the sufferer for lacking strength. Even the person who has willingly brought harm upon himself finds in the physician an ally, a true helper, one who offers care and hospitality — not an accuser or judge. The physician — at the least the virtuous one — does not shame the ill, the hurting, the broken, the diseased, even when poor habits of living or risky choices have precipitated their decline. This is because his mind is fixed elsewhere, on envisioning, somewhere beyond, behind, and beneath his patients’ present infirmities, the wholeness and health that could replace them. Instead of fatalism or apathy, he exercises hope. He looks backward only for the sake of moving forward. He is compassionate. He takes a stand for the transcendent value of human life. He fights for it wherever he sees it threatened.

And so it is with Christ, our divine Healer. He seeks our good. He seeks our renovation and repair. While not ignoring the causes of our troubles, his labors are restorative, not punitive. He wields a scalpel, not a sword. He knows our histories, he sees our wounds, but in his able, healing hands these are not determinative or predictive of our fate. His interventions go deep; they recast futures. He sees in us possibility, redeemable substance, souls still fit for long-lost paradises.

12/09/16

Friday was honestly a pretty boring shift. Until about 2000, we had 5 calls, all of them bullshit, nothing that was an actual emergency. It was just turning into one of those shifts, y’know?

Around 2025/2030, we get a call for a diff breather/asthma. The three of us (me, my preceptor, and his partner), groan cause we get off at 2100. But we do what we’re supposed to do and light it up and head to the call.

It was in a parking garage type place, I think. My preceptor, David, goes in really quick to see what’s up while I get the bags ready in the back. He comes jogging back and says “hand me the O2 and the monitor and get the stretcher”, so right away I knew this wasn’t bullshit. 

I got the stretcher and wheeled it in, and right away I saw why the sense of urgency.

Patient was a 35 y/o M. First I saw of him he was bent over the trunk of a car, in obvious respiratory distress (more like failure). Cool, pale, diaphoretic. David had listened to his lung sounds and said he wasn’t moving air. When I got in David had already set up an NRB with a combi-vent. 

As soon as I got there and lowered the stretcher he said “Get me the Epi”, so I opened up the bag and grabbed the Epi and syringe for him, he administered, then asked for the Solu-Medrol, which I again handed to him and he administered.

Also, at this point, David’s partner (who hadn’t worked with me and David before” just kind of stood there. Not cause he saw that we had it under control (which we did), but I almost think we were moving too fast for him. Not saying he’s a bad medic, I just met the guy, but he could have done a little to help. 

Anyway, after I handed David the Soul-Medrol I got an IV start pack out and set it up. We were able to move the patient to sitting on the stretcher, and I started my IV. While I was doing that David mixed the Magnesium Sulfate with a small bag of normal saline and handed the end to me when my IV was secure. 

Then we secured the patient to the stretcher and got him in the ambulance. We got him to the hospital (he was doing a lot better, he could actually talk to us now and he was wheezing a lot but moving air at least) and handed him over to the ER crew.

Going over the call after though, we figured we were on scene a maximum of 5 minutes. It was awesome, we ran through the entire protocol in 5 minutes and got our patient packaged and transported. 

This is one of the few calls where I can say that, yes, we actually saved this guy’s life. If we had been only a few minutes later he would have had to be intubated, and who knows how that would have gone. Sucks he waited so long to call, but hey, we got there and we did our thing and saved this dude. 

It’s a really good feeling, when we can actually see our interventions do some good. At least for me. 

One of the best calls, if not the best shift, I’ve run in a while. 

Hope I get some good ones of Tuesday.