this year is going to be a good one

Two Weeks Notice

His blood rushed loudly past his ears and he cleared his throat several times before finally managing to speak. ‘Two weeks?’

The firm nod from his soon-to-be-former-assistant brooked no argument.

Sherlock Holmes, self-made business mogul and genius with a knack for going through PR reps like tissue paper, was, for the first time, utterly baffled. 

‘I don’t understand.’ He stood and rounded his desk, a frown on his face, until he was standing in front of her. Molly Hooper. His assistant. His conscience. His voice of reason. The one person who, despite her diminutive stature and initial fumbling demeanor, had kept him in line and in good public standing for the better part of five years with a backbone of steel and an uncanny ability to charm even the most vicious reporter. 

She wouldn’t leave him… she couldn’t.

‘Are you no longer happy here, Miss Hooper?’

She turned her head before he could read her face, but he didn’t miss her flinch at his formal address. She took a deep breath before turning her gaze back to him. ‘I believe my services would be better utilized elsewhere.’

‘That’s not what I asked. Tell me, why are you leaving me?’

She looked down at her cherry-patterned blouse, tugged it straight, and cleared her throat. ‘Mr Holmes, the terms of my employment were clear in that, should either party be so inclined to terminate said employment, a notice of two weeks must be given. No where in the wording is it required that a reason be given.’

Sherlock cursed inwardly. ‘Miss Hoop-Molly, I thought we had developed an efficient rapport, even a friendship. If I have done something to cause you distress, please inform me so that I may rectify the situation.’ He slipped his hands into his pockets and ducked his head. ‘I have very few friends in my life and I would sincerely be loathe to lose you from my life.’

‘It is nothing you can fix, believe me,’ she replied, smiling sadly. 

Sherlock stepped toward her. ‘Molly-’

‘I’ve already begun vetting potential replacements,’ she interrupted, taking a step back. ‘Three months from now, it’ll be as if there was never any change. You’ll have forgotten all about me.’

Her smile was forced and a gnawing ache settled in Sherlock’s chest. No more chipper, bubbly smiles first thing in the morning as she brought him his coffee and handed him a folder with the relevant emails that had come through overnight. No more trying to hide his laughter in public spaces whenever she mumbled a sarcastic or morbid comment under her breath. No more watching her brilliantly smooth over his social faux-paus with a smile and perfectly-worded statements. 

No more Molly. 

‘What if I don’t want to forget you.’ His voice was dark and low. 

She replied with soft resignation. ‘We both know you excel at deleting extraneous information. And when I leave, that’s what I will become. Your work and empire will continue, your new assistant will do everything I’ve been doing for you, and nothing else in your life will change.’ 

Then with the strength he’d always admired in her, she straightened her shoulders and adopted a cool professional expression. ‘With that out of the way, I shall be off. You have a meeting with the Board in a half hour and I need to prepare the conference room.’ She turned on her heel and left the room, pausing at the door to call over her shoulder, ‘Don’t forget to wear the cufflinks Mr Haversham gave you; keeps you in his favour.’

The door clicked shut behind her with alarming finality and Sherlock fell back against his desk, stunned.

Two weeks. Two weeks and she would leave him. Why? Why was she leaving? He hadn’t offended her lately, insulted her clothing recently, or God forbid, forgotten to pay her! She had given no sign of discontentment or unhappiness working with him. If anything, she had thrived in her position, going above and beyond what he had even expected of her. 

So why would she leave?

Why would she stay?

The little voice that sounded a lot like his business partner, John, came unbidden to his mind. Sherlock froze. 

Why would she stay? If she received a better offer, he would understand that. But she gave no indication that she was looking for or taking a new position and no other company would dare even consider poaching her from him.

His legs were moving before he even thought to, propelling him across the room in record speed. He threw open the door and stormed out, sending a frightened intern scuttling after a flurry of papers she’d thrown in surprise. 

Sherlock paid the employees that parted around him like the Red Sea no mind. His singular focus was on finding his assistant and demanding a full explanation before talking her out of this irrational decision to leave him in the lurch. 

The lift was too slow and he bypassed it entirely, opting to thunder down the stairs to the ground floor. The conference room was in the center of the atrium and completely encased in glass windows that rose to the top of the three story-tall room. Transparency was the core of his business success; no underhanded dealings or hiding secrets. Made for a bumpy ride at times, but paid off in the long run. 

He straight-armed his way through the doors into the atrium; the steel doors slammed into the walls and echoed loudly in the tall room. Every head turned toward the sound and many craned their necks to watch as the C.E.O., President, and Notoriously Aloof Sherlock Holmes blew into the room with the force of a hurricane and narrowed in on the petite assistant who was speaking animatedly with the few board members who had arrived early.

He interrupted them unashamedly and furiously declared, ‘No. I refuse to accept your resignation.’

Molly looked over in surprise and a fierce blush stained her cheeks. Hastily excusing herself from the conversation, she hurried across the room. 

‘Mr Holmes, please-’

‘No, no more Mr Holmes,’ Sherlock snapped, uncaring that every ear was attuned to their discussion. ‘We have been on a first name basis for two years. We are friends, Molly. And friends don’t just quit. Not without reason.’

Molly looked around at their gaping audience and lowered her voice. ‘Sherlock, it’s…’ She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘It’s complicated. Okay? You don’t understand and I get it, I do. Just… respect my decision.’ Her eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘Please.’

It was in that moment that Sherlock saw what he’d ignored for so long. The dilation of her pupils, the longing in her eyes, the soft way she would smile at him, putting aside her own personal life to help him, canceling dates at his last minute request when he needed her… the love that was woven in every word she spoke to him and every thing she did for him. 

And how deeply that love was reciprocated.

He reached out and caught her hand. ‘You’re wrong.’ He stepped closer and lifted his other hand to slip around the back of her head. Her breathing increased and her eyes widened. ‘I believe I do understand. Finally.’ 

‘Sherlock…’ The rest of her breathless words were stolen as he dipped his head and kissed her. 

Around them, the onlookers awed and cheered. Sherlock tuned them out, focusing all his attention on the woman in his arms and kicking himself for ignoring his heart for all these years.

And when John Watson, Sherlock’s business partner, arrived with the rest of the Board members minutes later, he smirked at the sight before him. A quick check to the calendar on his phone only made his smile widen. 

Seems he’d won the betting pool. 

tza13  asked:

Can you update the werebaby tag? Thank you

yes!!

Tales of Sparks and Lightning by graveltotempo (3/? | 37,205 | PG13)

Life had not been very kind to Stiles Stilinski.
He lost his mother at an early age, and watched many of his friends die while he was still in high school. He had looked at death in the eye more than once in that year alone.
He had thought about dying. More than once. He had always expected to die mauled by a supernatural creature that wasn’t supposed to exist, or piss off the wrong werewolf, or try Derek one too many times: all of his deaths included a ferocious battle for survival.
But this? This wasn’t him being incredibly stupid. He had lived in Beacon Hills dodging supernatural mauling and killer trees just to die in a stupid airplane crash.
After all that had happened, he was going to die by human hands.

Don’t threaten me with a good time by synfulshark (1/1 | 11,414 | R)

Based lightly on the song by Panic! at the disco. This follows Stiles one night stand with a amazingly stunning broody werewolf who then turns out to lead to nothing but misadventure and hey who could blame him for wanting to have Derek’s babies?

or the one where Derek and Stiles have a one night stand and it’s all Erica’s fault they are now having lunch with his dad.

Pollen is a B*tch by ambientbliss (1/1 | 5,617 | NC17) *rape tw

Stiles and Derek find themselves in a particularly interesting situation. Stiles over thinks it as usual, and Derek doesn’t think about it much at all. Stiles has some news and Derek may or may not like it at all. 

*Le gasp* It’s my face!

Alright, i wanna be a little part of this project too.

#HeartsForSean Project

I can’t say I’ve been on the JSE Community since the very beginning. But like most of us, it has helped me a LOT. I can’t even remember when I arrived, can you believe? But damn, I am more than happy because it happened.

I have changed as a person because of Sean and this community. In a good way, of course. 2016 wasn’t a very good year for me. A had a pretty rough time, honestly. But some little things helped me to keep going on. And Sean was one of them. 

I never interacted with the community until i created this blog. But i knew that almost every. single. one of these persons is as amazing, sweet and nice as Sean himself. Everyone is very supportive towards each other. Having a rough time? We got you, bud. 

You can see this project, it says a lot about us. How much we care.


Sean is always supporting us. We know it’s our turn. We are not afraid to act, and i fucking love that.


If he gets to see this, let me remind you that even though we may be an ocean away…We’re here. All of us.

anonymous asked:

I'm thinking Cait meant that she'll be at the main Vanity Fair Oscar party, the day of the actual Oscars. That's one of the biggest Oscar parties every year, so good for her if she's going to that! Interesting that tonight's Vanity Fair party has the Lionsgate connection though.

There are Vanity Fair parties almost every night this week. So there’s no way to know for certain which one she will attend. I would assume it’s tonight since the Oscar Wilde Awards are tomorrow and then at some point this break needs to end and they’ll head to South Africa to film. At this rate I’m no longer wondering why we’ll have to wait until September for season 3.

For those who are interested, here are all the Oscar events this week.

EDIT: Since I’m having the worst blonde day. Yes, she could attend since they still have to go to ECCC. So I guess she could go to any of the Vanity Fair parties.

NO ONE CAN TELL ME TO CALM DOWN AND THAT THIS IS OKAY. I SWEAR TO FREAKING GOD…SM I’M COMING FOR YOU AND THIS TIME I’M GOING TO FINISH WHAT I STARTED THREE YEARS AGO! LOOK AT HIM!!! He hasn’t been able to sleep like a normal person for almost one year now.
Please, spread the image. REBLOG IT! Make it into a hashtag,make it trending on any platform. Send it to the knetz. Let them do some good for once.
#LetMarkRest .FOR FUCK SAKE AT LEAST GIVE HIM A PILLOW!!!

anonymous asked:

Hi, I'm a 19 year old transman who's struggling with finding good makeup tutorials for a more masculine appearance. I'm sorry if you've already answered this, but I'm on mobile and stuff won't appear here. Also, is it okay for me as a short guy to wear makeup in the first place?

Hi there, friend. Unfortunately, I’m not really a makeup user myself, so I don’t have any personal tips to give you, but I’ve been going through some google searches. These are the ones that I think look the most natural (ie: not stylized or costumey). Some of them are geared toward female crossplayers (that is, women who cosplay as male characters) so I’ll mark those with an asterisk (*) so you can avoid them if they make you uncomfortable:

Crossplay Makeup Tutorial by Vilya0 (deviantArt)*
How to Apply Makeup to Look More Masculine (WikiHow)
Amping Up Masculinity (Vimeo) (video)
Clean Everyday Masculine Makeup by Ascher Lucas (YouTube) (video)

I hope these are helpful to you. Like I said before, I don’t know much about makeup beyond stuff I’ve seen on the internet, so as always, if any followers have tips or resources, they’re absolutely welcome!

Also, for your other question: it’s absolutely okay! Makeup is for everyone. The idea of “fashion/makeup do’s and don’t’s” is a lie - so if wearing makeup is something you love and it makes you feel good, then wear all the makeup you want! I might also recommend going to a makeup counter you trust in order to get matched for things like foundations and concealers, if you don’t already know what shades and brands suit your skin tone.

Take care!

anonymous asked:

Harry with a brood of boys anon! Can I claim that? I'm claiming that! Do you think Harry would play fight with his boys or would he try to break them up? What would he and his sons do for Mother's Day? I imagine his family to be like the beckhams! How cute would that be 😍😍😍

I think he would play fight this them, to an extent. He’s obviously not going to keep it going if there’s a threat of one of them getting injured, but he’s totally down for a good old fashioned wrestling match. He grew up with a sister, so he didn’t have a lot of boys to tumble around with at that age; he wants to make sure his boys don’t miss out.

For Mother’s Day, Harry makes sure that his boys know it’s the most important day of the year; even over Christmas. Because this is the day that they tell mummy how much they love her and how important she is, and how lucky and thankful they all are to have her around. Harry’s kids all know that mummy is the glue holding the entire household together so, on that day, she gets spoiled with flowers and cards and chocolate and fancy dinners where she doesn’t have to lift a finger.

And Harry, at the end of the day, will come up and give her a kiss on the cheek and say, “I love you very much. Thank you for m’boys.”

anonymous asked:

The ask the 38 year old anon said; I disagree with her. Jenelle can easily figure out how to be a good mom since she's given enough resources to do so. She chooses to go on vacations, she chooses to leave her babies at home, she chooses to spend her money badly. No one forces her to do any of this, it's her choice. Jenelle is known to be a twitter stalker too, so she knows all the comments people made about her and how to help herself but she doesn't want to.

I personally agree with you.

A Conversation from Six Years Ago: “Good Enough”

Last night, I read on the Guardian and heard on the BBC’s Wales website that a Welsh-born teacher, who coincidentally also happens to be Muslim, was barred from entering the United States. This teacher was going to the US as part of a school trip with fellow colleagues and students. Seeing their teacher being escorted off the plane for a “random inspection” led to confusion. The British teacher felt powerless against authorities and embarrassment. 

In light of the recent Muslim ban that barred citizens from specific countries, one of them wasn’t the U.K. (unless they had dual-citizenship). This teacher, of Bangladeshi descent, isn’t a dual-citizen. He is a British citizen.

This story unsettled me. Yet another one of the many, many stories and reports from the U.S. that have been unsettling me for weeks now.

This morning, I woke up with the recollection of a conversation I had six years ago. 

Six years ago, I was living in Dijon, France. I invited two of my fellow Americans to come to my place so we could bake the most quintessential of American cookies: the chocolate chip cookie. 

Originally posted by shvnes-world

(Petit info pour mes amis français: ce que vous appelez “le cookie” est connu comme “chocolate chip cookie” aux States, car le mot “cookie” est le terme global pour parler sur tous types de gâteaux/biscuits.)

Oh, I was so excited to bake chocolate chip cookies! I got the Nestle Tollhouse recipe, bought all of the necessary ingredients, and made the conversions from ounces to grams and mL. 

The two Americans, a Californian and a North Carolinian, came over. We mixed all of the ingredients, evenly spaced out the dough on the baking sheet, and baked the first batch. As the cozy aroma of melting chocolate and crystallized sugar enveloped the kitchen, anticipation for when we could burn our tongues made the twelve-minute wait unbearable. 

The oven went “ding.” Out came the baking tray. Our fingers jolted at the cookies’ heat. 

Before we ate our first cookies, the North Carolinian asked me if I had any cold milk.

Me: “Yeah, I’ve got some in the fridge. What for?”

North Carolinian: “Uh, so we can eat cookies with milk, duh.”

Originally posted by cierajonesphotography

For most Americans, the reflex of pairing cookies with milk comes as naturally as seeing carrots and peas together. For me, it was a habit I never embraced because of my taste preferences of wishing to have non-soggy cookies. (I typically don’t like soggy foods, ugh.) As a consequence, my disgust for spoiled, mushy cookies automatically meant that I had not thought to accommodate to others’s likes. 

Still, it was a minor thing. I could adapt.

I got up, opened the fridge, and took out the 1-liter carton of milk. I also furnished two glasses wide enough for dipping the cookies in. I decided to voice my differences about eating cookies, albeit not as eloquently as I would have liked.

Me: “I’ve never eaten chocolate chip cookies with milk before.” (I had tried a similar experiment with Oreos; never again.)

North Carolinian: *scoffs* “Uh, are you sure you’re American?”

Even though she had asked this in a jovial tone, I was nevertheless taken aback by such a question. For NO ONE had ever asked me that before. It wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

Me: “Well, yes. I mean, I was born in the United States–”

North Carolinian: *smiling* “That’s not good enough!” 

That’s not good enough?

Originally posted by partyingzebra18

What may have seemed minor to this North Carolinian wasn’t for me. Being a first-generation American of Cuban and Colombian descent, the idea of cultural identity is one that comes with a delicate circus-show balancing act. I’m not “Colombian” enough. I’m not “Cuban” enough. I’m TOO Cuban. I’m TOO Hispanic/Latina. I’m not Hispanic/Latina enough.

Originally posted by buzzfeedcentral

But I’m not “American” enough? My damn birth certificate, passport, upbringing, education, and cultural notions disagree. I’ve stated the Pledge of Allegiance and sung the National Anthem every damn day at school, right hand placed on my chest. So sorry if my dislike of disintegrated sludge cookies automatically disqualifies me as being “American” enough. 

Originally posted by coshui

To this day, I regret not having voiced my dissatisfaction at such a flippantly-stated comment, but in that moment, I was honestly too stunned to react accordingly. I brushed it off and tried to be a good hostess despite my seething discontent.

That was six years ago. I now live in a different part of France. I feel relatively safe and at ease with my heritage as my French friends fully recognize me as being an American who just so happens to be of Cuban and Colombian descent. 

And not only do I still make chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and flan de queso crema, I can also make brioche from scratch. (My croissants still need more practice…)

Now, in 2017, my country is being run by a racist, xenophobic, crack-down government that targets minorities. For now, they are using the excuse of  only going after so-called “illegal immigrants.”

FOR NOW. 

I’m afraid of waking up and hearing a story about how an American who just so happens to be of Mexican-descent faced expulsion from their birth country. It’s already happened in the past, anyway.

What’s to stop one zealous idiot from arguing that being born in the U.S. is no longer “good enough” for feeling at home? Let alone people like me? Both my Colombian grandmother and mother are naturalized U.S. Citizens. I fear that soon may not be “good enough” for them. They thankfully live in Miami where Latinos and Hispanics of all cultures mix and mingle with relative ease and safety. When will that no longer be a guarantee that is “good enough?” When will the distinctions be forgotten? 

Even now, six years later, this memory makes me sad. I may make some chocolate chip cookies to make me feel better.

Originally posted by vantitudes

More cookies, less racism.

happy whatever it is you celebrate and happy new year for all of u

3

He’s not a pet.

Ya’ll need to get on Netflix right now and freaking watch Trollhunters.

i want to tell you a story. it’s a story about a 17 year old boy from columbus ohio, with a rubber band on his wrist and bad thoughts in his head who writes about trees and saying hello. it’s a story about a 20 year old boy from ohio who makes this musical group, and starts to need his rubber band less, and puts his words in to music. it’s a story about a 22 year old boy from ohio, whose life isn’t going quite the way he thought it would but he’s made a new friend, a new brother, and this new friend is helping him project the words he once feared to say, louder and further than he ever thought possible. it’s a story about a 24 year old boy from ohio who has stopped wearing his rubber band completely, and who is singing the world his darkest thoughts, at first afraid of rejection, but growing confidence as he hears the world sing back. it’s a story about a 27 year old boy from ohio, with tattoos lining his wrist where a rubber band once was, who stands in one of the biggest venues in america and sings to nearly 30,000 people about trees and saying hello. 

i want to tell you a story. it’s a story about a boy who made it. and i want you to know that you can make it too. you are not a sad story. you are not hopeless. you will sing about your own trees one day.

2

thanks to @hedaclarks for the beautiful text

2

1. stop comparing yourself to other people. embrace your differences. remember what you have to offer the world. make lists of your good traits. forget what other people can do better and remember what you do good.


2. tell your friends you love and appreciate them more. thank them for listening. thank them for being them. forgive them faster and stop letting petty things get in between your friendships.

3. stop going back to the ex who screwed you over. be friends if you want, but remember they don’t even deserve your friendship. remember you cannot be fixed by the one who broke you.

4. let go of the people who are bringing you down. if a relationship brings you more pain than joy, it’s a toxic relationship. stop putting effort into people who refuse to meet you half way.

5. compliment yourself at least one time every day. try to compliment others every day as well.

6. get serious about your health. eat wheat bread and less sugar. exercise, even if it’s just walking. don’t do this for a flat stomach; do it because it’s good for your health.

7. take care of your mental health. surround yourself with people who make the negative thoughts in your head shut off. ask for help. see a therapist if you need one. take your pills as prescribed.

8. stop letting little things bother you. ask yourself if you’re really going to care about it in five years, and if the answer is no, let go of it. stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself. sometimes you can’t help but to get upset over things, but when you do, do everything in your power to try to cheer yourself up.

9. use the internet less. read more books. spend more time with your family. spend more time being present and looking people in the eye. look up and appreciate the beauty around you.

10. drink less alcohol. do things with people that doesn’t involve drinking. discover how to have fun sober.

11. start the career you actually want. switch majors, even if you will end up spending more time in school. go back to college if you’re not in it and you want a profession you have to go to college for. i know it’s expensive but the rest of your life is worth it.

12. stop watching life pass you by. learn to say yes and learn to say no. learn to make decisions for yourself. learn to say “i am unhappy where i am so i am changing it.” make the first move. take charge of your life.

13. save more money for things you really want, whether it be a vacation or a new pair of shoes. stop blowing money on things you don’t need. pay your bills on time and avoid the late fees.

14. appreciate the good things in your life. eliminate negative self talk (or at least try to). think about three good things in your life every morning before you get out of bed. stop dwelling on the bad.

15. give your all in everything you do. don’t settle for mediocrity. work every day to be a better person than you were the day before.

—  fifteen new years resolutions you can keep in 2017

lurkeymclurker  asked:

Can you tell us about the Empires propaganda machine?

Later, after, in all the holonews segments and all the long ‘net articles furnishing further analysis, they—and here ‘they’ is vaguely defined, reporting is is too scattershot in a galaxy marked by lightyears and hyperlanes—will not be able to pinpoint the place where they went wrong. Where it was all tipped from earnest republican v. separatist reporting to laying the groundwork for imperial v. everyone else. When they stopped, or when their blades met with armor they couldn’t pierce, or—

But by then it’s too late. It’s too late, the Empire is already wound itself through every word spoken and every reference made; it’s in everything, a dark undercurrent of emotion and justification—don’t you love the Republic? don’t you care about other galactic citizens? don’t you want to follow the laws and reward those who have justified their existence as you have justified yours? you have worked so hard, the day is long and the rewards few, why would you give those to others? why would you share?

(’Sharing’ is a dirty word, under the Empire. To each according to his strength, that is the Imperial motto. But ‘strength’ is a narrow gate, and it cuts many off at the knees, the ankles, those unguarded places—)

There is no question that human beings are afraid of difference they have been afraid of that since whatever primordial swamp they crawled out of but—they have always put it aside, they have always at least pretended to the idea of recognizing other species, the claim of xenos to homeworlds. the equal right of existence. Et cetera. Never mistake how hard human beings will try, when confronted with tentacles, if there is profit or benefit in ignoring any difference.

But humans also reproduce like orburs in spring, and they colonize, multiply out into the galaxy like a plague. Like a—spore. Like something biological and not, because nothing in nature moves without regard to the animus they generate. And they are a tetchy species, measuring everything in relative value. It doesn’t matter if—

Luke does not stop to question the holoradio adverts he hears, the faded propos papering the Toshe public hall, saying ‘JOIN THE EMPIRE TODAY! FLY FOR THE EMPIRE! BE BRAVE BE TRUE BE STALWART!’ Anywhere is better than here, right? Get closer to that bright center and anything is better—

(It is still hard to find that bright line between the Republic under the tyranny of the Clone Wars and the perpetual state the Empire embodies. That is just how these things go.)

Leia is on the first line of defense for the Rebellion, she watches propos and listens to senators argue, quoting lines from holodramas—ironically, but also as illustrations. (She learns very young that a well-told story, even fictional, has quicker legs than one badly told and true. She disapproves, but that is the way of things.) It is amazing how many late Republicans would have supported he Empire despite explicitly stating they did not support the Empire, its agents, or any move toward a less democratic structure of government. It is amazing how weak it makes them seem, given what she knows about the inner workings of the capitol. It is—

Han is good at finding cantinas where, if the Imperial propos cut into he grav-ball match, everyone groans aloud. He smiles a little against the curve of the mug as everyone curses out the poor bastard who has to—

(Han always feels a little bad for him. Her. Whoever—he knows what it’s like to have your neck under someone’s boot, to know you don’t really have choice in this. At least he’s busy smuggling, can’t be much a spokesperson that way.)

The Resistance does not have the access the Empire does, but the Rebellion has feed hackers, holonet ‘ware corrupters. The Alliance blasts every inbox with public reveals of complaints, salaries, donations. Saw Guerra’s people de-encrypt transmissions, and release them to the ‘net in vicious anarchic fashion. (Make of it what you will, that Tarkin sent a transmission to Krennic saying ‘stop being so gentle on your workforce,’ after Krennic’s 12-hour days resulted in its first overworked, dehydrated, malnourished death.)

Regional reporters dump their findings onto the holonet, saying, look at what the governor is doing, we buried the jedi but we found, we—

look, they say in unison. look at this. you are not alone. you are not crazy. something has shifted, something significant has changed and you are not alone in thinking this. We are here, together, and this is dangerous, this is—

you are not alone. you are right, your perception of the world is—there is an objective reality, and they depart from it. you are right. you are sane. it is the galaxy that has gone insane in the interim.

“Senator?” the holonet reporter asks, when Mon Mothma falls silent, and she is smiling down at the podium. “Senator, if you could—”

“According to the study conducted by the Galactic Agency for—” she begins, and the briefing room falls so quiet she is afraid she has lost them. But there is a holonet reporter in the first row who has pressed her hand to her mouth, even as her eyes are wide, fixed on Mon’s face; and out of the corner of her eye, Mon can see Leia Organa (so much Bail and Breha’s daughter, even now) pressing her lips together, her eyes shut. And this is good. They are good, they are better. Here is the study. Here is the definition. Here is the closest she knows how to get to objective reality.

She justifies. From the root word, meaning justice. Meaning to make right. Meaning, more than what is what is available on the surface, more than what is unquestioned. More. 

So much more.