After very little research into the other writings of Laura Ingalls Wilder and Rose Wilder Lane, my hypothesis about the Little House authorship question is that the writing is mostly Rose's, but the heart is Laura's.

In Laura's newspaper columns, the parts that sound most like Little House mostly come from the extracts she shares from Rose's letters (incidentally, it's kind of adorable how proud she is of Rose: "My daughter's in France!", "My daughter's in Albania!", etc.) The prose of Old Home Town, Rose's inspired-by-my-childhood-home novel, has some of the same concise descriptive prose that I've come to associate with the Little House style (I could hear passages in the voice of the Little House audiobook narrator).

Yet the Little House soul is all over Laura's columns. She's fascinated by the simple tasks of life, believes in home and family and hard work, believes in holding onto the goodness of childhood and looking forward with hope toward the future. There's an optimism, almost a romanticism, about life. The children's series that bears her name clearly comes from the same woman.

Rose, by contrast, is much more pessimistic. When writing about childhood, she's almost cynical about the life of a small town. She highlights the dark stories underlying the wholesome exterior, is extremely sensitive to the pitfalls of the social scene around her. Part of the difference is that Rose is writing for adults, but there does seem to be an essential difference in the personality behind the pen, despite the stylistic similarities to Little House.

(At the risk of pop psychoanalyzing people long dead, Rose seems much more neurotic and introverted and sensitive than her mother. In her writings and in the books about her childhood in Missouri, she comes across as child of a fairly comfortable modern life, with all the modern anxieties, in contrast to a woman who grew up starving on the prairie and knows that there are much worse things to endure than small-town gossip).

It's not much of a thesis, but I'm just fascinated by the fact that the Little House series can share so many stylistic similarities with Rose's writings, yet feel so much more like Laura.

Shielded. Chapter Two.

Anonymous said to

imagineclaireandjamie:

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails. [Dolly Parton]

Happy Sunday all - Chapter Two is up and ready, I hope you enjoy. You can find Chapter One HERE. MBD

War and Peace:

It was sunny outside, she could see the clear blue sky through the thick white netting. Having let themselves in to the property with a key in one of the officers back pockets, they were waiting in the small lounge for John’s mystery friend to appear. With the long winding roads down to the house they had taken longer than originally planned to arrive and the gentleman, one James Fraser, had been forced to leave and attend to his milking duties before he’d actively met his new house guest.

Not that any of them minded. In her own head she was still rolling her new name, saying it over and over again as if to make herself believe it. At least when she was introduced she’d be able to return the greeting gesture with some authenticity.

“You can leave you know.” She had said this to the officers on several occasions. Knowing little about milking, she did assume it wasn’t a quick job and had been quick to allude to the face that Mr Fraser might be out for some time. Shaking their heads, though, they had pointed out that they were required to do handover and were not going to simply leave her without properly passing off to Mr Fraser.

Her living with another person brought about its own complications. For a start they both needed to be briefed on the situation, they both needed to know the implications and outcomes of anyone learning her existence (which they were bound to do at some point) and the severity of anyone learning her real name or her reason for being here.

She suspected that there was more of a backstory to come, but had waited patiently to be informed of it rather than asking. It was unlikely that John had sent her here with little more than a new name and she was ready and keen to adapt to this new situation.

He’d have the letter, she thought as she held the coke bottle tightly between her fingers. In the twenty-four hours she’d had to prepare her exit, she had written a letter to be delivered to her husband this morning so that he didn’t attempt to register her as a missing person. Though some of the force knew of her plan, naturally only a small few knew intimate details and most knew nothing at all. The last thing she needed was a group of policemen and women tracking her down and ruining the whole operation.

The sound of the key in the lock brought her attention away from her worries and she tried to relax herself so that she looked less like a deer in headlights and more like she was happy to be there. She was, of course, more than content to be far away from her old life but the trip had left her hollow and fatigued and she didn’t want to appear ungrateful the very first moment she met her unwitting host.

Smoothing down the thin material of her leggings, she surreptitiously wiped the sweat from her palms as she caught a glance of John’s friend.  Her mind, however, was torn between the present and the future and she found it almost impossible to keep herself grounded in the moment.

It wasn’t until they were all sitting in the lounge with a cup of tea did she even notice the tall stranger stood in front of her. They must have been talking for a good ten minutes, she noted internally, as the steam was still freshly piping off the brewed tea.

“So, Mr Fraser,” the officer stated, bringing her attention fully back to the room, “we’ve got a long drive home so we’ll leave you and Claire to get acquainted. The number in the envelope is the contact should you have any emergency concerns but it should only be used when really necessary. Alright?”

“Aye.” Mr Fraser responded quietly, shaking both her driver’s hands before ushering them out.

Once alone, she picked up her tea and blew across the top. The front room was tall and airy, certainly quite old, probably built around the early 18th century. She took note of the engraved sconces, the plain wallpaper and the large fireplace as she waited to be joined again. Enthralled by the rather encompassing oil painting, she jumped a little as Fraser entered the room.

“That’s a great-aunt of some description, if I remember correctly. Painted sometime in the 1890’s before the turn of the century. She was keen on highland dancing, hence the flashy tartans surrounding her. A lost art, I fear.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, he seemed calm but not yet used to human companionship.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Jamie,” he replied, holding his hand out to meet hers, “Jamie Fraser.”

“And you live here alone?”

Clearly he did, she had been told as much but her mind had gone blank. Between leaving Oxford, the long drive and transforming into someone new in a few short hours, her brain was looking for conversation starters and coming up blank.

“Aye, have done for a good few years now. The farm takes a lot of work, I have a few helpers from nearby plots that come and help when needed, but I mostly dinna notice.”

“Long hours then?”

“From dawn to dusk most days, though I have been known to take a day off.”

His joke made her smile and she sipped her tea to stop it from becoming a full on fatigued laugh.

Seeing the glazed look pass over her eyes, Jamie cocked his head and pointed to the staircase at the back of the room. “Would you like me to show you to your room? I’m sure you’ve already had a long weekend. It has an ensuite so you can just rest in there until you feel human again?”

Nodding she felt grateful that he hadn’t used her new name yet. In her own head she’d had trouble making herself believe it and she wasn’t sure it was familiar enough yet for her to answer to it. As they walked, her filled suitcase in his hands whilst she hoisted her rucksack onto her back, she tried to repeat it to herself over and over. It felt strange that she could no longer think of herself as Elizabeth. Luckily, she wouldn’t have to worry about strangers calling out in public and her answering them.

It stung, though, to remember that she was locked down and unable to investigate her new home.

“This is it.” Opening the door, Jamie took a step inside.

The room was vast. Another great fireplace centred the room and there were doors either side of it.

“To the left is a closet for your clothes, I’ve emptied it aside from a couple of shoe boxes of old photos, I hope you don’t mind. To the right is the bathroom. It has a wetroom-type shower and a toilet. There is a bath, but it’s in the main bathroom down the hall, feel free to use it any time.”

Getting clean and into fresh clothes was at the top of her agenda and a calm washed over her as she saw the solid four-poster bed, all made up with light blue sheets and pre-fluffed pillows.

“Thanks, Jamie, for everything.”

Having missed her chance to thank John, she felt like all she would be able to say to Jamie for weeks was thank you.

“Nay bother. Just…” he paused for a moment, his hand resting tightly over the door handle as he moved to leave, “everything here is yours too, aye? Make yerself at home. I work a lot, long hours and long weeks, so I’ll be here there and everywhere. There’s food in the kitchen, a TV in the living area at the back of the house as well as books and more creative things.” He was talking fast, his nervousness becoming clearer as he tried to give a verbal account of the facilities without forgetting anything important. “Through the kitchen there is a door, it leads down into the cellar. That’s where the washing machine and dryer are if you want to wash yer clothes...anything else…?”

He had placed her suitcase down by the door and was running his hands through his hair as he tried to think whether he needed to mention anything else.

“Thank you.” She said again, giving him a free pass to leave now he seemed settled that he’d bought her attention to the most important appliances. “It really is extremely kind of you to open your home at such short notice.”

“It’s a pleasure,” returning her gesture, he held out his hand and took hers, shaking it lightly as she backed towards the bed and he moved back into the doorway, “Claire.”

It felt strange to hear him finally say it and the sound of his deep scottish accent stayed with her long after he’d closed the door and disappeared back downstairs. As she wandered slowly around her suite she opened and closed her right hand, the warmth of his palm still echoed in her flesh. Having had tender relationships before, it was almost as if her flesh knew the touch of someone gentle before the rest of her did.

Whatever it had been dissipated as she caught sight of the brown envelope sticking out of her purse and she took a seat on the bed before pulling a series of pieces of paper from it.

Jamie must have been introduced whilst she’d been in her haze as she didn’t remember anything prior to noticing the cup of tea and, with tired eyes, she pushed the notes aside, eager to get some rest before reading on further.

The clock on the mantel ticked, the click of the hands signalling another hour gone by and before she knew it, darkness surrounded her.

Having fallen asleep between the mass of her new life story, she rubbed her closed lids, yawned and then rose. Her limbs felt heavy, her joints stiff from being in the same position for hours. Stumbling across the room, she felt around for the light switch before investigating the small bathroom attached to her living space.

It was new, that was certain, the porcelain and white tiles sparkling with a sheen that only occurred right before they were sullied with condensation. She pulled the extractor fan cable, switched the shower on and turned up the heat before shedding her clothes and standing beneath the spray. Fortunately there was a towel neatly arranged on the heated handrail, she noticed, as she washed the journey from her skin with some nice lemon scented shower gel.

Clean and dry, she tucked herself between the sheets, carefully stacking and placing the paper back in the envelope before she did so.

That can wait, she thought, her eyes closing before her head even hit the pillow. Once more, sleep found her easily, the swirls of pixelated colour appearing behind her closed eyelids as she began to dream. Silence surrounded her, not like the hum of the city that buzzed in her ears whilst she slept in Oxford, but the blissful nothingness that remote country living afforded those who inhabited it. For that she was grateful.

Kind, blue eyes invaded the deep black nothingness and she felt warm and safe. Snuggling further down into the duvet, she let the warmth encase her as she finally allowed herself to relax.

Day 14: The Ultimate Reward

https://homestuck.com/story/2404

Movies are one of the main vectors that culture uses to transmit itself in the modern day, and if it sounds like I’m describing this form of cultural reproduction like a virus, you’re not wrong. The concept of the viral video has been around for about 15 years, if memory serves, and Homestuck’s self-referential format closely recalls the snowclone and advice animal type memes of the late thousands. Meme itself is a word coined by Richard Dawkins to describe the basic unit of cultural reproduction and transmission. While the lines related to memes from Metal Gear Solid have become memes themselves,

John and Karkat’s lives are both shaped by memes, transmitted to them through movies. John’s ideas about romance and family are shaped by his movies, Karkat and his ideas about romance and family are shaped by his movies.

https://homestuck.com/story/2406

The narration insists that Feferi and Eridan are made for each other, but their romance almost immediately disintegrates. The narrative is training us to be skeptical of the Troll’s preoccupation with Romantic Destiny. The idea that you have one soulmate, a person you were just destined for who it’ll work out with, is bogus.

https://homestuck.com/story/2435

Something about this sequence has inspired me to talk about Society with a capital S. Both Hobbes’ Leviathan  and Ginsberg’s Howl talk about Society with a capital S - the indistinct entity, the system which arises seemingly unbidden from the gestalt of myriad human interactions, parables about social systems.

Leviathan is a founding myth for the social contract and liberalism in general. As one of the petite bourgeoisie who benefits from Liberalism, it is of course in Hobbes’ interest to defend its existence and provide justification for the material conditions he benefits from, but Howl is considerably less charitable. Referring to the same entity as Moloch, Ginsberg describes it as an incommensurable monster, consuming the lives of the men and women who make it up to further its own agenda.

Authoritarians have always used the threat of cultural extinction in order to justify unjust material conditions and social hierarchies. Fail to fall in line, and Western Civilization is doomed. Glub Glub (who I refuse to call anything else, Feferi’s Lusus, you know who I mean) is the physical manifestation of this threat, an unbearable burden foisted upon troll society by their overlord, Lord English, to force them to participate in a system that guarantees their inability to produce ethical behavior. Their choice has always been a choice between murder and extinction.

https://homestuck.com/story/2439

Eridan is fascinating to me. I don’t know if he predicted the Incel movement, or was merely an agglomeration of school shooter, neo-fascist stereotypes, but boy is he absolutely spot-on - the fascination with military history, the emotional theatrics, the possessive and entitled attitude toward the women in his life.

https://homestuck.com/story/2441

Feferi’s a sweet girl, but she’s still one of the people who benefits from Alternian Society. The problem has never been that the Condesce is a brutal evil woman, the problem is the way that Alternian Society is structured in the first place. I’ll have more to say about this whenever we get to Openbound, since Feferi’s rule is discussed more there, and I’ll definitely have more to say about it when I eventually write the companion piece that I intend to about Hierarchy, Patriarchy, and so on and so forth. That one might be a long time coming though, because a lot of Homestuck is devoted to examining it, and I think it might end up being my longest essay. It’s the theme I think is the most directly applicable to real life, hence the import.

Feferi’s caretaking attitude and controlling predilections are also juxtaposed with Jade’s in the same way that Kanaya’s maternal instinct and green thumb are juxtaposed with Jade’s. Could it be that as the Witch of Space, Jade Harley is the ultimate mom?

https://homestuck.com/story/2448

Man, as long as I’m comparing Eridan to neo-fascists and Feferi to the political establishment, this relationship between the two of them - the way that Feferi views her enabling of Eridan as actually curtailing his worst excesses -  really smacks of the kind of unity and compromise rhetoric that liberals always seem to spout in order to justify their decision to adopt moderate right-wing policy instead of actual left-wing policy.

I’m probably reaching here, but the thought popped into my head unbidden, and I’m trying to keep this liveblog as stream of consciousness as possible.

https://homestuck.com/story/2458

People think about us way less than we think about ourselves.

https://homestuck.com/story/2467

Just as I’m not here to defend Eridan (he’s a piece of shit who knows what he did), I’m not here to attack Feferi, or to excuse her. Characters in Homestuck are frequently both abusers and victims.

Feferi’s relationship with Eridan is complicated. For starters, she isn’t really curtailing the worst of his excesses, not the way that she thinks he is. Feferi has authority, one way or the other, and by being emotionally available to Eridan, she has enabled him more than she has prevented him from doing wrong. Cutting him out of her life earlier could have sent a clear message to Eridan that his genocidal ideation is not okay, but instead, she has afforded the luxury of her presence.

The aforementioned preoccupation with Romantic Destiny probably made it so much easier for her to wait, too. As the Heiress, Feferi enjoys all the benefits of being in troll society while having to put up with almost none of the downsides. The suffering of other people - the extra pointless emotional turmoil she puts Eridan through by stringing him along, the suffering of the trolls whose lusii she has employed him to murder - their suffering is all theoretical to her. It’s not something she’s ever had to encounter herself (something she shares in common with Jane - if I remember correctly, Andrew’s commentary suggests that he picked up some of the ideas he was originally exploring with Feferi to explore with Jane).

(Some of these ideas are from a conversation with @bladekindeyewear with whom I was having a conversation on Discord while I was writing this).

https://homestuck.com/story/2475

Instead of indulging Eridan’s emotional theatrics (he continues to make other people’s suffering about himself, via his pretension of nobility) I want to call attention to the fact that, as a chemical coping mechanism, Homestuck compares Trolls’ use of Soda to humans’ use of alcohol.

I don’t know if sugary beverages have a similarly potent physiological effect on trolls as alcohol has on humans, and it doesn’t matter if it does - the parallel is being drawn nevertheless. I’m only making this point, because later on it will become important: Terezi and Rose’s respective addictions (Rose’s alcoholism and Terezi’s... sodaholism?) directly mirror each other.

https://homestuck.com/story/2516

The fact that Vriska’s narration here describes these sidequests as pointless is, I think, another clue into Vriska’s overall character. By all accounts, she and Tavros actually seem to be having a blast together. She’s not going for the gold, she’s not skipping right to the end, the two of them are just screwing around in her magical land, going on adventures. Okay, she is literally going for the gold in the sense of treasure hunting, but in a more figurative sense, the Vriska we’re more familiar with would probably be a taskmaster, using the scourge of her overbearing personality to drive the team forward to victory over the main final boss. Instead, she’s most in her element here when she’s not doing anything remotely important at all, just hanging out with someone she likes(hates? Troll friendships are complicated.)

Abusive relationships are rarely as obvious or simple as one person harassing and berating the other all the time. Tavros is clearly having a blast here too, and throughout this whole sequence.

https://homestuck.com/story/2521

The problem is that there are two Vriskas (at least), the Vriska who lives inside of her, who she’s only comfortable bringing out around people who have no expectations for her, and the Vriska that Scratch, and Spidermom, and Sn0wman are egging her on to be, the Ideal Troll who cuts through the bullshit, cuts to the chase, and becomes the most important person in the universe. Later on, they will be literally bifurcated by John’s retcon shenanigans.

Homestuck uses the language of alternate selves and ultimate selves to discuss a question that is applicable to real life as well. “Who is the definitive version of a character for whom different choices and versions of themselves are possible?” And when applied to real life, the question becomes something more like, “Could I have chosen to do something else instead of the thing that I did? Are my intentions important, or only my actions?” I don’t think it answers clearly, but just getting us to think about it might be sufficient.

https://homestuck.com/story/2531

The Black Queen is just one of the many malign influences in Terezi and Vriska’s lives, and while she’s not literally an abusive parent to both of them, by egging them on to indulge their worst excesses (Egging Terezi on to persecute people pre-emptively or overzealously, egging Vriska on to take away other people’s agencies), it’s safe to say that her voice is just one of many doing the same thing for the two of them.

https://homestuck.com/story/2543

Oh man. The memoes are some of my favorite conversations in all of Homestuck. They’re funny, but with the exception of one or two of them, I’m not sure how much useful info we’ll get out of them.

https://homestuck.com/story/2567

:)

https://homestuck.com/story/2575

Karkat and Terezi may not have literally had sex, but whatever their secret encounter was is effectively symbolic of a consummation of their relationship. She knows what color Karkat’s blood is. They have been in a pail together.

The two of them can hardly be more intimate with each other.

Too bad it doesn’t work out.

But then, it’s probably for the best - the fact that it doesn’t work out for the two of them is the retrospect we need to be able to say it was never going to work out for the two of them.

https://homestuck.com/story/2576

Something different does it for everyone.

https://homestuck.com/story/2578

What does it for Vriska is having the shit beaten out of her by Aradia.

What is Vriska’s big takeaway from this beatdown?

Maybe if we continue to read Aradia as being Vriska’s doppelganger, being savagely beaten by one of her own victims, and one who is so like her in terms of her feelings of helplessness, her feelings of being at the whim of a cosmos that is out to get her, Vriska realizes that the thing she lashes out to attack in other people - the weakness loathed by troll society - is what she hates and fears the most in herself.

https://homestuck.com/story/2587

Aradia is starting to lose her tolerance for scenarios that involve being manipulated by those very same actors that are making her feel helpless.

https://homestuck.com/story/2593

Aradia interprets Sburb as being a challenge to come between any prospective gods and the ultimate reward. Perhaps that is the case. Assigning intent to Sburb to me seems possibly flawed, since it is, after all, only the reproductive organ of a universe. But perhaps it does have some intentions of its own. Are those intentions uniquely Sburb’s? Perhaps specifically Skaia’s. Maybe they are even, more generally, the intentions of Paradox Space itself. But Sburb itself seems more ambivalent to its players than anything. The vast majority of sessions, it seems, kill their players outright, or at least produce null sessions that never give rise to universal reproduction.

https://homestuck.com/story/2625

And that is where we shall conclude for this evening.

Cam signing off, Alive and Not Alone.

Commission #6, Belatedly

For @d3fiant, who prompted R/J from an old ficverse.

Holly isn’t in this business for the ill-gotten means, as it were, he’s sure of it.

Of course, it’s not her real name, but then again, none of the women that Jack has come across in the last two years since the beginning of his acquaintance and association with D use their real names. Men in their world still have an easier time of it-- most bystander witnesses would not remember the likes of Noel, for example, beyond hulking shoulders rippling with tattoos, or Konstantin beyond polished but nondescript businessman with watchful eyes and a three-piece suit. Holly, on the other hand, has a face which could grace the covers of glossy magazines and a voice to match the black satin of her hair. He’d been able to pick her out from across a crowded room the minute he’d met her. 

He wonders if D has an affinity for herbology of some sort -- certainly, the aliases of his female associates are various types of flora-- all innocuous but deadly. Holly. Jessamine. Daphne. Belladonna. He’s not paid to wonder about it, or about Holly’s origins and habits and what makes her tick and what makes her smile, but a man convalescing from a gunshot wound is a man with nothing but time and his mind for company. Holly, certainly, does not bother to visit more than the bare minimum. Sensible girl.

She brings him his meals, though, three times a day. He is almost certain that wherever she’d brought him is not one of the usual safe houses-- his room locks from the outside and he is both too weak and too smart to attempt to explore outside the confines of the four walls. There is a shelf full of books for his entertainment as he recovers-- ranging from leather-bound classics to trashy paperback sci-fi novels to a good year’s worth of subscriptions to various magazines both pithy and frivolous-- Time. National Geographic. Better Homes and Gardens. Vogue. Us Weekly. The furniture is elegant and tasteful, running towards graceful antiques rather than the sleek and modern, but for all that, there’s no coziness to the room. The hermetically sealed window-- storm-paned glass-- looks out to a well-manicured expanse of yard featuring velvety lawns and neat beds of stately, formal flowers-- two banks of rose bushes, red and white, line up with the precision of soldiers, bordered by neat green hedges. The yard is completely bordered by tall, upright poplars, shielding it from view of prying eyes. It’s certainly too nicely-appointed of a property for the likes of the average safe house, which in Jack’s experience has always been as deliberately nondescript as possible down to the dun-coloured siding and the mid-sized minivan generally kept parked in the driveway. 

A clock-- one of those graceful silver-and-glass affairs with Roman numerals marking the hours-- ticks away at the top of the bookshelf, and just as the hour of noon, a key turns in the lock, and Holly walks in with a tray. She is always punctual on these thrice-daily visits: breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Jack gives her his customary grin, which she does not return, and takes her in.

She’s wearing a cream-coloured silk blouse and a quiet knee-length skirt in dove-gray, with matching stilettos which are completely silenced by the plush of the carpet. No adornment aside from the ruby studs in her ears. Add in a leather handbag and perhaps a long coat in a neutral shade, and she’d blend in with any socialite out for lunch or shopping. He’d bet any money, though, that there’s a gun strapped to her leg under the skirt. She doesn’t know him any better than he knows her. And considering the last time he’d seen her wielding a Beretta 92 at a pursuing car’s tires, he’s well aware that she’s more than proficient with firearms. 

“What’s for lunch, Jill?” His inquiry, as intended, earns him a thinly veiled glare. She doesn’t look like a ‘Jill’ either, but it’s fun to get a reaction out of her. She’s normally so controlled. She sets the tray down on the desk, in precisely the same spot as his breakfast tray from earlier had been. 

“Grilled salmon and a whole wheat roll, with a spinach salad with blue cheese and cranberries on the side. Don’t call me Jill.” It’s always healthy, well-prepared food, and he thinks that it is perhaps the type of fare that she would eat. There’s a bottle of grapefruit juice to go along with his meal-- no wine, no beer. He has a mid-level craving for a greasy, juicy burger with everything but the kitchen sink piled into it and an icy, foamy lager, but he’d have to be somewhere other than this most well-appointed of prisons before he’d be able to indulge. 

“You gonna join me for lunch for once, sweetheart? Just a quick meal between friends and associates. I won’t bite.”

“I have a lot of other commitments this afternoon, and you have a checkup.” 

“Ah, yes. With the good doctor from the docks. You know, I do think she’s the only one of us who actually has no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. The only ‘good’ one, as it were. She didn’t even ask questions when you and Noel brought me in, did she? What a kind soul. What’s her name again?”

“Angelica. You seem to have a real problem remembering people’s names.” Holly doesn’t spare him a glance as she lays out a place setting-- complete with a snowy linen napkin and heavy silverware, arranged formally, and pours his grapefruit juice into a glass half-full of crushed ice. She definitely grew up in a household accustomed to formal meals, whatever she’s doing these days amusing herself by running recon or engaging in gunfights rather like some elegant version of a gun moll. 

“I will try harder.” Jack tucks his tongue in his cheek and admires the way her legs look in that prim, narrow skirt. “So that’s a no on joining me for lunch, huh?”

“Noel will be over in an hour to take you to physical therapy. You need to fully recover from your wounds, and will be of very little use to D if that gunshot takes you out of the game.”

“It would be a damned shame, wouldn’t it?” Jack cuts into the tender pink flesh of the salmon with his knife and fork. “I suppose I’d have to live out the rest of my days in boring, civilian anonymity. Probably learn how to mow lawns and weed gardens. Your yard is very nice. Who takes care of it?”

“I have a gardener on staff, and contract a landscaping company that handles the heavy work.”

“So this is your home, then. I feel so honoured to be a guest.” 

Perhaps she was not trying to tell him so much. Jack grins even as she scowls. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I know not to brag about our time together. Is it so wrong that since I am stuck here until I heal I try to get to know you better? I knew everything about everyone on my platoon, down to MacMillan’s allergies to cats and Patterson’s wife’s obsession with reality TV to Rosenberg’s fondness for gas station hostess cupcakes. We spent a lot of time together, often in close quarters, always with the same people. And besides, isn’t the point of being part of a team knowing and trusting your team members?”

“If you think that spouting off some corporate bullshit team-building synergy nonsense is going to persuade me, you are vastly mistaken. I’m not here to be your friend or your confidante. Just eat your lunch and get yourself ready to your physical therapy.” Holly, clearly at the end of her patience, tidies up the remnants of his last meal and drops his empty coffee cup onto the tray with an irritated clatter. “I have to deal with you when we are working together so as to not end up on the wrong side of a bullet. Outside of that, we’re not here to be buddy-buddy.”

She takes the tray and walks out of the room without a backward glance, and Jack listens to the sound of the lock turning in the door. He could, if he really wanted to, pick it with the tines of his dessert fork. Or smash through the window and rappel down the side of the house and take his chances. But it would be a pity on all levels-- at such an egregious breach of conduct, D would kill him, if Holly didn’t do so, first. And he’s almost certain if the day came that his life was forfeit to the syndicate, he’d deserve it, and never see it coming. 

He finishes his meal-- it is expertly prepared and delicious, after all-- and goes over his mental notes about the beautiful, deadly enigma whose somewhat unwilling hospitality he is currently imposed upon. Holly looks to be perhaps in her late twenties, born into great wealth and privilege, and on their first meeting, had spoken flawless French like a native Parisian. But her English is definitely American, with traces of New England society in its haughtier moments. Her hands are elegant and manicured, but he’d seen her just as gracefully snap the neck of one of the goons who’d attempted to corner her in the deserted warehouse. She handles hand-to-hand with the cool, business-like attitude of someone viewing it as a necessary evil, competently and skillfully, but not with any particular relish. He can’t quite pinpoint where she’d been trained, but the style is distinctly Asian, with its graceful stances and lethal strikes and kicks. Every little tidbit of information he gleans brings with it more questions, more interest. 

“You’re a hell of a woman, Jill.” Jack grins at nothing in particular and makes his way to the en-suite bathroom to wash up after his meal. There, too, no expense is spared-- the towels are plush, the fixtures pristine, and the soap and shampoo smell pleasantly of cloves and sandalwood. He is given a razor to shave every morning, but it’s always gone out of the bathroom by breakfast-- taken out with his dinner tray and the hamper of clothing. She trusts him enough, perhaps, to keep him in her home rather than a safe-house, but not enough to leave completely to his own devices. Perhaps she wonders about his background and motives like he does about hers.

Noel knocks on the door before unlocking it, right on time. The big guy is a lot less mysterious than Holly is-- Jack already knows the gist of his background. Former Irish mob, a bare-knuckle brawler with the big arms and shoulders to prove it. He’d seen Noel hot-wire a car on one occasion in all of seventy-five seconds, and also seen those big bruiser’s hands, skillful and gentle as a maiden aunt’s, fiddling with wires and microphones to bug an opponent’s office after they’d broken in. Noel doesn’t try to hide the Boston in his accent, or indeed the Galway when he’s particularly riled up. He’s been in D’s employ for two years longer than Jack has, and simply refers to the kingpin as “Boss man”. Quite efficiently, Noel wheels him down the hall, then into an actual elevator. He’s brought outside into a van bearing the name and logo of a dry cleaner’s and efficiently strapped in. Noel takes a circuitous route through town-- not that Jack can see anything from the back-- but at least deigns to play music during the drive. It’s unapologetic, kick-ass hard rock heavy on the guitar and drums, precisely the type of music that does not invite or facilitate conversation.

By the time the van’s doors are opened again, Jack is far, far away from the polished, glossy neighbourhood of Holly’s residence. Garbage-laden alleys and derelict buildings dot these tenements with urban blight, and the industrial building they’re parked in front of is pock-marked with graffiti and rust stains on the concrete walls. To get in, Noel has to swipe a keycard, then punch in a code. They wheel down a straight hallway bright with fluorescent lighting and Noel unlocks the next set of doors with two different keys. The clinic that Dr. Angelica runs, though, despite its singular location, is clean as a whistle, equipped with state-of-the-art technology. She meets them at the door, a petite, pretty woman with sad blue eyes and a wistful smile, and turns her attention to Jack.

“You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“A lot better than when I’d gotten shot, that’s for sure.” The bullet had hit him in the leg through the door of their escape vehicle, and Holly had taken control of the wheel from the passenger side even as he’d slammed on the brakes, nearly causing a spin-out. In the tense seconds that followed, though, she’d managed to fire off three shots through the open passenger side window, taking out their pursuer’s two front tires and the windshield. That car had rammed into a wall head-on, and she’d managed to keep him awake and alert for long enough for backup to arrive. He’d woken up, briefly, in this same clinic, groggy on meds, with Angelica patiently stitching him up. She’d taken the time to explain that he’d caught a bullet in the leg and was very fortunate that it had not nicked his femoral artery, but it would be awhile before he could be up and running again. He’d taken it as a matter of course-- really, if one were to think of it, he’d been fired at with a lot deadlier weapons back in the day with his platoon in war zones. A 9 millimeter in the leg from a gang member’s Glock could have been a land mine, or a hail of bullets from an AK-47. Then she’d put him under again, and he’d woken up in that room in Holly’s house some days later, disoriented but safe enough. A week and a half later, Holly still lets herself get annoyed with him whenever he teases her, and a small part of him finds that gratifying.

“I don’t have to explain how lucky you are, of course. With your background, I’m sure that you know. But with the right therapy and exercise, I don’t see why you wouldn’t make almost a full recovery in good time.” Angelica tells him after running some tests. “You are quite healthy otherwise, and you neither lost a lot of blood or received any extensive bone and tissue damage. A clean through-and-through, as we say. It certainly could have been a lot worse.”

“I could be floating facedown in the river, yeah,” Jack says drily. “How long are we talking, Doc?”

“For someone of your size and health, you can be up with crutches as soon as two weeks from now. If you maintain a healthy regimen of light but steady exercise on that leg, you should gain full mobility in another month after that.”

“Do you really think Holly will put up with me for that long?” Jack asks drolly. He isn’t quite sure how well the good Dr. Angelica knows Holly, but certainly the doctor knows enough of the syndicate’s business to not only ask no questions when he’d been brought in, but set up a whole secret clinic in the slums that runs as well as a trauma center in a major hospital. He’d heard of the Doc in the docks since he’d started, but until now, had never had occasion to meet her. “You know Holly, right? Black hair, red lipstick, very hot, keeps a Beretta on her at all times? She can’t stand me.”

Angelica’s lips twist into a faint smile. “If you say so. I know her of old. We roomed together freshman year at Yale. She’ll find a way to tolerate your company for as long as needed, I’m sure.”

Yet another tidbit of information about his elusive, fiery partner-of-sorts falls into his lap. It’s almost more exciting than the prospect of crutches in the next two weeks. Jack lets Angelica poke and prod some more, answers questions by rote, and counts down the hours until he can see her again. 

Ey, so, what happened is that I posted a Schitt's Creek fic late last night and went to bed.  Then I overslept and went to work and then went straight to some family stuff after work, so by the time I checked up later this afternoon, there were not only comments, but also Discourse in the Comments – enough Discourse in the Comments that I decided that in addition to staying up late tonight to answer individual comments (which is a great problem to have! Fuck sleep, moar comments!), I should probably Address the Discourse in one go so I wouldn't have to repeat myself quite so much.

This is, arguably, a big mistake, since at the end of the day, people feel however they feel about the story, and they're certainly entitled to their feelings.  For the most part, my chosen medium for self-expression is fiction, and I figure that if I failed to express myself adequately in the fiction, too bad for me. But what the hell, it's Pride and I like to hear myself talk, so if there is anyone who has questions or weird feelings about the choices I made in this story, I'm making this bit of my Writing Process transparent for you, so you at least know why I did what I did.

The gist, for onlookers, is that there's a moment deep in the middle of this David/Patrick story where Patrick says David is bisexual and David goes along with that, which rang false to some people because elsewhere in canon, David's father describes him as pansexual instead, and we generally assume – and I also assume! – that he does so because that's the label David prefers.

I feel like the easiest first layer of this to peel off is that, yes, Patrick is wrong.  Patrick – a deeply closeted small-town boy with few or no close ties to The Community – hears his friend and co-worker talking about relationships with men and women, and he thinks to himself, “Oh, okay, he's bisexual, then,” because to most of the world, that's what bisexual means.  I think he would have no reason to second-guess himself on that, or wonder if there's another term that David prefers.  Patrick literally doesn't know enough about this issue to know that he might be wrong about it.  What Patrick thinks he understands, he doesn't fully understand, and that's intentional, because the whole story is about Patrick being in this “messy middle part,” where he kind of doesn't know the rules and doesn't get things right.

That, I think, came across clearly to most readers, but there was still this question of, well, couldn't I have written David correcting this mistake, at that moment or somewhere else in the story, so that the reader would understand that I know Patrick is wrong and that I, personally, am not condoning the general practice of disregarding people's chosen labels.

And of course I could have.  I didn't for two reasons, one of characterization and one of theme – but that's not an objectively correct choice, it's just the choice I made in service of this particular story.  A different writer could have gone a different route and written a different story, and maybe that would've worked just as well!  But it wouldn't have been a good call for this story.

First, just as a basic point of characterization, it's my take that David Rose actually doesn't feel strongly enough to object.  We don't ever see him identify as anything – we see him talking freely about past experiences, but the one and only time he's called on to explain what he is to someone else, it's the scene while shopping with Stevie where (albeit through the lens of what I still feel is a somewhat labored metaphor), he gives a version of Ye Olde “I don't like labels” speech.  To me, David is a pretty recognizable type: he thinks of himself as liking lots of stuff and free to do what he likes without being boxed in by other people's opinions, and he's carried forward with the exact same attitude he deployed when he came out to his parents: “I'm doing this, deal with it.”  So even though I was aware, and I knew the reader would be aware, that Patrick was wrong, my thought on what seemed natural to David as a character was that I didn't really see him caring about the issue enough to derail what was actually going on in that conversation.  That's my read on the character, and it may not match yours; that's fine, it doesn't have to.

However, characters aren't real and don't make decisions; writers do.  It would be absurd for me to say, “Well, this is out of my hands, obviously it would happen this way, because Characterization.”  I could have structured the whole scene differently, and I didn't.  Instead, I wrote a scene where, arguably, a personal of marginalized identity is mis-labeled and doesn't seem to mind that much, and I think one fair response to that scene is to say, Maybe don't volunteer to write scenes that work out that way, when instead you could write in such a way as to demonstrate that you're on the side of not mis-labeling people of marginalized identities.

I did volunteer to write that scene, because I do think this story required that scene.  When David says, “It's okay if you are, too” – even though he knows full well that it's not true – what he's actually saying is, “If what you need right now is a label for yourself that's factually wrong, I'm giving you permission to use it.”  David is not bisexual and neither is Patrick.  This is a scene where David explicitly gives Patrick an exit route if he needs one, where David is actively prioritizing being protective and comforting with Patrick over requiring Patrick to tell the truth.  It's an act of generosity on his part, and it's an act of bravery on Patrick's part to refuse it. It's a brief exchange, but it's absolutely central to the moment Patrick is at, where he can't say true things yet but won't say false ones anymore, and the moment completely relies on the reader understanding that this word they're talking about – “bisexual” – is a dishonest word in this context.  They're discussing whether or not it's okay to be dishonest, and David's take is “sure, if you need that, then do it” while Patrick's is “that would be going backwards and I'm not letting myself down like that.”  David and the reader know that it's a dishonest word in both cases, while Patrick only recognizes that about himself, because again, there's a lot that Patrick doesn't know yet.  He's just now learning.

I write a lot of scenes that are “two people in a room talking,” and if done badly, those can be excruciatingly dull.  I don't like dull; I like writing things that feel taut and have forward motion and tension, because I think that's what makes a scene memorable.  So every time I sit down to write yet another “these two dudes are going to be in a room talking for a while” scene, there are questions I ask myself about what's happening here and why it should happen, because otherwise I'm violating the first and only law of fiction, which is Don't Waste Your Reader's Fucking Time.

The first question is: what's the premise here?  What's the situation that confronts these characters, that they're going to be responding or reacting to?  And the other question is: how are they going to respond and react to that situation in two productively different ways – ways that are in conflict or incompatible or in competition?  If I know what's going on, and I know how these two people are seeing it differently and making different arguments about what should happen next, there's a natural tension of competing agendas that wants to resolve itself at the end, or carry over to the next scene.

In “1001,” my premise is: Patrick is undergoing a process of transformation with regard to his sexual identity that takes time and doesn't really proceed linearly and logically.  That's what's happening.  The way he's responding to that is, he's frustrated and embarrassed, because he feels like he's failing to master this situation, like it's getting the better of him no matter how he tries to set rules for it.  The way David is responding to the premise is, he's trying to curb and mitigate these ways that Patrick is judging  himself harshly, trying to get Patrick to accept that the middle is just messy and things will be a mess until they aren't anymore.  Patrick is facing a challenge, and they're ultimately in an argument about whether or not Patrick is failing it.

That's why I wanted Patrick to be wrong about certain things – I wanted him to authentically be kind of messy, which shows up in little ways from how he can't get the till counted and he can't say gay and he can't put his finger on the song he's thinking of, and not yet speaking the insider-language fluently is part of that.  But more importantly, that's why David's reaction couldn't really involve correcting Patrick's use of the insider-language, because the whole meaning of the story is that David is actively refusing to agree that what's going on with Patrick right now is a problem that needs correcting.

A startling number of writing issues are actually philosophical issues, and this is probably one of them. Like I said, fiction is my main medium for telling people what I think about the world, and the role that I have David playing in this story, as the older, more experienced queer person, is what it is because I have been the older, more experienced queer person trying to figure out how to help someone who's brand new to everything – and what I've come to believe through these experiences is that while there is a time and a place for educators, for being the person who says “actually, that's not quite right, we say or do this instead of that,” the on-the-ground reality is that if people are still in a state of extreme vulnerability and self-doubt, they have a far, far greater need for people who will affirm them rather than instruct them.

Someone in Patrick's place, who is stuck between an old belief and a new self, who feels like they're failing and floundering, who thinks it's easy for other people and hard for them because they're messier or more broken or more cowardly than everyone else, deserves to be received with compassion and told that messy is fine, not knowing is fine, this process is normal and they are fine.  The story I wanted to write was about David giving that grace and spaciousness to Patrick, and it ended with Patrick accepting it at least enough to say “this will just take care of itself if I give it enough time” about the song thing, which stands in a bit for his problem-solving approach to the whole situation (because then we know as readers that when he finds the “best song” he's unlocked the whole thing, and we know that's coming, just like David told him the end would come).  It's my opinion that having David double back, at any point in the story, and say “actually, that's not quite right, you should have said this instead” would have fatally undermined everything about the alternative argument David is presenting about the nature of Patrick's situation.  Patrick is the one who worries about getting this right; David is the one who wants him to be okay with being wrong for now.

And like most writers, when I set up those dueling arguments, I am actually coming down on one side or the other by the end: David's side.  I didn't have David correcting him because I think David wouldn't correct him, but even more than that because I think the nature and structure of this story makes it ethically right for David to hold back from correcting him.  I think he's the one being the hero here, by accepting Patrick's messiness and imperfection and just taking the approach of, yeah, it's all new, it's tough going, but even though you don't feel fine right now, you are fundamentally fine.

You as a reader don't have to accept that moral argument.  You can think it would have made David a better person to model a commitment to truth, to set a higher standard and ask Patrick to live up to it.  That's okay!  It's totally fine to be like, “I see that this writer wants me to feel one way about this, but actually I just don't, I think that's dead wrong.”  Other writers are going to tackle stories about what it feels like to be part of Patrick's coming-out story, both in his role and in David's role, and those writers can and should make their own best arguments, in stories that are built to be about whatever they want to say about coming out.  Those stories will just be different from mine, which is great, that's what having a voice as a writer means – that you're thoughtfully constructing stories in ways that express how you see the world, not how anybody else does it.

And if you read “1001” and you cared enough about it to have an opinion, I genuinely appreciate your time and the thought you put into it.  Thank you.

Reading some of your anon's about B99 the lack of empathy for Amy is worrying. Not talking about it more before is silly from the show and should have been done better but to analyse the rest we have to accept she thought they were on the same page. All Amy did was clearly state that she wouldn't accept Jake's indecision on this issue (Jake was trying to push it away but Amy is right they don't have time). Asking someone to wait on this for an unknown time is not a fair option (1/4)

Amy did more than tell Jake she wouldn’t accept his indecision. Amy’s feelings and wants are as valid and as important as Jake’s. The issue with the episode is how Amy chose to handle that situation, and how the narrative is clearly more on her side than Jake’s. 

Having kids is a big decision but it’s more important to be ready to have kids than to choose to have them. Amy wants kids. Fine. She should have them if she knows she’ll do a good job. Having kids because your partner wants them, even if you don’t, is the reason why many parents are so crappy. I’m on Jake’s side because his decision is actually more important. If Amy doesn’t have kids, she might suffer. If Jake has kids he isn’t sure he wants, the kid and Jake might suffer. The hypothetical future child’s needs are more important. 

Amy didn’t just ask for Jake to make a decision. She didn’t just say “Share your thoughts on this with me. Let’s work it out.”. She forced him into a debate with other people, knowing she’s a better debater so she’d probably win. The idea of winning a debate against your partner on the topic of birthing actual human beings is beyond comprehension. It’s like Jake deciding to debate with Amy on whether or not she should have an abortion. Amy’s body, Amy’s decision. But Jake’s sperm, Jake’s decision too. Furthermore, Amy got a whole bunch of people involved in a very private matter. Jake was clearly uncomfortable and out of his element, and Amy ignored that. 

I also didn’t like that Rose was immediately on Amy’s side, without hearing the whole story. Like I said, the narrative was pushing Amy’s agenda and pushing Jake to say yes to having children, and that is why people have little sympathy for Amy. Her feelings are valid, her actions are inappropriate. She got all the sympathy in the world from Rosa and the writers. 

Also, in this case, I, and many other women and men, relate more to Jake than Amy. Jake was the one to “give in”, and I, for one, feel like that was a loss to anyone who is, understandably, afraid of being a bad parent, yet chooses to be one because “it’ll probably be fine; no one knows what they’re doing anyway.”. 

The most important decision most women will make for her life/body is whether she will have a child and that decision should not be made for her by someone else’s indecision (including her partners) or vague hope of one day. Jake has valid fears but so does Amy (which no-one appears to care about). Some of the reaction may be because Tumblr mainly consists of women about 20 with no experience of the scary/unfair nature of fertility in your 30s (2/4)

Yes, you do have a point that I have no experience with fertility issues. I don’t even want biological children. But I don’t think the fans want Amy to not have children so she can stay with Jake. I don’t want that. 

The episode was set up in a way that only one outcome was possible: Amy doesn’t have children, and it sucks for her (fans would be very sympathetic in this scenario), or Jake has children, and it’s potentially bad for him and his kids (this is what happened, so people are on Jake’s side). Amy was never going to leave Jake, which would have happened had he chosen not to have children, so Amy was obviously always going to win that argument. But this isn’t the type of argument you should win. It shouldn’t be an argument at all, really. 

Some also still appear to have fairly immature notions of healthy romantic love that includes being willing to subvert all individual needs/goals for the other. Kids is the deal-breaker issue because there is almost no way to proceed in a healthy way if one person is going against what they want. Amy didn’t threaten divorce (hell she was arranging Waterpark trips) but outlined a scenario that could lead to her having to start over in 2 years - a realistic one Jake needed to be aware of (¾).

The problem is that Jake is kind of pushed to make a life changing decision in a heartbeat, so he is, partially at the very least, subverting his individual needs for Amy’s. You have a good point about Amy, but did she go about it the right way? Amy was blindsided, but so was Jake. Amy casually mentioning their marriage would end if Jake didn’t want children was not okay. If only she had given him some time to think things over before saying something that would sway his thought process so much… It sounded a bit like an ultimatum. Would Jake have chosen to have kids had Amy not told him she would divorce him if he chose not to? We don’t know. That’s the problem. 

Jake has valid fears but also has a wife who deserves an answer (including if its no). Fertility is such an important feminist issue - its not equal between sexes. Between myself/friends I have seen many with partners who don’t understand the reality of how being with a woman in her 30s means you don’t get to be indecisive on kids (like she can’t). The episode premise has some problems but Amy standing firm on this issue and the unfair reality of her biology was actually very important (4/4).

Yes, Amy sticking to her decision is important. Her behavior, as I said before, is not. Between the way she treats Jake, and the obvious set-up of the episode, it’s hard to care about Amy’s decision. She “won” anyway.

Thanks for the feedback. I think this episode was very personal to you, and I appreciate you voicing your thoughts so politely. However, the episode was also very personal to me, so I have plenty of thoughts too.

Oh, also, I want to add that Jake made his decision under stressful conditions. Firstly, Amy told him she’d maybe divorce him if he chose not to have kids; secondly, Amy forced Jake to debate her in front of other people, putting him on the stop, and bringing up painful issues about Jake’s dad; and thirdly, he went through a life-threatening experience, thinking he might die. Jake made a huge decision at the end of a highly traumatic episode, which really doesn’t make Amy look good... 

A Right To Claim

A little expansion of Claire and Laoghaire's confrontation (1x10) plus a little imagined post-scene fic if Jamie has seen the entire thing.

A/N: Gosh, I love this scene so much. In this time in the books and series, Claire was still on the fence between her old and new life but it's in major moments like these where she's clearly falling (or fallen) in love with Jamie that I love most.

This post scene has been in my prompt for a while and after rewatching the episodes, I found the inspiration to write it. This prompt has probably been written before but I hope you like and enjoy!

Claire’s walk to the kitchen went surprisingly quick, her feet dragging her faster than she intended. It was nearly lunchtime and the kitchen will soon be bustling with hurry to feed the clansmen at Leoch.

She and Jamie rose a little late in the day. He left their bed first to help Alec in the stables while first on her agenda is a little chat with a certain blonde who left a little something underneath her bed last night.

Early in the morning, Jamie warned her against what she wanted to do, even going so far as trying to make her forget by giving her a full English breakfast to boot (nice try, Jamie!) but she couldn’t get over the idea of Laoghaire going to their private bedroom unannounced and unwelcome. At first, she understood the lassie’s frustration of “losing” (ugh!) Jamie but the ill-wish under her and Jamie’s bed was unsettling and she had to do something before it escalated even further.

Her mind was calm at first but with each step closer to Laoghaire, holding the damned item in her hand, she was surprised to find an anger – was it anger? - bubble inside her that threatened to come out.

She spotted Mrs. Fitz and Laoghaire, immediately asking for a private conversation with her granddaughter, which she obliged. Now, alone, Laoghaire broke the ice.

“If ye have something to say, say it. I have chores to tend to” Claire didn’t like her tone. She really didn’t and it was pushing her buttons. Claire might’ve – just might’ve - underestimated her a bit.

“Look familiar?” Claire raised the offending stick in front of her.

“Why should it?” Laoghaire innocently said back.

“Because you placed it under my bed” Claire accused.

“What cause would I have to do such a thing?” Laoghaire really wanted to play the dumb card and Claire had to restrain herself from completely lashing out. She took a deep breath and decided to try to talk to her rationally, hoping this path would work.

“Look, I know you have deep feelings for Jamie and that when tender regard is denied, it can be very hurtful, especially in one so young as yourself. I even understand why your jealousy would be directed at me, even though I never conspired to take Jamie away from you.” Claire even surprised herself at the lecture she was suddenly giving. Questions raced in her mind to her sudden claim of Jamie. They were married after all, that’s a big reason, she tried to justify to herself but deep in her gut, Claire knew it wasn’t just that.

It clicked then – it wasn’t just anger for Laoghaire that she felt but a possession of Jamie and all that he was that proceeded from their coupling last night. It was an unexpected realization that she, maybe, wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge just yet but here it was, in display and in full force. “The truth is, he was never yours to begin with.” The words were out of Claire’s mouth even before she comprehended what she just said.

“That’s a lie! Jamie Fraser was – and is – mine!” Laoghaire bit back at Claire, no longer hiding in shadows of her innocence. “And you did us both a wrong past bearing when you stole him away!”

“You’re mistaken, child!” Claire said through gritted teeth. She emphasized on using the word “child” hoping it would put Laoghaire back to her place. The girl knew nothing of what happened in the last 4 weeks of her marriage – how it came to be and how it has grown beyond what any of them could imagine.

“My poor Jamie, trapped in a loveless marriage, forced to share his bed with a cold English bitch” the girl held no bars but Claire thought of last night and could laugh at how inaccurate she was. Trapped, no. Loveless, definitely not. Forced, negative. “He must have to get himself swine drunk every night before he can stand to plow your field.”

Next thing Claire knew was her hand swung and made contact with Laoghaire’s cheek. It was slightly involuntary but she did not feel any regret whatsoever. “I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry” Claire said with as much sincerity as she could but she Laoghaire knew which buttons to press and should’ve, at least, seen that coming.

She didn’t intent to get violent but something about Laoghaire just made her blood boil. Claire knew of Laoghaire’s affections for Jamie, heck, in the few days they’ve been back at Castle Leoch and the story of their marriage broke through the highlands, she heard more and more stories from different girls and women, who, apparently, have lusted over Jamie for years. They spoke gaelic when talking about such matters and sure, she didn’t understand it all but she understood enough. Claire felt a little jealousy but more so pride because at the end of the day, she knew which bed Jamie laid his head on.

Laoghaire held her reddening cheek and Claire saw a shift in her demeanor that told her that it was on. “Aye, I did put that ill-wish ‘neath yer bed in the hope that it would make Jamie hate ye as much as I do.” she confessed. “He belongs with me, and one day, it will be so.” She declared.

“Well, I hope the price you paid wasn’t too dear because that will never happen” Claire said confidently, stepping closer to Laoghaire, using her tall frame to her advantage, but her opponent was going to fight her cause.

“Yer wrong about Jamie just as ye’re wrong about yer friend, Geillis. It was she who sold me the ill wish” Claire’s glass face betrayed her and Laoghaire immediately saw through it. “It surprises ye, doesn’t it? Good.”

She could not believe her friend will do that. Surely, she had no idea what the Laoghaire was to make use of it. But Geillis was there when Jamie took Laoghaire’s beating, been here long enough to learn of the castle’s gossip – that’s not important, she’ll deal with that later.

“Just stay away from me AND my husband.” Claire said in finality, making sure to emphasize who Jamie belonged to then walked away.

Her cheeks were slightly warm from the silly fight with Laoghaire. Damn her and damn Jamie for choosing this woman to have a “swiving” with. She decided to walk back to her surgery hoping to get distance from Laoghaire and the sure gossip she’ll spread around about how Claire mistreated her or something else she’ll make up. More gossip around is sure coming her way.

She opened the door to her surgery to find Jamie sitting on one of tables.

“Jamie! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?” In two strides, she was in front of him, the healer in her in full active mode, rummaging through each part of his body, looking for something wrong.

“Aye, I think there’s a splinter in my hand” Jamie help out in hand and she took it, bringing it close to her face, examining closely how he could’ve managed such a thing in his hand’s calloused state. Just as she was to protest that she can’t see anything, in one swift motion, Jamie grabbed her face and pulled to his lips for a hasty kiss.

Claire went weak to the knees but thankfully, was able to grab at the back of Jamie’s neck for support. The kiss went on and on as if air weren’t an issue, their hands eventually taking stock from Jamie’s curls to Claire’s waist, their heated moment ending with ragged breathes, foreheads close together, Claire perfectly settled between Jamie’s legs with a smile blooming from their lips.

Mine and no one else’s, she professed in her mind.

“Bloody Scot” she joked, tugging him close. This, she thought. This is what it is all about. Just them, in peace, in privacy, in passion, holding each other, whispering sweet nothings to another, trusting, touching, kissing and so much more that they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) define.

“Your bloody scot” Jamie teased back and it hit Claire. She tried to pull away but Jamie chased her with another kiss to her lips and she settled back.

“How much did you hear?” Claire asked, curious. She nor Laoghaire heard anybody enter.

“All of it.” Jamie replied. He was about to grab some bannocks from the kitchen, hoping to find Claire afterwards for some afternoon delight but stopped when he heard her voice echo through the hallways, became surprised when he heard her talking to Laoghaire. He didn’t want Claire to talk to the lass but of course, she didn’t listen to him. Despite that, Jamie was curious and hung back to watch the discussion happen. He had to fight the urge to cut at Laoghaire but his heart swelled each time Claire defended their marriage – he did not need to interfere after all.

“I heard ye demand answers but Laoghaire was acting too innocent. Then ye tried to reason with her but she got triggered and started laying claim on me and insulting our bed. Then my second favorite part, Sassenach, was when yer hand came flying to her cheek. I had to keep myself from cheering ye on.” Jamie kissed her cheek softly sensing her growing embarrassment.

“You don’t mind that I did? Everybody in the castle probably knows about it by now. Do you know the rumors being spread around me?” Claire said, suddenly feeling insecure and vulnerable of Jamie’s coming honest answer.

“No. I knew before I marrit ye that you’d not be the meek and obedient type, Sassenach…that ye’re one fierce lassie who’d always speak her mind, stand up to others especially those in the wrong. No, Claire, I dinna mind. And those rumors around, I kent they aren’t true.” Jamie knew her, the kind of woman she was, the kind not of this century and he didn’t mind at all and if Claire was reading him right, he looked a little proud even.

“What else did you hear?” Claire asked, willing to hear more.

“Then she confessed to putting the ill-wish between us then said something about Geillis, then my favorite thing – when you told her to stay away from me and you” he kissed her on her other cheek. “I ken how it feels when I lay claim to ye but it feels so much better hearing ye say it to other people” Jamie turned to explore her neck and she could feel his smile as he peppered her with soft kisses along the path.

“Jamie?” she called out, her voice a different tone that had him stop his ministrations and look directly in her amber eyes.

“You are mine?” Claire softly but bluntly asked. In the heat of passion, Jamie laid claim on her and now she’s laying and declaring one on him. She needed to know and hear directly from him that there is no one else as long as they were together.

Jamie couldn’t believe the slight hesitation in her tone. Hadn’t she known that she’s owned him since the first time I saw her? That he panicked when she said that she can’t marry him? That every part of his life is now better because of her? She probably didn’t know yet – and now is not the time but he can offer her something else for the meantime.

“Always, mo nighean donn. Always.” He replied and he saw her entire face light up in approval. She brought their lips together again and what started as tenderness, slowly built up to a growing need that led them to finally christen the surgery with their love.

They had their first major fight as a couple and overcame it. Now, everything was set right with them again but the future loomed still unsure. But it didn’t matter because what was important was they wanted each other, they said as much last night in darkness of the evening and proved it again in the morning and it was enough.

They couldn’t say those words yet but now, they had a deeper understanding of their relationship and the feelings within them. There was something more between them and it was a powerful thing that neither of them could stop or deny. What else to do than surrender to it and let it run its course to wherever it takes them.

Unspoken but not for long.

I love you.

I love you, too.

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 13

The Royal Romance Reality Show AU

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X MC

Rating: Mature for some language

Author’s Note: This chapter picks up after the second elimination ceremony/Drake walking away from Riley after confessing his feelings. It ends somewhat abruptly, but for reasons.

Tag List: @lazychic28, @choices-fanatic, @simplyaiden-blog, @butindeed, @bobasheebaby, @queencatherynerhys, @theroyalweisme, @boneandfur, @drakelover78 @notoriouscs, @mfackenthal, @blackcatkita, @devineinterventions2, @choiceswreckedme, @drakewalkerfantasy, @andy-loves-corgis, @traeumerinwitzhelden, @confessionsofabrokegirl, @decisso, @sir-wigglesworth, @drakesfiance, @viktoriapetit, @umccall71, @hamalu

Word Count: 2101

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

"Kat, are you seriously telling me you let Liam and Riley have time alone....off camera...on the group date."

"I did what I had to do, Jo. Liam wasn't going to re-film the horse scene if I didn't give him that in return. Even if I had convinced him to let cameras in, it would have probably been much more reserved than whatever went on without them. It's not like they were going to fuck on camera."

"Okay, fine. I suppose we already have enough Riley for the episode anyway."

"And don't forget Olivia's date. We got that awkward kiss on camera." Kat reminded Jo. "This episode will get killer ratings."

"Yeah, that didn't go well, but we could really make it look worse with the editing. Good call. So what's on the agenda for the next show?"

Before Kat could answer, Danny, one of the film editors walked up.

"Danny!" Jo greeted, "Tell me you are interrupting our meeting because you found some good footage from the palace cameras."

"Well I did find something. Not sure if it's usable or not." Danny pulled a couple of clips on the screen in front of Jo and Kat.

"Riley and her bodyguard?" Kat questioned as the first clip began. "I don't see how this is relevant to the show."

"There's a couple of things." Danny pointed to the corner of the screen. "See the timestamp?" That's two hours later than everyone else got back from the horseback riding date. I don't know where they went, but that car didn't bring them right back to the palace. And then watch what happens here."

Kat and Jo watched the scene unfold.

"What the hell was that?" Jo exclaimed. "They have even more chemistry than Liam and Riley have together."

"I'm sure it's nothing Jo." Kat tried to smooth things over. "They were probably just overly flirty because they went out and had a bit to much to drink. See how he just pats her on the shoulder? Just a friendly night out."

"Bullshit. They clearly want to bang each other. Looks like he just has more self control than she does." Jo played the second clip and they watched Drake pin Riley up against the door. "Fuck, my panties are wet just from watching this and they didn't even do anything...yet. We need to do something about this. Thank you Danny, you can go now."

"What do you propose we do? I don't think asking Liam to reassign Drake would be wise, even though it would be the best way to keep them apart," Kat reasoned.

"No we don't have to be that drastic. At least not yet. There is no filming for the next couple days due to Liam’s obligations. Why don't we send Riley to the Beaumont estate with Maxwell and Bertrand? It will get her away from Drake, and maybe she'll get a sense of how much they need her to stick around for the money."

“That’s actually a really good idea, Jo. She’ll probably just think we are being nice bending the rules to let her get some brotherly bonding time in.”

“Okay, that’s settled. Liam should be here in a few minutes to discuss the next dates.”

Five minutes later, Liam walked in. “Good morning Jo, Kat.”

“Liam, that was quite a performance on the group date,” Jo said with a grin.

“Please don’t remind me. I’m starting to wonder if this was all a mistake. Change my mind and tell me I can finally have a one on one date with Riley this week?” Liam pleaded .

“About that...We can see things are going great with her, and we think the audience will see it too...” Kat paused trying to word it in a way Liam would accept, “I know you understand we need to keep the show entertaining for all the reasons we have previously discussed. It can’t be all Riley all the time. Jo and I decided this one on one should be with one of women you are pretty sure you are going to cut this week.”

Liam’s expression hardened. “Why on earth would I do that? I wouldn’t want to lead someone on, and waste time I could have spent with someone I might actually have a future with.”

“Think about it this way,” Kat responded, “with some good one on one time you will be able to tell for certain if the woman is not for you. And if she isn’t, you have the option you had on the other one on one dates to send her home at any time. You won’t have to keep her around until the next rose ceremony.”

Liam shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, but you always manage to get me to give in. So what does the date entail?”

“You will spend the day shopping at the Cordonian Marketplace and end with a dinner cruise.” 

“Fine. I’ll choose Catherine.”

~~~~~

“So this is our house? It’s gorgeous.” Riley looked around and took everything in. The green expanse of the country setting, the classic stone exterior with grape vines climbing the walls, and the welcoming outdoor living space, complete with fireplace, that was nicer than any indoor living space she had ever had.

“Correction, as heir to the Beaumont estate, it is technically my home. But I’m not cruel. Maxwell still lives here with me...and I suppose, when this is all over, if you need somewhere to stay, you are welcome here as well.” 

“Aww Bertarand!” Riley wrapped her arms around Bertrand and he was again hesitant to return her embrace. “I keep telling you Betrand that I’m a hugger, and you need to get use to it.”

Maxwell Laughed. “Hey, I’m blown away by the amount of affection he is already showing you. But you know I’m up for hugs any time. Maxwell squeezed her tightly and didn’t let go.

“Thanks Maxwell, but I can’t breathe,” Riley gasped, and he let her go. “So what’s on the agenda for the next two days? More rigorous training?”

“Actually,” Maxwell replied, “I talked Betrand into giving you a break. We know that Hana will be helping you out with the training. We can just hang out, get to know each other, and have fun. Well Bertrand doesn’t know how to have fun anymore, but he’ll do his best.”

“Maxwell!”

“What? I just speak the truth. Ever since you’ve been burdened with our financial difficulties, you are all business.”

Oh, that’s right. The Beamount’s really do need the money from the show, Riley thought. She hadn’t been thinking about the money piece of things because she was genuinely interested in Liam. She guessed it was another reason not to worry about Drake and just be there for Liam. All things being equal, she would have a hard time choosing between Drake and Liam, but she really didn’t have a choice to make, did she? Drake was a loyal friend and wasn’t going to come between her and Liam despite how he felt. And although the Beamount’s money problems were not her issue, she did want to help them if she could, and being with Liam would hardly be a sacrifice. Now she just had to figure out how to get over knowing that Drake reciprocated her feelings. Maybe this time away with her brothers would help.

“How about a tour?” Riley said, trying to change the subject.

“Maxwell, why don’t you help Riley take her things to her room and then show her around. I have some phone calls to make.”

“Oh, I make an excellent tour guide!” Maxwell picked up Riley’s suitcase. “Follow me.”

Maxwell gave Riley the grand tour interspersed with some Beaumont family history. The house wasn’t as grand as the palace, but it was charming, and was still a mansion by Riley’s standards. She wondered what it would have been like if she had known Bathelemy was her father. Would she have spent summers here with Maxwell and Bertrand? Would she have become a completely different person than she is today?

They finished the tour back outside where they had started. Maxwell and Riley sat down on the patio furniture. “Maxwell, I want to know about our father. Tell me all about him.” 

Maxwell’s ever present smile faded slightly. “I wish I had lots of happy memories to share with you, but he wasn’t the most affectionate father. He had high expectations. He was very hard working, but that also meant that even as children, he expected us to act grown up and responsible all the time. Bertrand was nowhere near as uptight back then as he is now, but he was still always the mature responsible one. He was my father’s protege. He was the heir, and I was the spare, as they say. Father found it much easier to relate to Bertrand, but I was much closer to our mother. Barthelemy was a good Duke and a good provider, but loving and caring aren’t high on the list of words I would use to describe him. I’m sorry I can’t just tell you he was the best dad ever.”

“This might sound bad Maxwell, but its almost easier to hear that he wasn’t the best father. It feels like I missed out on less...but I still wish I would have had a chance to see that for myself. And I so wish that I didn’t miss out on all the years of knowing you and Bertrand. No matter what your dad thought Maxwell, you are pretty great. You have welcomed me without question. You are kind and passionate and have so many great qualities. It’s too bad our father couldn’t see you for all that you were.”

“Riley, I feel like you really get me. You do kind of remind me of my mother. Barthelemy must have had a type, because you had to have gotten your personality from your mother. You are opposite of our father in all the best ways.”  

“Thanks, Maxwell. Okay, enough about Barthelemy. Let’s get to the having fun part.”

Maxwell decided to order pizza to make Riley feel at more at home. She tried to pretend to be offended that he would assumed she would have such simple American tastes, but he was right. Not that she didn’t enjoy fine cuisine, but nothing could beat pizza as a comfort food. They ate too much, drank beer and wine, and stayed up way too late watching movies. Bertrand even joined them for awhile. 

Riley had her best night’s sleep since she had come to Cordonia. Betrand was busy much of the day, but Maxwell showed her around the grounds more, went through old photo albums with her, and showed her how to make a traditional Cordonian seafood dish for lunch. Maxwell surprised her by bringing in a massage therapist in the afternoon to help Riley relax and unwind. It truly was a perfect day. Maxwell was just about to start cooking dinner when the doorbell rang.

“Hmm, I wasn’t expecting anyone. Who would be here at this time of the evening unannounced?” Maxwell inquired as he opened the door. “Liam! What are you doing here?”

Riley came running around the corner. “Liam? Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, Riley. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead of time, Maxwell, but I had to keep this under wraps. I’m not supposed to be here, but I really wanted to see Riley. I hope neither of you mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind Liam. I’m always happy to see you, but Maxwell was just about to make dinner for--”

Maxwell interjected before Riley could finish. “How about I make dinner for the two of you? It could be like a date.”

Riley didn’t want to cancel her plans with Maxwell, but it was hard to say no to alone time with Liam. He’d come all this way just to be with her and risked getting in trouble by breaching his contract. “If you are sure you don’t mind Maxwell.”

“No, not at all! I’m happy to do it. Go sit and have a drink, and I’ll let you know when dinner is ready. Chef Maxwell will take care of you.”

Riley and Liam settled in in the living room, catching up on the past couple days. Not much time had passed and the doorbell rang again. 

“Seriously? Who could this be now?” Riley heard Maxwell say as he went to the door. “Drake, buddy! Uh oh, did you come looking for Liam? Come on in, he’s right here.”

It’s easy to say “we already knew this,” but I thought the economic conservatism thesis was at least facially plausible, and this article changed my mind:

As with the contemporary debate over the underlying causes of the recent rise of antiestablishment political movements, no clear consensus has emerged as to why the Democrats “lost” white Southerners, despite fifty years of scholarship. On one side are researchers who conclude that the party’s advocacy of 1960s Civil Rights legislation was the prime cause. ...

On the other side is a younger, quantitative scholarship, which emphasizes factors other than Civil Rights. These scholars most often argue that economic development in the South made the redistributive policies of the Democrats increasingly unattractive. From 1940 to 1980, per capita income in the South rose from 60 to 89 percent of the U.S. average, which in principle should predict a movement away from the more redistributive party. Beyond economic catch-up, these scholars have argued that demographic change and the polarization of the parties on other domestic issues led to white Southern “dealignment” from the Democratic Party.

That scholars have failed to converge toward consensus on this central question of American political economy may seem surprising, but data limitations have severely hampered research on this question. Until recently, consistently worded survey questions on racial attitudes—from both before and after the major Civil Rights victories of the 1960s—have not been widely available. For example, the standard dataset on political preferences in the US, the American National Election Survey (ANES), does not include a consistently repeated question on racial views until the 1970s, well after the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts (CRA and VRA). Similarly, the General Social Survey, another commonly used dataset on Americans’ political and social views, begins in 1972.

In this paper, we employ a little used data source that allows us to analyze political identification and racial attitudes back to the 1950s. Beginning in 1958, Gallup asks respondents “Between now and ...[election]....there will be much discussion about the qualifications of presidential candidates. If your party nominated a well-qualified man for president, would you vote for him if he happened to be a Negro?” Fortunately for our purposes, the wording has remained consistent and the question has been asked repeatedly since that date. We refer to those who say they would not vote for such a candidate as having “racially conservative views.”

Having identified our measure of racial attitudes, we then define the pre- and post-periods by determining the moment at which the Democratic Party is first seen as actively pursuing a more liberal Civil Rights agenda than the Republican Party. Conventional wisdom holds that Democratic President Johnson famously “lost the South” with his signing of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. However, analyzing contemporaneous media and survey data, we identify instead the Spring of 1963—when Democratic President John F. Kennedy first proposed legislation barring discrimination in public accommodations—as the critical moment when Civil Rights is, for the first time, an issue of great salience to the majority of Americans and an issue clearly associated with the Democratic Party.

Our main analysis takes the form of a triple-difference: how much of the pre- versus post-period decrease in Democratic party identification among Southern versus other whites is explained by the differential decline among those Southerners with conservative racial attitudes? Democratic identification among white Southerners relative to other whites falls 17 percentage points over our preferred sample period of 1958--1980. This decline is entirely explained by the 19 percentage point decline among racially conservative Southern whites. These results are robust to controlling flexibly for the many socioeconomic status measures included in the Gallup data and is highly evident in event-time graphical analysis as well.

We complement this main result with a variety of corroborating evidence of the central role of racial views in the decline of the white Southern Democrat. Whereas Gallup only asks the black president question every one to two years, it asks its signature “presidential approval” question roughly once a month during our sample period. We can thus perform a higher-frequency analysis surrounding our key moment of Spring of 1963 by correlating presidential approval for President Kennedy in the South versus the non-South, with the daily count of newspaper articles that include the President’s name along with terms related to Civil Rights. The inverse correlation between these two series is visually striking. Even when we flexibly control for media coverage of other events and issues—allowing Southerners to have different reactions to news regarding Cuba, the Soviet Union, Social Security, etc.— the number of articles linking Kennedy to Civil Rights retains its overwhelming explanatory power in predicting divergence in his popularity among Southern versus other whites.

As already noted, a key competing hypothesis is that robust economic development (the movement from an agrarian to a manufacturing- and service-based economy) in the South during the Civil Rights period and the decades that followed pushed Southern voters, now richer, away from the more redistributive Democratic Party. We recognize that it is impossible to cleanly separate individuals’ perceived economic self-interest and their views on racial equality (see, e.g., Edsall, 1992 and Gilens, 1996 on how whites often view redistribution in racialized terms). We can show, however, that in regression analysis, individual markers of class, state-year level measures of economic development, or annual measures of the parties’ changing positions on economic policy have relatively little ability to explain white Southern dealignment. Indeed, even if we take the most generous estimate of how Democratic identification declines with household income, the effect of Civil Rights on racially conservative Southern whites’ party identification is akin to a 600% household income increase over the course of two years.

The 1960s not only witnessed watershed moments for Civil Rights, but also other important political and social changes. For example, recent work argues the 1960s marks the end of a period of political consensus between Democrats and Republicans, especially on economic and redistributive issues (McCarty et al., 2006). If white Southerners were always more conservative, then rising polarization may explain why they differentially begin to leave the Democrats in the 1960s. Yet we find that—except for issues related to racial equality—whites in the South were, if anything, slightly to the left of whites elsewhere on domestic policy issues. Moreover, while the 1960s also saw the political organization of women and other minority groups, we find no evidence that white Southerners who have negative views of women, Catholics or Jews differentially leave the Democratic party in 1963—the exodus is specific to those who are racially conservative.

It’s also helpful for persuading me that spring 1963 was the critical moment in Southern dealignment, rather than any other moment between spring 1963 and summer 1964. 

It was Birmingham.

But unlike the table, the figure can demonstrate that the shift, while certainly noisy, is better described as a one-time decline— occurring sometime between the 1961 and 1963 survey dates—and not a secular trend. While our preferred regression sample ends in 1980, we extend the period through 1990 in the graph so readers can see that there is no reversal in the coefficient pattern in later years. 

The event-time analysis indicates that Democratic identification among those Southerners with racially conservative views declines by 17 percentage points in the course of a few years. To give a sense of the enormity of this shift, today, one would need to have household income increase by over $300,000 (or 600%) to have predicted Democratic identification fall by 17 percentage points.

Southern Whites really didn’t like President Kennedy’s newfound support for Civil Rights.

Becoming Royals

too easy

The only hiccup in the morning court came when Young-Do announced that Hyo-Shin would join his personal guard. The King paused and didn’t answer right away while Young-Do knelt before him. There was murmuring among the ministers.

“Why? Why does the princess allow this? She can’t be that progressive.”

Young-Do winced but did his best to pretend the King wasn’t implying he would break his promise to Rachel with Hyo-Shin. “To prove he does not have his father’s ambition. Too often the sins of parents are visited on the heads of their children. Lee Hyo-Shin wants no part of his father’s agenda or power grab. That is why I kept him hostage since my brother’s wedding.”

“And the princess returns today?”

“Yes.” Young-Do held his breath.

“Very well. Minister Song, you may go through the protocols to arrange your daughter to marry Lee Hyo-Shin. Despite these last few days, it is still a good house and you have no sons.”

Minister Song came forward as Young-Do let out a low breath as silently as possible as he rose to his feet and took his place among the courtiers. “Yes, your majesty. I believe Lee Hyo-Shin is a good match for my daughter.”

The King snorted but continued on with the business of the day. Ji-Sun and Hyo-Shin were called in and an engagement ceremony performed. Once he left the throne room, Young-Do felt he could breathe easier. He leaned against the wall and was a little surprised when Myung-Soo knocked his shoulder against Young-Do.

“Why are you not in your marriage bed?” Young-Do felt immediately cranky at seeing his brother wandering about less than a day after his marriage. “Did it not go well?”

Myung-Soo rolled his eyes. “It went fine. My wife is resting. I have obligations. You’ve been busy. What changed Princess Rachel’s mind? Yesterday you were prepared to fight the whole of the army to take her back to Lee Jae-Shin.”

“The King was going to marry Eun-Sang to Hyo-Shin and stick them in Lee Chan-Hyuk’s house. Rachel figured it out last night so we had some time to prepare and discuss it with Hyo-Shin and Eun-Sang.”

Myung-Soo blinked and Young-Do was just grateful he didn’t have to spell it out. “Tomorrow, evidence of Lee Chan-Hyuk falsifying magistrate records is going to show up. The Songs are going to go through the roof.”

“Hyo-Shin is a royal bodyguard now. He’s my former lover and I clearly favor him. They will do that quietly.”

“Fuck. I take one night off and you make me feel superfluous. That’s really smart. The princess’ idea?”

“Hyo-Shin’s.” Young-Do closed his eyes and felt them sting for a moment. “She’s coming back even though she’s terrified of the palace hurting our son.”

“You don’t know the child is a boy,” Myung-Soo said quietly. “Our father only had two sons. The princess comes from a line of women. It could be a girl.”

“Then she will be king. I’m not going to put Rachel through this again.” He just wanted the king to die. If he could make it happen and maintain his claim to the throne as a filial son, he would do it tomorrow. Rachel becoming the princess was supposed to settle the court and give stability to the people. That was what the King promised before he went to woo her.

He wouldn’t trade Rachel for any other woman, even if it meant that he could do both of those things. He was still furious about the sabotage of her womb. He knew that Eun-Sang would never allow anything like that to come into contact with Rachel ever again but he still intended to test Rachel’s food himself.

“Hyungnim...I know how much you love her. But if she has a girl, you will have to try for a boy. That is the way it works. Rachel is healthy and strong but if she...if she dies in childbirth, you will have to take another princess.”

The thought, although a familiar worry, filled him with dread. Two concubines and several ministers’ wives died in childbirth. It wasn’t common but it wasn’t uncommon either. He kept himself calm on this front by remembering that Hyun-Joo had never lost a mother or child. But Myung-Soo was right. He had to be realistic.

“No. I’ll give the throne to one of your children first.”

“You cannot assume I will have a son. Someone could sabotage Yoo-Ra because she does not have a maid as loyal as Eun-Sang is to Rachel. I am his son, too, hyungnim. My seed could be weak. I’ve never had an accident with Ye-Sol but sometimes our measures fail. Other gisaeng have gotten pregnant when she hasn’t.” He knew Myung-Soo was frustrated with his fidelity to Rachel but he’d never seen Myung-Soo look so unsure. His eyes were wet and his hands clenched.

Young-Do understood his feelings, he really did. The first six months of his marriage to Rachel ate at him for not being good enough. If his seed had been stronger, it might have been able to overcome whatever the hell that elixir was that Hyun-Joo designed. But now that he understood how his desire worked, he knew he wouldn’t be able to give a new wife the kind of love he gave Rachel because he never could love anyone the way he loved her.

He sighed and pulled his brother into a hug. He knew this weighed on Myung-Soo when he returned the hug and clung to Young-Do for a few seconds. “You’ve been married one day. I know you have responsibilities in the court. You know how important it is that you also have a child quickly. I doubt anyone will sabotage Yoo-Ra. Rachel will be the target.”

Myung-Soo pulled back. “I convinced Queen Kyung-Ran to rearrange her staff. Only court ladies without sponsors or nobility will serve her. I know Rachel won’t see this as a slight. The ones from important families, I gave to Yoo-Ra. She cares about those kind of things.”

Young-Do tried not to sigh. His thoughts were interrupted by Nam-Il. He bowed to them both and Young-Do could tell one of them was about to get in trouble for something.

“Why are you not with your wife in your marriage bed? Did it go poorly?”

Young-Do tried not to laugh at Myung-Soo’s indignant sputter. “It went fine. She is enjoying a good soak in the best baths. I have responsibilities.”

Contains SPOILERS for Doctor Who and Season 2 of Broadchurch.  

Imy Comic by Irma Ericksson. 

http://www.imycomic.com/the-cartoonist/

Images/Gifs from Doctor Who (2005-), Black Mirror (2011-), Attack the Block (2011), and Broadchurch (2013-2017). The humorous Fem-Agenda List from comedian and late night show Full Frontal host Samantha Bee. Tweets from Johnathan Pyror and Mackenzie Lee. 

I’ve being going through some life-changing stuff. I moved and got a place with roomies. Not done transporting possessions yet. Working somewhere else. Dealt with car issues. A lot has occurred. :) 

Hence why this has taken considerably longer to type, edit, and post than I originally envisioned over a month ago. XD 

On Sunday July 16th 2017,  the long-running BBC sci-fi series Doctor Who starring a time and universe traveling body shifting Gallifreyan Time Lord made the announcement that a woman would play the longtime exclusive to men portrayal character next. Alongside companions, the Doctor is the true definition (not the derogatory kind) of a Social Justice Warrior. The Doctor assists civilizations, helps people, tries to alter certain events in time, and clashes against all types of enemies. The most famous among them being the Daleks, of course. 

There’s been twelve Doctors (Well, thirteen if John Hurt’s War Doctor is counted...Doesn’t seem to be though. Since Jodie isn’t labeled as the 14th Doctor. ) played by men since the series inception back in 1963. The original run lasted until 1989, the revival of the show began in 2005. Doctor Who was created by C.E. Webber, Donald Wilson, and Sydney Newman. Producer Verity Lambert, story editor David Whitaker, and writer Anthony Coburn also contributed to the development of the series that would eventually become Doctor Who. In 1986, Newman wrote to BBC Chairman Michael Grade, "At a later stage, Doctor Who should be metamorphosed into a woman. This requires some considerable thought — mainly because I want to avoid a flashy, Hollywood Wonder Woman because this kind of heroine with no flaws is a bore. Given more time than I have now, I can create such a character."

So, over three decades (839 episodes, one TV movie, four charity specials, multiple specials, and two animated serials) later, Newman’s words are realized under Broadchurch creator and new Doctor Who showrunner Chris Chibnall (with the departure of Steven Moffat). At the end of 2017, the current Doctor incarnation actor Peter Capaldi portrays will be replaced by Jodie Whittaker following the Regeneration process. This decision is is merely another form of change: a significant theme pertaining to the Doctor’s character as a whole.

On top of that, in the 1999 Red Nose Day telethon episode Doctor Who: The Curse of the Fatal Death was the first time the doctor was a woman (Joanna Lumley). In the audio drama Doctor Who Unbound Exile which is free from the restraints of continuity  released in 2003 actor Arabella Weir played the Doctor. During the 9th Doctor’s run, it was revealed that the Doctor was bisexual even though the character rejected Jackie Tyler’s advances in “The Parting of Ways”. The Doctor flirted with Jack Harkness, proposing to dance with in the episode “Doctor Dances” whilst promising to give him what Rose Tyler had with Mickey Smith should Jack purchase him a drink. Captain Jack Harkness and River Song are characters both from the 51st century where pansexuality is the norm. Companion Clara Oswin Oswald has been in a relationship with a man but mentions kissing women too. When the 11th Doctor touches his hair following the completion of the 10th’s Regeneration process, the character says, “I’m a girl. No, no. I’m not a girl. And still not ginger.” This suggests that a the Doctor could be a woman. In the 2011 episode “The Doctor’s Wife” Neil Gaiman wrote from over six years ago, the Time Lord Corsair is mentioned and it is divulged that Corsair had a Regeneration that switched him into a her. In the 2013 mini-episode “The Night of the Doctor”, the Sisterhood of Karn (first appearance was in The Brain of Morbius that aired in 1976) asks the Doctor what Regeneration is desired (“Fat or thin, young or old, man or woman?” “Fast or strong, wise or angry, what do you need now?”): ultimately Paul McGann’s 8th Doctor wishes to be a “warrior” and is transformed into the War Doctor (portrayed by the late and incredibly great John Hurt). Since the show’s 2005 revival, an infamous Time Lord villain known as The Master went from being solely men into a woman named Missy (Michelle Gomez) after an off-screen Regeneration took place.  

Change is important for the purposes of bringing a fresh angle to an established accepted formula whilst having potential narrative merit, symbolizing growth, modern day relevance, and validation to something existing. How change is navigated, utilized, or coped with is equally as important. Each Regeneration leads to viewers, writers, showrunners, and cast members  having to accept that a previous version of the Time Lord is gone. “No more.” Their look, personality, memories, relationships, mannerisms, and whatever else gets scrambled into something entirely different post-Regeneration.

Likewise, the companions of the Doctor go through switcheroos often as well. Some leave us furious. Sad. Perhaps even glad.

My point is that we’re resist to change. Struggle with it. Less of a fan as a result. Which is understandable. However, when a certain demographic has been catered to for decades, altering this comes with a price. To be candid, I find the reactionary backlash a tad odd and chuckle-inducing. As if the time-traveling alien Doctor was ever defined by masculinity before. If that’s your chief defining attribute of the Doctor then I legitimately feel sorry for you. The Doctor represents more than a man or a woman and that’s why this beloved character has obtained a prestigious status among fictional creations. 

This is the inherent beauty of science fiction. Close to infinite possibilities at one’s creative fingertips are there. That’s why Daisy Ridley’s Rey being a protagonist and an in training Jedi (General Leia Organa never got this despite her mighty connection to the Force) within the new Star Wars flicks is a big deal. Nichelle Nichols’ Lieutenant Uhura from Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek was historical by being the first African-American not to play a servant on American television. Did you know that Civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. asked her to remain on Star Trek when she thought about leaving in the late 60s? “For the first time on television, we [people of African descent] will be seen as we should be seen every day, as intelligent, quality, beautiful people who can sing and dance, yes, but who can go into space, who can be lawyers and teachers, who can be professors — who are in this day, yet you don’t see it on television until now." Nichols would further influence Dr. Mae Jemison, the first black woman to fly aboard the Space Shuttle, directly cited Star Trek in her decision making. Additionally, Nichols’ Uhura would serves as a role model to Star Trek: The Next Generation Guinan actor Whoopi Goldberg ("I just saw a black woman on television; and she ain't no maid!") too. Should I list all of the ways in which Charlize Theron’s Furiosa of Mad Max: Fury Road and Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman have contributed to the more inclusive than most genre?

The casting choice of actor Peter Capaldi as the 12th Doctor bothered me from the get-go. Since Peter Capaldi had already been on the series via the 10th Doctor (David Tennant) episode “The Fires of Pompeii” as Caecilius. Not too long after that Peter would be in the Doctor Who spin-off series Torchwood: Children of Earth as John Frobisher too. Capaldi took over the role of the Doctor from Smith in 2013. Why the Doctor’s facial appearance is similar to Caecilus was eventually addressed in the 2015 episode “The Girl Who Died”. For whatever reason I’ve been unable to decipher, I’ve just never clicked with Capaldi’s Doctor. On the other hand, I am still grieving a tremendous loss...Which is actor Pearl Mackie’s SDCC announcement she’s leaving the companion position this December. Meaning I do have some level of viewership enjoyment with Capaldi due to Bill’s accompaniment with him.

I’m sincerely going to miss her.

In short, what has been hinted at in the past will become reality this December. No one’s being blindsided, I’d argue. Not about being PC either. These seeds were clearly being planted prior to.

Yes, this a holiday present I’m fondly looking forward to. Especially after seeing Jodie Whittaker’s nuanced performance as Beth Latimer in Chris Chibnall’s Broadchurch. Or Jodie’s role in the Black Mirror (a dark genius sci-fi series courtesy of Charlie Brooker) episode “The Entire History of You.” Psst, the entirety of Black Mirror is on Netflix...There’s even an episode that warned about a candidate like Donald Trump rising to power. I’d be remiss not to type about Whittaker being in the cult science fiction hit film Attack the Block (2011) as well. All of that she’s done deserves to be seen. That’s what I’ve been re-doing in anticipation actually!

With both Peter Capaldi’s and Steven Moffat’s tenures with Doctor Who coming to a personally welcomed close, my ranking of excitement is considerably lofty I must admit. We’ve needed an overhaul for awhile now. The long awaited for revolution of making the protagonist Time Lord a woman next brings a fresh dynamic to Doctor Who. I reckon she won’t be able to coast or take some things for granted like previous incarnations did. The involvement of Chris Chibnall and the inclusion of Jodie Whittaker has me ridiculously psyched for Doctor Who’s future. I believe both of them will positively contribute to the series with their injection of needed new. I even feel compelled to finally watch Doctor Who again in a strangely devoted fashion (something I haven’t done in years) versus sporadic glances at the telly throughout Capaldi’s run.

Why I believe Donald Trump is like Jimmy Carter.

As those of you who, for reasons unknown, follow my self-appointed punditing may have noticed, I like to find historical patterns reflected in current political events.

To mangle a familiar phrase, I believe whether you study history or not, you’re often doomed to repeat it.

Like Steve Bannon, I too read the book “The Fourth Turning” twenty years ago, but unlike Bannon, I’ve read other books, mostly centered on U.S. history, including biographies, general historical surveys, critical studies– some popular histories, some academic. I’m particularly interested in American political history and its cyclical nature and apparent contradictions. To me, the political crisis in the decade before the Civil War is more intriguing and informative than the tragedies and heroics of the war itself. Ditto with the era of nascent American Empire in the late 19th and early 20th Century, and the struggle to adapt to modernity that followed World War One.

Similarly, I’m as fascinated, if not more so, by historical failures as by history’s heroes. I love reading about James Garfield and the lost promise of his Presidency, and how Chester Arthur, his successor and a political hack with no previous signs of virtue, rose to the occasion and helped pass the Civil Service Act, which forever changed the nature of political parties in America. I have a fondness for the good-hearted but hapless Warren G. Harding, a man who meant well but was genuinely clueless, and whose wife, Florence, was the real brains and force behind his political career. I admire Lincoln, both Roosevelts, Eisenhower, Johnson, and even Clinton, but I find people like Nixon, Polk, Grover Cleveland, Reagan and McKinley equally compelling.

In my view, history– political history, anyway– moves in cycles, as many scholars and pundits have observed. “The Fourth Turning” makes a case that those cycles are generational, with the generation currently ascendent creating the conditions that will influence the three generations that follow in a predictable eighty year-or-so cycle. This is undoubtedly an oversimplification but it’s a useful construct to discuss something that’s readily observed by anyone surveying America’s political history. And, compellingly, it satisfies the first requirement of any “scientific” theory– it predicts certain results. In the twenty-odd years since its publication, “The Fourth Turning” has had remarkable predictive success.

(Don’t take my word for it.) https://smile.amazon.com/Fourth-Turning-History-Americas-Rendezvous-ebook/dp/B001RKFU4I/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1489945595&sr=8-1&keywords=fourth+turning

Anyway, the predictive success of the cyclical theory of political history aside, we find ourselves in a bizarre moment in American history, one that appears on the surface to have no precedent. Before Trump’s astonishing electoral victory last November, I felt certain we were in the midst of an historical realignment from a Republican/conservative political era to a Democratic/progressive one. Trump’s triumph called that realignment and my belief in historical cycles into question. For several months, until his inauguration, I tried to make sense of what appeared at first glance as a rejection of the cyclical movement toward progressive political dominion. Surely, I thought, the country was done with its embrace of failed conservative economic theories, theories which had produced the worst financial collapse since the Great Depression, higher levels of economic inequality than any era since WWII, and social policies rejected by the clear majority of Americans. How could the country have taken such a weird step– not just backward but, thematically, almost sideways into a strange alternate universe?

Then I realized– yep, almost inevitably, we as a country have been here before.

The realization came to me, in part, while I watched “20th Century Women,” a terrific film I can’t recommend highly enough. It’s set in 1979, an interesting year. Late in the film there’s a scene when a group of people watch Jimmy Carter’s infamous “Crisis of Confidence” speech. At the time, Carter was criticized for his dark view of America at a moral crossroads. In hindsight, of course, the speech is prophetic and ironic, as Carter warns the country against making the moral choice it would end up making when it elected Ronald Reagan as President the following year. Reagan’s election, of course, is seen historically as finally completing the country’s turn against the socially progressive vision represented by the previous forty-plus years of Democratic dominance.

But there’s another way to read the 1970s, and, in particular, Carter’s single term as President– the only Democrat to be elected President between 1968 and 1992.

In 1969, political writer Kevin Philips wrote a book called “The Emerging Republican Majority.” His thesis was that the election of Richard Nixon in 1968 was a watershed event, the turning of the electoral cycle that would produce Republican majorities for decades to come. And Nixon’s massive win in 1972 against the ultimate progressive Democratic candidate, George McGovern, would seem to have borne that out.

But then Jimmy Carter threw a monkey wrench into that analysis.

Because of the unique circumstances of Nixon’s Presidency (the ongoing and divisive Vietnam War, social upheaval due to Civil Rights activism, Feminism, and the youth movement, economic uncertainty, and, of course, the crimes of Watergate and its cover-up) Nixon’s Presidency was a time of polorization and strife. Clearly the old political order was breaking down, and in 1976, when Nixon’s heir – the pleasant but hopelessly establishment Republican Gerald Ford – ran against Jimmy Carter, the outsider who promised a populist Presidency unencumbered by the baggage of a clear political agenda, Ford lost. More clearly, perhaps, the political establishment of both parties lost– because while Ford was the establishment choice for the Republican Party, Jimmy Carter was anything but the establishment choice of the Democratic Party.

In 1976, in other words, the traditional political establishment of both parties lost power.

There were hints this was coming. The Democratic establishment began to collapse politically in the mid-Sixties, reached a crisis in 1968, and imploded completely in 1972. Similarly, the Republican establishment began showing signs of fragility in 1964, pulled together in 1968 and 1972, and began to collapse in 1976 with Ronald Reagan’s challenge to Ford’s nomination (a challenge from ideology very similar, I’d point out, to Bernie Sanders’ challenge to Hillary Clinton last year). When Ford faced Carter in the general election he was the representative of a party divided between its establishment and ideological base. With a weakened party behind him still struggling to settle on its future political identity, Ford was defeated by someone who in fact represented no party or clear political philosophy.

Carter, in 1976, though a very different moral human being than the man I’m about to compare him to, served an identical role to Donald Trump in 2016.

Like Carter, Trump faced an opposing party that, while rising electorally (current situation notwithstanding), is still struggling to define itself in a conflict between establishment and ideological principles. Like Carter, Trump is an outsider who hijacked a party whose political power is collapsing though its apparent electoral effectiveness is still strong. (In 1976 the Democrats were still the overwhelmingly dominant political party.) Like Carter, Trump represented no clear political philosophy, is at war with the establishment and the conservative ideologues of his own party, and has a purely populist, anti-establishment appeal.

And like Carter, I believe, Trump represents a temporary diversion on an inevitable political realignment that, like the Republican realignment which preceded and followed Carter, will have lasting consequences for government over the next thirty to forty years.

If history is cyclical, if patterns repeat, then I predict Trump will be a one term President whose failures (and the failures of his party) will be seen as an aberration, a momentary slip in an otherwise clear movement of a newly progressive-dominant Democratic Party. Just as Reagan conservatives moved from opposition to establishment between 1976 and 1980 (and beyond), Sanders/Warren-style progressives will move from opposition to establishment within the resurgent Democratic Party in 2020 (and beyond).

Just as the Democratic Party of 1976 seemed to be on a roll, only to collapse within the next decade and a half, the Republican Party of 2016 is mid-way through its own collapse. By 2030 the Republican Party we know today will be as irrelevant as the Democratic Party of 1994.

That’s my reading of history and its cyclical nature, in any case.

One thing’s for sure, though: whatever happens, Trump’s post-Presidential legacy probably won’t resemble Jimmy Carter’s. When Trump goes down, I have a feeling he’ll stay down. No second act for this one-term President.

Assuming he lasts a full term.

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Twenty-Four AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature.

NOTES :

Tadhgán is pronounced Tie-gawn.

Aughrim is pronounced Awk-rim.

Aodh is pronounced Ay, like hay and may.

Dia Dhuit is Irish for hello and literally, means “God be with you.”

Ní means “daughter of” so Maebh is Maebh Ní Aodh, Maebh, daughter of Aodh.

Stone ship – if Norse people died away from the water a stone ship was built around them on land instead.

Loki rose to his feet gasping for breath; he leant down and pulled his axe from the Midgardian he had just buried it in the skull of not moments before. He looked around at the carnage that surrounded him; he saw many of the Midgardian warriors dead and dying, most, if not all of them in fact. They had decided there were to be no survivors, and it appeared as though they had achieved their objective, several of their horses and their monstrous hounds also lay on the ground. However among them also lay some of his own countrymen. As he recalled small scraps of the battle, he looked around at those who remained standing.

Thor’s was the first face he saw, his usually golden hair darkened with being drenched in mud, sweat and blood, in fact, he seemed completely covered in all three, and Loki wondered how much of the blood was his own. Thor met his eyes and nodded, signifying he was alright before he too looked around. Loki scanned through his men, some taking a moment more than others to recognise with injury or dirt, Baldr was toward the middle of the massacre, holding his arm, limping badly, Kollr was aiding him in his movement, two more; Oddr and Njord were scavenging weapons on Baldr’s orders, Rollo and Eirik were starting to collect the bodies of their dead so to allow them to be given passage to Valhalla. Another two Joakim and Asbjørn were dragging out the injured for assessment to see if they could be saved. Most seemed dazed by the experience, looking around at the large group they had just slaughtered, unsure as to how there were so many, yet nowhere among them did Loki see the shorter, brunette haired figure of his wife, and he began to panic.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was another two days of travelling later when the woodland ceased, instead, the land then became almost barren, rock covered and sparse, it made many of the warriors uneasy.

“We are too easily seen here.” Baldr frowned as he stood to survey the land.

“Your sheer size alone makes you all so easy to see,” Maebh commented as she walked by him. “We just need to get passed this small area and we are to our destination.” She pointed to the small drumlin that was not too far into the distance, they could make it there by nightfall.

“Who inhabits an area such as this?” Thor asked, looking at the odd wiry grass that would sustain little or no livestock, bar a few sheep, which seemed to scatter the landscape indiscriminately.

“Sheppard’s mostly, Midgardian sheep are much like goats, very sure footed and iron-stomached, it is ideal land for them. What concerns me, however, is the severe lack of Sheppard’s, we should have encountered at least one by now.” She looked around.

“It matters little if we meet such weaklings.” Sneered Eirik, others agreed.

“It matters greatly.” Loki shot back. “Them not caring for their charges means they may have fled, knowing of our arrival, which in turn means a fight, not with an unarmed sheep herder, but with more skilled warriors you fool.”

Eirik flinched at Loki’s words as he realised their magnitude. Baldr thought for a moment before speaking. “I believe we may need to separate into smaller groupings.”

“Too dangerous, they would be able to surround each grouping and eradicate it easily.”

“I was not talking to you woman!” Baldr snapped viciously at Maebh who did not even flinch.

“Her being a woman does not take from the truth in her words or her experiences in this land.” Thor acknowledged. “I agree we are safer in our larger numbers, even if it means we are easier to spot.”

“She will get us killed.” Baldr barked, pointing to Maebh.

“She has done all she can to prevent such so far.” Hogun pointed out, Volstagg was next to him, nodding in agreement.

“Baldr, your views regarding this voyage, and in my brother’s wife’s involvement have been made more than clear, but my father has made his decision, and it must be carried out. Just say now if you do not wish to do so and I will take the lead, but if you do decide to remain in charge, cease your obsessions with Maebh having an agenda and where her loyalties lie, she has never brought them to question before, nor has she tested them now.” Thor spoke with authority, though he was only second in command within the group, his leadership ability borne of his claim to the throne came to the fore.

Maebh stood tall; Loki came to her side within a moment of Baldr’s outburst, all three and the rest of the group watched as Baldr thought. “She has quite the ability to be so close to you in confidence Thor, especially after so little time.” Baldr scowled.

“Perhaps it is in their shared experiences in being first in line to their respective thrones.” Loki retaliated, hoping to remind Baldr that Maebh was no simple woman, but a warrior, and princess.

“Are you not envious of their closeness Loki, especially considering your wife seems so reluctant to bear you another child?” Baldr became crueller.

“Enough.” Maebh’s voice was quiet as she stared passed the group, who were either becoming engrossed in the arguing or spectating it.

“Am I touching a sore spot?” Baldr sneered at her.

“Not particularly.” She pointed behind him. “But they may wish to.” The group looked to where Maebh had pointed, not too far away and approaching fast were a dozen men on horses, and another dozen on foot close to them handling more of those large hounds, each of them armed with swords, shields and armour.

Baldr, Thor and Loki, as well as every other warrior, reached for their swords and pulled their shields from their backs.

“Should we prepare for battle?” Rollo asked with fear in his voice.

“They have untied the hounds,” Thor noted, gripping the handle of his sword.

Loki looked to Maebh. “Stay close and be careful.”

“Odd, I was about to say the same to you.” She smiled weakly as she looked back at him.

The hounds followed as the horse trotted forward, halting not too far in front of the group, one man, who was more finely dressed than the others at the front, had his horse take another step forward, staring at the Aesir. “What is your purpose here?” he spoke in Midgardian, the Asgardian’s remained silent, most not knowing what he had said, they looked to Maebh, whom they all noticed was using Thor’s great bulk to hide herself from the view of the man, while quietly whispering to her husband, who stood next to his brother.

“Nothing that concerns you Tadhgán of Connachta, are you not very far north of your own lands?” Loki smiled back somewhat menacingly.

Though they could not understand what was being said, the rest of the Asgardian’s watched as the man’s eyes widened. “How do you know of me?” he demanded. “None of your type have met me and survived, let alone know my name. And how do you know our tongue?”

“Our type?” Thor folded his large arms, flexing his muscles, displaying his brute strength to the older, lesser built Midgardian. “We know all about you Tadhgán; and of your betrayal to your queen in Aughrim, it cost her her life and that of her sons too.” A chuckle escaped Thor as Tadhgán physically paled.

“Who told you these things?” the man shouted as he unsheathed his sword, before yelling. “Tell me!”

Loki looked to Maebh, who remained hidden behind Thor; she shook her head “Not yet” she mouthed in Aesir.

Tadhgán pointed his sword at Thor. “Listen well heathen, tell me who told you such words and I may let you keep your tongue.”

Thor looked to Loki with his eyebrows raised, then to Baldr who stood awaiting translation. Volstagg chortled as he gripped his battle axe “did he just insult you my friend?” he asked. It was Loki who translated, the whole group tensing further as soon as he finished speaking.

Thor looked to Baldr, who gave a simple nod of his head. “Well then, if that is the case.” Smiled Thor in Aesir as he gripped his hammer. He looked Tadhgán in the eye and threw the weapon with the full force of his strength, striking him in the shoulder that wielded the sword, causing the horse to rear and leave it’s rider on the ground as it fled. The rest of the Midgardian soldiers charged forward swords drawn to the Aesir. Thor turned to Maebh. “I take it you want him” she pointed to Tadhgán, she nodded and Thor walked forward, leaving the fallen man to her.

“Dia Dhuit a Tadhgán.” She smiled menacingly. The man stared at her unsure. “You cannot recall me, can you? I will give you a hint, right after you led Queen Maebh to her death, you took your forces to my father’s land to get us.”

“Maebh Ní Aodh!” realised the injured man. “You died.”

“Clearly not.” She smiled.

“So now you side with the heathens.” Snarled Tadhgán. “Tell me, do they mate beasts as well as the women of those they attack?”

“We are far more civilised that you could ever wish to be.”

“We? So you are one of them now?” he raised a brow at the information. “What would your father say when he went to Vanaheim to try and aid Prince Bruce against them, and yet now you stand within them.” he rose to his feet, using his left hand to wield the sword as his right hung uselessly.

“He would commend me for what I am doing to save Midgard from Ui Neill and the likes of you, and for finding a way to survive when all others perished.” She stepped forward, shield high and sword ready.

“You think so, princess? I think you wrong.”

“Lucky for me then your opinion matters little.” Maebh swung her sword and protected herself with her shield. “Did Queen Maebh know it was you who betrayed her, did you look her in the eye as she was slain?”

“I did as you have done, survived.” Tadhgán retaliated.

“I am a free woman, with a prince for a husband and a child, I can walk away from all of this tomorrow and I know there will be no arrow pointed at his heart in Asgard, does Ui Neill afford you such luxuries?” Tadhgán did not respond, he was sweating as he tried to defend each of her blows, but his strength was in his other, now broken arm.

“You will not win against Ui Neill.” He snarled.

“I have no plan to fight him; I plan simply my revenge and the return of Ulaidh to its former glory.” His eyes widened at her admission. “Where is Cathal?” she demanded, striking him in the injured shoulder with her shield, he screamed in pain. “Where is he?” she repeated. She looked up to see a soldier coming for her, having gotten passed a fallen Aesir. Maebh did not even think, as Tadhgán was occupied by his injured limb, she protected herself from a strike with her shield, before slicing her sword through the man’s throat, he fell instantly, her face now a mess of his blood. “Tell me Tadhgán, and I will spare you your tongue.” She paraphrased.

“So the large brute is your husband? Did I anger you with my words?” he went to pierce her chest with his sword, but she avoided it and used her own to slice a large cut into his side, he faltered and gasped in pain.

“No, Thor is not my husband, but the brother of him, so he is quite dear to me, and I swore to his wife I would do my best not to let any harm to befall him, and to his father I swore the soon to be kings return, so I take it personally all attacks on him.” Tadhgán tried to stand but had to use the sword to lean upon as he no longer had the strength. “Where is he Tadhgán, your god will not allow you access to your beloved heaven if you do not repent, make this such, your final act of good on this earth before you are cast forever into the fiery pits of hell. He would not protect you, you know it, he killed all who stood in his way, if he learnt of your failing to kill us that night, he would have killed you himself before now, only more slowly, more painfully, I am offering a fast and suffering-less death.” Maebh’s voice was calm, almost kind. “Merely tell me where he is.”

Tadhgán took a moment to weigh his options. “I am not leaving here am I?” he looked at the princess, who just shook her head.

“No, you will die today, you have done too much wrong for me to want to convince them to let you live, also I wish to take your life for your part in destroying all I loved so dear. My family, my home, my throne. I was left to near starve and care for my family, then to be taken as a prisoner to a foreign land, thankfully my master was kind, and I found in him a good husband. But it could have gone so differently, were it not for his kindness, and you must pay for your part in that. So I will ask you one more time traitor, where is he?”

“It is rich of you to call any other a traitor.” He scoffed, Maebh reached the limit of her patience and struck her shield full force upon his lower leg, causing it to emit a crushing sound upon impact, Tadhgán howled in agony.

“You still have another two limbs,” Maebh stated as she raised the shield to strike again.

“He left Lough Neagh less than a week ago, to where, I know not, most likely to go north once more.” Tadhgán seemed to realise she was not going to yield.

“To my family’s homestead?”

“I believe so.”

“Now you can tell your God that you did repent some grace in your final breaths.” Maebh dropped her shield and used both hands to swing the sword through the man’s neck, taking off his head. She then looked toward the fighting, Volstagg and Thor stood out most of all due to the large size, but around them were both men of Asgard, and those of Midgard, some of whom were slain upon the ground. Looking at the fallen for another moment, she raised her sword and collected her shield went to aid the Aesir.

“Hope you enjoyed your nice little catch-up,” Fandral commented as she came upon him, striking down an opponent. “It took you long enough.”

It took Maebh a moment to remember Thor and Loki were the only two who had learnt Midgardian language so Fandral would not have understood the conversation she had had with Tadhgán. “It was an interrogation, and he was not very forthcoming with information.”

“Really? We would not have gathered, what with the leg breaking and everything.” Hogun responded dryly, as he fought back another.

“Well thank you for providing me with the luxury of time to do so in.” Maebh hoped she sounded genuine as she used her shield to daze another before Hogun plunged his sword into him.

“Any time M’Lady.” Fandral took a moment to bow at her; Maebh simply rolled her eyes at his playfulness in battle.

“Princess!” Maebh turned as Hogun called her to see a large hound lunge into her, its teeth bared. It stood taller than her on its hind legs, and as she was unprepared for its tackle, she fell to the ground, her sword falling from her hands as she did. The animal clawed at her with its long blunt claws as she kept her sword hand at its throat to prevent its sharp teeth getting too close to her. She could see Fandral and Hogun were occupied by two more foes on either side of her, so with her shield, she swung her arm with every ounce of energy she possessed. The dog yelped in agony as the impact broke its jaw, causing it to flee, leaving Maebh panting heavily on the ground.

A moment later she pulled herself up as she could hear a horse galloping toward her. She looked around for the beast and saw it, ridden by a well dressed young man she was sure was Tadhgán’s oldest son, aiming directly for her. The young man was so preoccupied at aiming for Maebh, he failed to see Volstagg swing his axe and for the blade to collide with the animal’s forelimb. The horse was mere feet from Maebh when it fell, and it crashed with force into Maebh, who felt the air leave her lungs before everything went dark.

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Loki began to search around frantically, each body he came across that donned Aesir clothing filled him with dread, yet none of them wore emerald green. His heart jumped every time he failed to see the colour. “Where is Maebh?” Thor looked to his brother and shrugged before he too looked around.

“The last time I saw her she was upon the mound shouting at the man.” Thor pointed to the area where he had struck Tadhgán off of his horse. He and Loki looked up to see Volstagg and Hogun attempting to lift the body of a horse as Fandral lay next to it trying to get at something. “What in the…” Thor wondered aloud, “What madness has befallen ye?” Thor shouted as he walked forward toward the men.

“It is the princess; she is trapped under the damned beast,” Hogun shouted.

The words took a moment to piece Loki’s mind before he sprinted forward with Thor to the fallen animal. “How in Hel did she get caught under it?” he demanded.

“Volstagg took the off its leg with his axe and it fell forward on top her,” Fandral explained as the larger men rolled the beast. “Got her.” He dragged Maebh’s limp body from beneath it.

Loki had pushed Fandral aside before he had even had a chance to lay Maebh’s head to the ground. Her eyes we shut and her face and neck were covered in scratch marks, mud and blood. He noticed her fast breaths. “I do not think she was able to breathe beneath it.” Fandral explained, “She was not breathing when I first saw her.”

“Most likely not, but she is breathing now, we just have to wait for her to awaken, until then, all but Loki aid the wounded and collect the dead. Kill any of those of Midgard that are taking their time to die.” Thor ordered. The other men nodded and took one last look at the injured princess before doing as the crowned prince requested. “She will be fine brother; any woman that would put up with you simply needs some rest whenever she can get it.” He smiled.

Loki reciprocated and nodded, pulling Maebh into his lap. “What have you done to yourself, you silly woman.” He scolded, pulling her hair off her face, knowing she more than likely could not hear him.

The bodies of the deceased Aesir were collected and laid within a stone built ship for their passage to Valhalla before Maebh began to stir. Loki remained with her throughout, stroking her hair and talking softly to her. Finally, she opened her eyes, then whimpered and groaned.

“Have a nice rest? You missed half the battle.” He smiled at her.

“I feel like I have received a blow from Mjolnir itself.” She groaned as she checked her limbs for breaks, but only found that she had aches. “I fear I shall resemble a blueberry for many days to come.”

“I fear you may be right.” Loki acknowledged as he glanced over what skin was visible, much of it beginning to bruise, he leant down and kissed her. “Did you get what you required?” he asked, looking over at the severed head of Tadhgán, which lay not too far from them. Maebh nodded. “You have a terrifyingly noticeable love of the neck for your kills don’t you?” He commented, recalling the manner in which she had slayed Tyr and Cnut.

“It is a guaranteed kill and is seldom covered by armour, it calls to be utilised as a weak point.”

“My brutal little warrior wife.” Loki smiled fondly, sitting her up properly.

“How many did we lose?” Maebh asked, looking as Volstagg and Hogun added more rocks to the pile covering their warriors.

“Five in total, most are just injuries, only one or two are of great note,” Loki replied, also watching the others.

“And them?” Maebh referred to the Midgardians.

Loki smiled internally for a moment at how Maebh distinguished herself absentmindedly as one of the Aesir. “All, no survivors. Two tried to flee, but Pórr got them both before they could escape.”

“He should be commended for his work, he has bought us more time.” The look on Loki’s face caused concern for his wife. “What is it?”

“I am afraid Pórr will be commended at a feast tonight in Valhalla for he is one of the slain.” Loki looked at Maebh before embracing her to his chest once more. “This is not your doing my love.” He soothed, sensing her guilt.

“Five men will not return to Asgard, and it is of my doing. If I just remained an obedient thrall, none of this would have happened.” She sighed.

“Hush. Your training has saved the lives of the rest of us. I would not be alive but for it, and neither would Thor. You have aided all of us more than you will ever know. We were to come here again regardless of anything you said or did; only you prepared us for it. And were you to have remained a thrall, you would be at the mercy of Aslaug at this moment in Asgard, or sold off to another and who knows what horrors you would be subjected to.” Loki’s voice caught just thinking of such things. Maebh looked up at him, her grey eyes still tear-filled, when he realised she was looking at him, Loki leant down and kissed her once again.

“I see you decided to wake up after the fun ends.” Thor joked, walking over to the couple. “How does it feel to have the weight of such a large beast crash down on top of you?”

“I have a new found respect for Sif.” Maebh groaned as she stood with the aid of Loki who nearly dropped her and himself back to the earth with laughter at his wife’s comment. Around them, any other in hearing distance erupted in laughter, including Thor.

“I will take that as a compliment.” The golden haired prince smiled and winked.

“If that is what makes you feel better.” Maebh felt as though each joint in her body was creaking, and hoped movement would aid in their recovery as she found her shield and sword and prepared herself to continue the journey, as she surveyed the dead around her.

May 17, 2017

President Donald Trump The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW Washington, DC 20500

Cc: Ivanka Trump, Assistant to the President Secretary Tom Price, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services

President Trump: As organizations committed to improving the overall health and wellbeing of women and their families, we are compelled to respond to your statement regarding Women’s Health Week, where you emphasized the importance of affordable, accessible, quality health care and the need for paid family leave. For decades, we have fought for policies and programs that improve women’s access to health care, support women’s ability to pursue their careers and take care of their families, and dismantle unfair barriers that impede progress for women – especially those barriers that disproportionately impact low income women, immigrant women, and women of color. As you noted, real gains have been made as a result of our efforts: the uninsured rate for women is at an all-time low; women have better access to preventive and prenatal care; and because of improved access to birth control, the unintended pregnancy rate is at a 30 year low. We are proud of the progress we have made, but more so, we are eager to build on it – using all of the knowledge we have generated through research, experience, and conversations with women across the country. Unfortunately, rather than having a thoughtful and informed dialogue about how to actually improve women’s health, you have simply co-opted “women’s health” to use as a sales pitch for harmful policy. In fact, we are in the throes of a battle with your administration and this Congress that is literally a matter of life and death for women in the United States and around the world. Indeed, while your statement on Women’s Health Week notes that “women should have access to quality prenatal, maternal, and newborn care” including a “choice in health insurance and in health care providers,” the policies of your administration do exactly the opposite. And women in America will not be fooled. The American Health Care Act, which you have championed, blocks millions of women from accessing preventive care at Planned Parenthood health centers, threatens coverage for maternity and newborn care, prescription drugs, and mental health services, and allows insurance companies to charge women more because of pre-existing conditions, including pregnancy, and treatment related to sexual assault and domestic violence. The bill fundamentally dismantles the Medicaid program, which women disproportionately rely on for coverage. In fact, Medicaid is the largest source of coverage for family planning in the United States and covers 50 percent of births. That is not investing in women’s health. You go on to suggest that you will support women’s health by investing in community health centers, but community health centers are not equipped to fully meet women’s health needs. Research has consistently shown that providers who specialize in women’s health, including Planned Parenthood health centers, better serve the needs of women. Medical experts, including the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and the American Public Health Association, have clearly stated that community health centers are incapable of filling the gap if women with Medicaid coverage are prohibited from accessing care at Planned Parenthood health centers. Regardless, politicians in Washington, DC, have no place telling women where they can and cannot go for women’s health care – a notion your statement seems to support. It is both impossible and disingenuous to claim a commitment to women’s health and women’s empowerment while aggressively pursuing such devastating policies. Look no further than the state of Texas to understand the impact. After passing a myriad of similar policies, dozens of women’s health centers closed, nearly 30,000 women lost access to basic preventive health care, and the maternal mortality rate doubled – in large part driven by a dramatic increase in maternal mortality for Black women. That is not just a health care crisis. It is a moral crisis, and it is one that will be exported across the country if these policies come to pass via this Congress and administration. In the global context, your administration not only reinstituted the “global gag rule,” restricting foreign assistance to some of the most capable providers of family planning around the world, but also greatly expanded it. A study of nearly two-dozen countries in sub-Saharan Africa found that the abortion rate actually rose during the George W. Bush administration in countries most affected by the ban. Since 2008, the last year the global gag rule was in place, the U.S. Agency for International Development’s (USAID) maternal and child health programs, including family planning and reproductive health, in 24 priority countries have saved the lives of 4.6 million children and 200,000 women. A real investment in women’s health means continuing to increase public and private insurance coverage for all women, expanding access to important women’s health services like birth control and maternity care, ensuring women’s ability to seek care at the health provider of their choice, supporting policies that provide paid family and medical leave and high-quality, affordable childcare for all families, and working to eliminate persistent disparities and discrimination in health care, particularly for immigrant women, women of color, and the LGBTQ community. We call upon this administration to reverse course and work with Congress to pursue an agenda that reflects a true and informed commitment to women’s health, rights, and progress. Sincerely, 30 for 30 Campaign AIDS Foundation of Chicago American Association of University Women (AAUW) American Civil Liberties Union Association of Reproductive Health Professionals Black Women’s Health Imperative Catholics for Choice Center for Health and Gender Equity (CHANGE) Feminist Majority Ibis Reproductive Health International Women’s Health Coalition Jewish Women International (JWI) NARAL Pro-Choice America National Abortion Federation National Advocates for Pregnant Women National Asian Pacific American Women’s Forum (NAPAWF) National Center For Lesbian Rights National Council of Jewish Women National Health Law Program National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health National Organization for Women National Partnership for Women & Families National Women’s Health Network National Women’s Law Center PAI People For the American Way Physicians for Reproductive Health Planned Parenthood Federation of America Population Connection Action Fund Population Institute Positive Women’s Network – USA Raising Women’s Voices for the Health Care We Need Sexuality Information and Education Council of the U.S. (SIECUS) Sierra Club SisterLove, Inc. Social Workers for Reproductive Justice Women’s Information Network, New York City (WIN.NYC)

‘An existential political risk’: Trump manufactures a swing-state problem

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/an-existential-political-risk-trump-manufactures-a-swing-state-problem/

‘An existential political risk’: Trump manufactures a swing-state problem

“Manufacturing is in recession right now. This is what all the data show,” said Torsten Slok, chief economist at Deutsche Bank Securities. “And everywhere I go in the world, the fear I hear is that we are going to be driven deeper into recession because this is all about uncertainty caused by the trade war.”

Broad national gauges of manufacturing are already troubling, countering some of the president’s claims of success. The Institute for Supply Management manufacturing survey — a widely followed indicator of factory health — has shown a declining sector two months in a row, recently hitting a level not seen since the end of the Great Recession due to a sharp drop in new export orders. Respondents to the survey blamed a trade war that has reduced export demand and increased costs for parts used in manufacturing.

At the county and state level, the environment looks even darker for Trump.

In Racine County, Wisc., where Trump narrowly defeated Hillary Clinton, manufacturing had a 22.5 percent share of employment in 2016. The jobless rate in the county rose by three tenths of a percent from January 2018 to August 2019.

Other manufacturing-heavy states that Trump narrowly won in 2016, and where the current slump could hurt him, include Michigan and North Carolina. A recent study by LendingTree found that Michigan is the U.S. state most at risk of a near-term recession based on employment trends, house prices and other data — with a nearly 60 percent chance of weak economic fundamentals in the fourth quarter of this year. The ongoing General Motors strike that began last month puts the state at even greater risk.

The negative news on manufacturing comes as senior Chinese officials arrive in Washington for another round of talks aimed at reaching a deal with Trump that would reduce heavy tariffs that have imposed significant economic costs on both sides. Stocks rose a bit Wednesday on reports that the Chinese might accept a limited deal that does not include the kind of structural reforms Trump wants.

It’s unclear whether Trump would accept such a deal that could eliminate tariffs and relieve some of the pressure on the manufacturing sector, and he told reporters Wednesday afternoon that he didn’t think China was lowering expectations for a trade deal.

“I think they feel I am driving a tough bargain,” he said. “I think China has a lot of respect for me, for our country, for what we are doing. I think they can’t believe what they have gotten away with for so long.”

It’s not certain that even such a deal will reverse negative trends in the manufacturing sector, which overall is a small slice of the American economy but an important part of overall corporate profits. Manufacturing also supports all kinds of ancillary service-industry jobs that suffer whenever factory work declines.

Overall, the growth in manufacturing jobs — one of Trump’s biggest promises — has essentially vanished. After adding as many as 25,000 new manufacturing jobs per month last spring, the numbers began to decline as the trade war with China intensified. In September, the sector lost 2,000 jobs. That number could grow for October when striking GM workers are included.

“To the extent that the manufacturing slowdown continues unabated, which is likely unless there is a de-escalation in trade tensions, the electoral map could be more difficult for President Trump and Republicans in 2020,” Deutsche Bank analysts wrote in a report this week.

The still-strong national employment numbers, with a jobless rate at a half-century low of 3.5 percent, can also tell a misleading political story. It’s clearly an overall positive for Trump, who loves to tout the number.

“Breaking News: Unemployment Rate, at 3.5%, drops to a 50 YEAR LOW. Wow America, lets impeach your President (even though he did nothing wrong!),” Trump tweeted last week.

But dig deeper and large numbers of the jobs are coming from uncontested states like California. States that make up Trump’s coalition are not doing quite as well. According to data from Moody’s and the Bureau of Labor Statistics, manufacturing shed jobs between October 2018 and August of this year in Pennsylvania, Wisconsin and North Carolina. Michigan was flat.

That creates a challenging dynamic for Trump’s campaign pledge to “Keep America Great.”

“It’s an existential political risk,” said Moody’s Analytics chief economist Mark Zandi. “He won the election based on carrying Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin and appealing to those voters who work in manufacturing or related industries. He promised he would bring manufacturing jobs back and his policies are doing the precise opposite. Jobs losses are mounting, particularly in those states.”

The Trump campaign is pitching itself on the overall gains in manufacturing jobs since Trump was elected, unemployment for women and minorities near record lows and resilient overall economic data beyond manufacturing and business investment.

“Since the election, President Trump has created more than 500,000 new jobs in manufacturing, and there is no denying this record,” said Trump campaign spokesperson Daniel Bucheli. “While the president continues pushing his pro-growth, pro-job, pro-business agenda, the economy remains strong and growing, and could be even better if the Do Nothing Democrats would pass the USMCA.“

In a recent appearance on CNBC, Trump trade adviser Peter Navarro dismissed recent weak numbers and said bluntly, “Manufacturing is strong as a rock.”

Others aren’t so positive. In a relatively grim inaugural speech as chief of the International Monetary Fund on Tuesday, Kristalina Georgieva said the global economy is experiencing a “synchronized slowdown” that could get worse if trade tensions are not resolved. “There is a serious risk that services and consumption could soon be affected,” she added.

Trump’s trade battle with China has also slammed rural states where farmers have been unable to sell soybeans and other products into one of their biggest markets. Trump has responded by moving to dole out $30 billion in bailout money and praising “patriot farmers.” Many of the states hit by the drop in agriculture exports like Indiana, Nebraska and Kansas are solid Trump country. Others like Iowa could be a problem for the campaign.

Trump is also trying to make inroads in Minnesota, where he narrowly lost in 2016, and plans to hold a rally there Thursday night. But Minnesota is feeling pressure both in manufacturing and agriculture, as are states like Iowa and Pennsylvania.

And it’s not clear that even a quick and limited deal with the Chinese could reverse some of the major negative trends in manufacturing.

Confidence among American executives dropped sharply during the trade war with major capital spending plans put on hold. According to the Conference Board, CEO confidence dipped in the third quarter of this year to the lowest level since the first quarter of 2009. Core capital goods orders and non-residential fixed investment both began to decline along with executive confidence as trade tensions began to peak last year.

Flipping the switch back on could be difficult, especially as the fate of NAFTA continues to hang in the balance and any small deal with the Chinese could be subject to reversal on a presidential whim.

There is also still the overhanging threat of possible automobile tariffs coming later this year. “Even if he gets the infamous skinny deal with China, the question then is does that really end all uncertainty? How credible would that deal be?” said Slok.

Ultimately, Trump’s reelection could come down to three states — Michigan, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin — where manufacturing trends are working against him and where he will need a sharp turnaround. “In those three key states, the economies are weakening. Unemployment is low but rising,” said Zandi. “If it continues to rise between now and Election Day it will be very difficult for him to recover. The trend lines don’t look good.”

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