Stop Complying Quotes

To the winter forest And nowhere to go This girl runs From all she knows The pressure rises to the top The pressure rises (it won't stop) They want your body They want your soul They want fake smiles That's rock and roll The wolves surrond you A fever dream The wolves surrond you So start the scream Howl, into the night, Howl, until the light, Howl, your turn to fight, Howl, just make it right Howl howl howl howl (Motherfucker) You can't fight fo ever You have to comply If your life isn't working You have to ask why Remember When we were young enough Not to fear tomorrow Or mourn yesterday And we were just Us And time was just Now And we were in Life Not rising through Like arms in a sleeve Because we had time We had time to breathe The bad times are here The bad times have come but life can't be over When it hasn't begun The lake shines and the water's cold All that glitters can turn to gold Silence the music to improve the tune Stop the fake smiles and howl at the moon Howl, into the night, Howl, until the light, Howl, your turn to fight, Howl, just make it right Howl howl howl howl

Every day I meet people who have so much to give but have been bullied enough or frightened enough to hold it back. It's time to stop complying with the system and draw your own map. You have brilliance in you, your contribution is essential, and the art you create is precious. Only you can do it, and you must.

Why did you stop?” “I’m just wondering if you plan to stand there gawking at me all night?” “If you’re suggesting I take a nap instead, I’ll gladly comply.” “Or perhaps you could…help?” “How?” He circled his fingers around his temple, like her presence was giving him a headache. Then he whirled his hand in her direction and proclaimed, in a ridiculously staunch voice, “I do beseech you, oh fair one, would you please assist me with this most tedious of tasks by gathering the straw and bringing it within my reach, so that our progress might be hastened and you don’t get your head chopped off at dawn?” Serilda pressed her lips together. He was mocking her, but…at least this time he did say please. “With pleasure,” she snapped.

Reframe: To put Conversational Intelligence to work, stop thinking of your job as managing resistance and instead accept resistance as a natural part of change. People need to challenge new ideas before they can accept them. For full ownership and accountability to take place, people need to be in the conversation about how to change rather than being asked to merely comply. When leaders reframe in this way, they see that conversations release new energy for change—which will propel their efforts forward faster.

Her kiss is hungry, as if long deprived. As if they didn’t already spend the morning doing just exactly this, making up for the lost time they were apart. Triton’s trident, I could do this all day. Then he catches himself. No, I couldn’t. Not without wanting more. Which is why we need to stop. Instead, he entwines his hands in her hair, and she teases his lips with her tongue, trying to get him to fully open his mouth to her. He gladly complies. Her fingers sneak their way under his shirt, up his stomach, sending a trail of fire to his chest. He is about to lose his shirt altogether. Until Antonis’s voice booms from the doorway. “Extract yourself from Prince Galen, Emma,” he says. “You two are not mated. This behavior is inappropriate for any Syrena, let alone a Royal.” Emma’s eyes go round as sand dollars. He can tell she’s not sure what to think about her grandfather telling her what to do. Or maybe she’s caught off guard that he called her a Royal. Either way, like most people, Emma decides to obey. Galen does, too. They stand up side by side, not daring to be close enough to touch. They behold King Antonis in a polka-dot bathrobe, and though he’s the one who looks silly, they are the ones who look shamed. Galen feels like a fingerling again. “I apologize, Highness,” he says. It seems like all he does lately is apologize to the Poseidon king. “It was my fault.” Antonis gives him a reproving look. “I like you, young prince. But you well know the law. Do not disappoint me, Galen. My granddaughter is deserving of a proper mating ceremony.” Galen can’t meet his eyes. He’s right. I shouldn’t be flirting with temptation like this. With the Archives on their way-or possibly here already-there is a distant but small chance that he and Emma can still live within the confines of the law. That they can still live as mates under the Syrena tradition. And he almost just blew it. What if it had gone too far? Then his mating with Emma would forever be blemished by breaking the law. “It won’t happen again, Highness.” Not until we’re mated, anyway. “Um. Did you just promise not to kiss me ever again?” Emma whispers. “Can we talk about this later? The Archives are obviously here, angelfish.” She’s on the verge of a fit, he can tell. “He’s just looking out for us,” Galen says quickly. “I agree, we need to respect the law-“ At this her fit subsides as if it was never there. She smiles wide at him. He can’t decide if it’s genuine, or if it’s the kind of smile she gives him when he’ll pay for something later. “Okay, Galen.” “Galen, Emma,” Nalia calls from the dining room, saving him from making a fool of himself. “Everyone is here.” Emma gives him a look that clearly says, “We’re so not done with this conversation.” Then she turns and walks away. Galen takes a second to regain a little bit of composure-which kissing Emma tends to steal from him. Then there’s the mortification of being interrupted by-Get it together, idiot.

Maybe I shouldn’t roll over and let her have him so easily. I recalled how possessive I’d been about Brandon. I thought of what Mel would say: “Stop being a puss and take your toy back. What are you—minced meat?” Selena asked him, “Will you say back there again?” He complied. With his accent, it sounded like a rumbly bag dare. “Cajun is sooo hawt, J.D.

Do you want to know my favorite?” My grip tightened on the railing. In. Out. “Andromeda.” Allister moved closer. “An autumn constellation, forty-four light-years away.” His steps were smooth and indifferent, but his voice was dry, as though he found my panic attack positively boring. His attitude brought a small rush of annoyance in, but it was suddenly swayed as my lungs contracted and wouldn’t release. I couldn’t keep a strangled gasp from escaping. “Look up.” It was an order, carrying a harsh edge. With no fight in me, I complied and tilted my head. Tears blurred my vision. Stars swam together and sparkled like diamonds. I was glad they weren’t. Humans would find a way to pluck them from the sky. “Andromeda is the dim, fuzzy star to the right. Find it.” My eyes searched it out. The stars weren’t often easy to see, hidden behind smog and the glow of city lights, but sometimes, on a lucky night like tonight, pollution cleared and they became visible. I found the star and focused on it. “Do you know her story?” he asked, his voice close behind me. A cold wind touched my cheeks, and I inhaled slowly. “Answer me.” “No,” I gritted. “Andromeda was boasted to be one of the most beautiful goddesses.” He moved closer, so close his jacket brushed my bare arm. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was on the sky. “She was sacrificed for her beauty, tied to a rock by the sea.” I imagined her, a red-haired goddess with a heart of steel chained to a rock. The question bubbled up from the depths of me. “Did she survive?” His gaze fell to me. Down the tear tracks to the blood on my bottom lip. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he looked away. “She did.” I found the star again. Andromeda. “Ask me what her name means.” It was another rough demand, and I had the urge to refuse. To tell him to stop bossing me around. However, I wanted to know—I suddenly needed to. But he was already walking away, toward the exit. “Wait,” I breathed, turning to him. “What does her name mean?” He opened the door and a sliver of light poured onto the terrace. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Straight lines. His head turned just enough to meet my gaze. Blue. “It means ruler of men.” An icy breeze almost swallowed his words before they reached me, whipping my hair at my cheeks. And then he was gone.

motivation for not eating meat and dairy is to maintain optimal health, not to rid myself of the obsession and compulsion that are the hallmark of addiction. If obsession and compulsion are the issue—smoking cigarettes, not being able to stop texting your toxic ex, self-harm—and you want to get past it, you need a Bright Line. If health is your objective, there is no evidence that perfect is better than “really good.” Seriously. You can comply with a health goal 95 percent of the time, and it will benefit you as much as 100 percent perfection.

what if you were a doctor and had a patient who demanded that you stop all the silly hand-washing in preparation for surgery because it was taking too much time? 2 Clearly the patient is the boss; and yet the doctor should absolutely refuse to comply. Why? Because the doctor knows more than the patient about the risks of disease and infection. It would be unprofessional (never mind criminal) for the doctor to comply with the patient. So too it is unprofessional for programmers to bend to the will of managers who don’t understand the risks of making messes.

But you don't think her fit to go to Liverpool?" asked Mary, still in the anxious tone of one who wishes earnestly for some particular decision. "To Liverpool-yes," replied he. "A short journey like that couldn't fatigue, and might distract her thoughts. Let her go by all means,-it would be the very thing for her." "Oh, sir!" burst out Mary, almost sobbing; "I did so hope you would say she was too ill to go." "Whew-" said he, with a prolonged whistle, trying to understand the case; but, being, as he said, no reader of newspapers, utterly unaware of the peculiar reasons there might be for so apparently unfeeling a wish,-"Why did you not tell me sooner? It might certainly do her harm in her weak state! there is always some risk attending journeys-draughts, and what not. To her they might prove very injurious,-very. I disapprove of journeys or excitement, in all cases where the patient is in the low, fluttered state in which Mrs. Wilson is. If you take my advice, you will certainly put a stop to all thoughts of going to Liverpool." He really had completely changed his opinion, though quite unconsciously; so desirous was he to comply with the wishes of others.

It’s dark as a tomb in here,” she said, unable to see more than shadows. “Will you light the candles, please,” she asked, “assuming there are candles in here?” “Aye, milady, right there, next to the bed.” His shadow crossed before her, and Elizabeth focused on a large, oddly shaped object that she supposed could be a bed, given its size. “Will you light them, please?” she urged. “I-I can’t see a thing in here.” “His lordship don’t like more’n one candle lit in the bedchambers,” the footman said. “He says it’s a waste of beeswax.” Elizabeth blinked in the darkness, torn somewhere between laughter and tears at her plight. “Oh,” she said, nonplussed. The footman lit a small candle at the far end of the room and left, closing the door behind him. “Milady?” Berta whispered, peering through the dark, impenetrable gloom. “Where are you?” “I’m over here,” Elizabeth replied, walking cautiously forward, her arms outstretched, her hands groping about for possible obstructions in her path as she headed for what she hoped was the outside wall of the bedchamber, where there was bound to be a window with draperies hiding its light. “Where?” Berta asked in a frightened whisper, and Elizabeth could hear the maid’s teeth chattering halfway across the room. “Here-on your left.” Berta followed the sound of her mistress’s voice and let out a terrified gasp at the sight of the ghostlike figure moving eerily through the darkness, arms outstretched. “Raise your arm,” she said urgently, “so I’ll know ‘tis you.” Elizabeth, knowing Berta’s timid nature, complied immediately. She raised her arm, which, while calming poor Berta, unfortunately caused Elizabeth to walk straight into a slender, fluted pillar with a marble bust upon it, and they both began to topple. “Good God!” Elizabeth burst out, wrapping her arms protectively around the pillar and the marble object upon it. “Berta!” she said urgently. “This is no time to be afraid of the dark. Help me, please. I’ve bumped into something-a bust and its stand, I think-and I daren’t let go of them until I can see how to set them upright. There are draperies over here, right in front of me. All you have to do is follow my voice and open them. Once we do, ‘twill be bright as day in here.” “I’m coming, milady,” Berta said bravely, and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve found them!” Berta cried softly a few minutes later. “They’re heavy-velvet they are, with another panel behind them.” Berta pulled one heavy panel back across the wall, and then, with renewed urgency and vigor, she yanked back the other and turned around to survey the room. “Light as last!” Elizabeth said with relief. Dazzling late-afternoon sunlight poured into the windows directly in front of her, blinding her momentarily. “That’s much better,” she said, blinking. Satisfied that the pillar was quite sturdy enough to stand without her aid, Elizabeth was about to place the bust back upon it, but Berta’s cry stopped her. “Saints preserve us!” With the fragile bust clutched protectively to her chest Elizabeth swung sharply around. There, spread out before her, furnished entirely in red and gold, was the most shocking room Elizabeth had ever beheld: Six enormous gold cupids seemed to hover in thin air above a gigantic bed clutching crimson velvet bed draperies in one pudgy fist and holding bows and arrows in the other; more cupids adorned the headboard. Elizabeth’s eyes widened, first in disbelief, and a moment later in mirth. “Berta,” she breathed on a smothered giggle, “will you look at this place!

Gentle hands, soft lips, and hot little breaths down my stomach. Pleasure, a thick syrup pouring over my limbs. My cock rose, growing heavy with desire. We were so new together, by all accounts, I should be panting madly, trying to take over. But I was slowly heating wax molding to her will. Emma palmed me through my briefs, and I grunted. I wanted them off, no barriers between us. As if she heard the silent demand, she kissed my nipple and slowly eased the briefs down. I lifted my butt to help her. My dick slapped against my belly as it was freed. Emma made a noise of appreciation and then wrapped her clever fingers around me. "Please," I whispered. My body was weak, but my need grew stronger, drowning out everything else. She complied, stroking, her lips on my lower abs, teasing along the V leading to my hips. "Em..." My plea broke off into a groan as her hot mouth enveloped me. There were no more words. I let her have me, do as she willed, and I was thankful for it. And it felt so good I could only lie there and take it, try not to thrust into her mouth like an animal. But she pulled free with a lewd pop and gazed up at me. Panting lightly, I stared back at her, ready to promise her anything, when she kissed my pulsing tip. "Go ahead," she said. "Fuck my mouth." I almost spilled right there. She sucked me deep once more, and a sound tore out of me that was part pained, part "Oh God, please don't ever stop." The woman was dismantling me in the best of ways. Waves of heat licked up over my skin as I pumped gently into her mouth, keeping my moves light because I didn't want to hurt her, and because denying myself was outright torture. Apparently, I was into that. She sucked me like I was dessert----all the while, her hand stroking steady circles on the tight, sensitive skin of my lower abs. It was that touch, the knowledge that she was doing this because she wanted to take care of me, that rushed me straight to the edge. My trembling hand touched the crown of her head. "Em. Baby, I'm gonna..." I gasped as she did something truly inspired with her tongue. "I'm gonna..." She pulled free with one last suck and surged up to kiss me, her hand wrapping around my aching dick and stroking it. Panting into her mouth, my kiss frantic and sloppy, I came with a shudder of pleasure. And all the tension, all the pain, dissolved like a sugar cube dropped into hot tea.

The last week hadn’t been any better, come to think of it. On Monday they arrived at Gorda, just to find that the cargo of electronics he was to ship to Beowulf had been taken by another freighter for a lower fee. It took him until Wednesday before he found another cargo – which had to reach Earth by Saturday. The last straw was when his crew mutinied a day out of the Hermes system and demanded a pay increase. The union tended to call that sort of thing “collective bargaining”, not actually mutiny, but hey – the results are the same. He tended to favor the term “piracy”, but this wasn’t the high seas and out here, there were real pirates to worry about. His former crew had also wanted more time off and a better cook – at least one who knew how which end of a frying pan to hold. He was unable to comply, and so was forced to stop at Beowulf anyway. That was the last time he saw them. Fortunately for him, Weaver, Fuller and Jang opted to stay with him. Whether it was out of loyalty, or perhaps just convenience, he never knew.

Whose Success Do You Actually Have In Mind? Consider for a moment: Which standards have you set for your children that actually satisfy your own needs? Do you need your child to be or look or act a certain way in order for you to feel like a good parent? What motivates you to want your child to be a certain way or accomplish certain things? Do you need your child to look good so you feel good? Or do you really believe that what you are doing has value to your child’s development and personal happiness? This is a big one: If you have ever worried about your children missing certain opportunities, take a look at yourself. Are you trying to avoid dealing with failures or regrets in your own life? Your child is not responsible to protect you from uncomfortable emotions. The best time (and the trickiest time) to ask yourself all these questions is when your buttons get pushed, when you feel your child is really stirring things up. Whenever you experience parent-child conflict, or your child does not want to cooperate or comply with something you’ve requested, STOP and ask yourself: Is this about me or is this really about my child?

Sara flinched as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her to his naked body. The heat of his skin sank through the insubstantial layer of her shift. He was aroused, throbbing hard and forcefully erect against her. "Open your eyes," he said. "There's nothing to be afraid of." She forced herself to comply, staring straight ahead into his chest. Her heart thumped so violently that it seemed to batter against her ribs. As if he could read her mind, Derek lowered his mouth to her hair and held her tightly. "Sara... I'm going to take care of you. I'll never hurt you, or force you to do something you don't want." He took a long breath and forced himself to add reluctantly, "If you want this to stop, then tell me. I probably won't be kind. But I'll wait." She would never know how much the words cost him. It went against his nature to deny himself what he wanted so badly. He had been deprived of too much when he was young- it had made him selfish to the core. But her needs had become too important to him, her affection too precious to risk. Sara looked up at him, reading the truth in his face. Gradually her body relaxed against his. "You must tell me how to please you," she said softly. "I-I don't know anything... and you know too much." His black lashes lowered over a flick of green fire. A wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "We'll find some middle ground," he promised, and kissed her.

His mouth brushed over hers with kisses of soft fire. And as he possessed her, she gradually came to understand the pattern he was working within her… eight shallow thrusts, two deep… seven shallow, three deep… progressing until he finally gave her ten heavy, penetrating plunges. Lottie cried out with wrenching pleasure, her hips lifting against his sleek weight as she was filled with volatile sensation. When the burning delight had begun to fade, Nick altered their positions subtly, moving farther over her, nudging her knees wider, adjusting the angle of his sex. He thrust deeply, sealing their bodies together, and circled his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. “I can’t,” Lottie said breathlessly, realizing what he wanted, knowing that it was impossible. “Let me,” Nick whispered, tireless and wickedly adept as he continued the gentle circling, using his body to pleasure her. She was astonished by how quickly the heat rose again, her senses welcoming the patient stimulation, her sex turning slick and swollen as he moved inside her, over her, against her. “Oh… oh…” The sounds were torn from her throat as she reached another crest, her limbs jerking, her cheek pressed hard against his shoulder. And then he began the entire cycle again. Nine shallow, one deep… Lottie lost count of how many times he brought her to ecstasy, or how much time passed while he made love to her. He whispered in her ear… endearments… intimate praise… telling her how hard she made him… how sweet she felt around him… how much he wanted to satisfy her. He gave her more pleasure than it seemed possible to bear, until finally she begged him to stop, her body trembling with exhaustion. Nick complied with reluctance, pushing deep inside one last time, releasing his pent-up desire with a shuddering groan. Compulsively he kissed her again, as he withdrew from her sated body. Lottie barely had the strength to lift her hand, but she caught at his arm and murmured thickly, “Will you stay?” “Yes,” she heard him say. “Yes.” -Lottie & Nick

Alas, when she opened her mouth to thank him, her composure deserted her completely and all she could manage was a low, distraught plea. “You must stop doing this!” she said desperately. It was not the response Kesgrave anticipated. Oh, no. Having been impressed by Bea’s pluck and daring from the very first, even while her refusal to abide by his authority drove him mad with frustration, he’d never imagined that the presentation of a simple band could have such a disastrous effect on her self-possession. Kesgrave’s confusion, so readily apparent in the way he drew his eyebrows together and pursed his lips, helped relieve some of Bea’s distress. After two decades of falling short of her aunt’s unreasonable expectations, it was still revelatory to exceed his. Taken aback by her discomfort, Kesgrave immediately complied with her request, promising never to repeat the event. “I could not even if I desired to,” he assured her, “for the bracelet is the only item of your mother’s in need of reclaiming.” It was perfect, Bea thought, the characteristic pedantry of his reply, and under ordinary circumstances, it would have elicited from her a fond mocking rejoinder. But everything about the moment felt remarkable, even the sunlight filtering through the window, bathing them in a golden glow, and she answered instead with terrifying honesty. “You must stop making me love you more, Damien. The feeling is already so overwhelming, I can scarcely breathe.” His features remained steady but his eyes—oh, yes, his eyes—blazed with emotion and he raised his hand as if to touch her. Mindful of their situation, however, he let it drop before he made contact, and his lips curved slightly as he shook his head to deny her request. “I fear I cannot, Bea, no. Your brief spells of breathlessness are the only advantage I have in this relationship, and I am not prepared to relinquish it.” The duke spoke softly, emphatically, and Bea waited for amusement to enter his eyes, for she knew he was teasing, but his expression remained fervent. Warmed by his gaze, she longed to move closer, to draw his lips to hers, and it was only the presence of her family that kept her firmly rooted to the spot.

Gray burst into the galley. “Miss Turner is not eating.” The cramped, boxed-in nature of the space, the oppressive heat-it seemed an appropriate place to take this irrational surge of resentment. If only his emotion could dissipate through the ventilation slats as quickly as steam. “And good morning to you, too.” Gabriel wiped his hands on his apron without glancing up. “She’s not eating,” Gray repeated evenly. “She’s wasting away.” He didn’t even realize his knuckled cracked. He flexed his fingers impatiently. “Wasting away?” Gabriel’s face split in a grin as he picked up a mallet and attacked a hunk of salted pork. “Now what makes you say that?” “Her dress no longer fits properly. The neckline of her bodice is too loose.” Gabriel stopped pounding and looked up, meeting Gray’s eyes for the first time since he’d entered the galley. The mocking arch of the old man’s eyebrows had Gray clenching his teeth. They stared at each other for a second. Then Gray blew out his breath and looked away, and Gabriel broke into peals of laughter. “Never thought I’d live to see the day,” the old cook finally said, “when you would complain that a beautiful lady’s bodice was too loose.” “It’s not that she’s a beautiful lady-“ Gabriel looked up sharply. “It’s not merely that she’s a beautiful lady,” Gray amended. “She’s a passenger, and I have a duty to look out for her welfare.” “Wouldn’t that be the captain’s duty?” Gray narrowed his eyes. “And I know my duty well enough,” Gabriel continued. “It’s not as though I’m denying her food, now is it? I’m thinking Miss Turner just isn’t accustomed to the rough living aboard a ship. Used to finer fare, that one.” Gray scowled at the hunk of cured pork under Gabriel’s mallet and the shriveled, sprouted potatoes rolling back and forth with each tilt of the ship. “Is this the noon meal?” “This, and biscuit.” “I’ll order the men to trawl for a fish.” “Wouldn’t that be the captain’s duty?” Gabriel’s tone was sly. Gray wasn’t sure whether the plume of steam swirling through the galley originated for the stove or his ears. He didn’t care for Gabriel’s flippant tone. Neither did he care for the possibility of Miss Turner’s lush curves disappearing when he’d never had any chance to appreciate them. Frustrated beyond all reason, Gray turned to leave, wrenching open the galley door with such force, the hinges creaked in protest. He took a deep breath to compose himself, resolving not to slam the door shut behind him. Gabriel stopped pounding. “Sit down, Gray. Rest your bones.” With another rough sigh, Gray complied. He backed up two paces, slung himself onto a stool, and watched as the cook grabbed a tin cup from a hook on the wall and filled it, drawing a dipper of liquid from a small leather bucket. Then Gabriel set the cup on the table before him. Milk. Gabriel stared it. “For God’s sake, Gabriel. I’m not six years old anymore.” The old man raised his eyebrows. “Well, seeing as how you haven’t outgrown a visit to the kitchen when you’re in a sulk, I thought maybe you’d have a taste for milk yet, too. You did buy the goats.

Then he was striding toward me. His mesmerizing gaze pinned me in place as he cupped my face. When his lips covered mine, I gasped. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, groaning into the contact. His hands tightened on my face. His sexy groans made my toes curl, muddling my thoughts. Block that out! I was Aric’s wife. I’d wronged him in the past, had consigned him to misery for hundreds—no, thousands—of years. I needed to make this right. Like penance. There was something vaguely threatening about his words. Misgivings about this arose. Too fast. “If you have feelings for him, fight them,” Aric commanded me. “By going to him, you’d be stoking them once more. Don’t you understand? He can find another woman—I cannot. If you choose him, you’ll be consigning me to a hellish fate. As you’ve done again and again. No, this will be even worse, because I’ve had a greater glimpse of what I’ll be missing.” “I just want to talk to him. I’m leaving this weekend,” I said in an unwavering voice. “No, you will not.” His arrogant demeanor back in place, he said, “Understand me, I’m not surrendering the one woman who was born for me alone. Not to a human, not to anyone.” “You can’t keep me here against my will any longer. What are you going to do? Put that cuff back on me?” I held up my hand to stop him. “I understand why you did it. But I won’t be a prisoner anymore.” He snatched up his shirt, threading his arms into the sleeves. “You say you keep your promises now? You made a vow before gods to be my wife. In this life, you will keep your promises to me—before you ever honor one to him!” “You can’t stop me from leaving. I have my powers back. I earned my powers back.” With a cruel curve of his lips, he said, “You promised never to harm me, Empress. Know that you’ll have to kill me before I would ever let you go.” As he strode out the door, I said, “And know that you’ll have to put that cilice on me to keep me prisoner again.” He whirled around, fury in his expression. “You refused—twice—to beg me for your own life, but you’d beg for his?” I whispered, “Yes.” With a calculating gleam in his eyes, he said, “This isn’t an impossible task you ask of me. I could call in ancient favors, contact old allies. They could be here in mere hours. We’d ride out as one.” “T-truly?” “On one condition: you’ll become my wife in truth, mine in every way. Beginning tonight. Comply, and I’ll take on an army for you.” My lips parted with shock. “How can you do this to me?” “Deveaux is lost to you in one way or another. He’ll either be slaughtered by the Lovers—or saved by my female, by her sacrifice.” He offered his hand. “Come with me, and begin this.” “Don’t, Aric! Don’t destroy what I do feel for you.” “I’ll take”—he seized my hand, yanking me close—“what I can get.” Despite myself, I shivered from the contact, from his husky voice. His hold on me was firm, proprietary. Because he believed I was about to become his. The red witch in me whispered, Death thinks he has you at his mercy. But the Empress doesn’t get collared or caged—or controlled. Take his head and pay the Tower. Shut up! “Please, Aric. I’ll grow to hate you for this. I don’t want to feel that way about you. Never again. Don’t force me to do this.” “Force?” Unmoved, he led me toward his bedroom. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. Just as you can’t force me to save your lover’s life. We each make sacrifices to get what we want.” With my heart pounding, I crossed the threshold into his dark world. Black walls, black ceiling, black night beyond his windows. Yet outside I thought I saw . . . a single fluttering snowflake. Like a sign.

Mooney was the class bully, a boy who had already failed two grades by the time he landed in mine. He was fat, sweaty and loud, and all the kids were scared of him. With good reason. If Mooney wanted something he took it, and woe to the child who tried to stop him. But Mooney was also crafty and sly. He never retaliated when an adult was near, preferring to ambush his prey when he could catch them off-guard, knowing it would be his word against the victims if the kid were stupid enough to tell. Sitting next to him was torture. I always carried extra pencils because I knew Mooney would confiscate the one I was using. And I considered myself lucky that pencils were all he’d taken so far. At least, I was lucky until the week before our midterm tests. Because the weather was nasty that Monday, our recess was taken in the gym. I was sitting on the bleachers taking a breather, watching Jenna chase Hugh in a game of tag, when Mooney confronted me. “You’re gonna let me copy off your paper when we take our tests next week,” he said. “If you don’t, I’ll stomp you into the ground.” He swaggered off, secure in the thought that I’d comply with his demand. I watched him in shock. Cheat? He wanted me to cheat on the tests? The Judge would disown me. I would never be able to look my grandfather in the eye again. There was no way I could let Mooney copy, even knowing he would kill me when it was over. Death before dishonor was my family motto.

Whenever we came to a rocky escarpment, she and all her sisters would stop, not at all eager for the challenge. But we had camel drivers with sticks accompanying us; they employed the latter to urge the camels up the rocky escarpments, and the camels reluctantly complied. If the camels were reluctant to climb up the rocky escarpments, they were loath to go down them. In fact, I came to surmise, the reason camels were reluctant to go up the rocky escarpments was because they were loath to go down them. Figuring that the only reason a camel would be loath to go down a rocky escarpment would be fear of slipping and falling, I, too, was loath to go down the rocky escarpments.

Ease up on the reins,” Kathleen said. “Just give the horse more slack and let him pick his way through.” West complied immediately. “Would a bit more advice be unwelcome?” she dared to ask. “Fire away.” “You tend to slouch in the saddle. That makes it difficult for you to follow the horse’s motion, and it will make your back sore later. If you sit tall and relaxed…yes, like that…now you’re centered.” “Thank you.” Kathleen smiled, pleased by his willingness to take direction from a woman. “You don’t ride badly. With regular practice, you would be quite proficient.” She paused. “I take it you don’t ride often in town?” “No, I travel by foot or hackney.” “But your brother…” Kathleen began, thinking of Devon’s assured horsemanship. “He rides every morning. A big dapple gray that’s as mean as the devil if it goes one day without hard exercise.” A pause. “They have that in common.” “So that’s why Trenear is so fit,” Kathleen murmured. “It doesn’t stop at riding. He belongs to a pugilism club where they batter each other senseless, in the savate style.” “What is that?” “A kind of fighting that developed in the streets of Old Paris. Quite vicious. My brother secretly hopes to be attacked by ruffians someday, but so far, no luck.

Sigmund Freud... said that as we grow up in society, we internalize the social virtues. This internalization leads to the development of the superego. In general, the superego is pleased when we comply with society's ethics, and unhappy when we don't. This is why we stop the car at 4 AM at a red...

I have been arrested before in NYC, and it is frightening and uncomfortable. But when I asked if I could now walk away and take my train — no one stopped me. The takeaway? When I refused to comply with these unlawful “mandates” that had burnt out the soul of a once-great city, nothing happened. The bullies, Governor Kathy Hochul and Mayor Eric Adams, who put these scary-sounding, Dear Leader-esque “edicts” in place

As Jack spoke, Carrington caught sight of me in the doorway, and she threw me a grin. “Are you gonna take Miss Ella fishing?” she asked Jack, who had picked up a Japanese saw and was cutting off the protruding end of the gunnel at an angle. “If she wants to,” he said. “Is she gonna catch you, Uncle Jack?” Carrington asked slyly. “She already did, darlin’.” At the sound of her titter, Jack paused in his sawing, followed her gaze and saw me standing there. A slow smile spread across his face, and his gaze turned dark and hot as he glanced over my pink swimsuit and bare legs. Dropping the saw, he muttered to the other two, “’ Scuse me, I’ve got to talk to Miss Ella about something.” “No, you don’t,” I protested. “I just wanted a peek at the skiff. It’s beautiful, Carrington. What color are you going to paint it?” “Pink like your bathing suit,” she said cheerfully. Jack was coming toward me. I retreated a few steps. “Don’t take him away for good, Ella,” Gage said. “We still need to fasten the gunnel on the other side.” “I’m not taking him away at all, I . . . Jack, get back to work.” But he headed for me without pausing, and I giggled and retreated into the kitchen. “Leave me alone, you’re all sweaty!” In a few seconds, I found myself pinned against a countertop, his hands gripping the beveled granite edge on either side of me. “You like me sweaty,” he murmured, his denim-clad legs corralling mine. I leaned backward to avoid contact with his damp chest. “If I have caught you,” I told him, still giggling, “I’m going to throw you back.” “You only throw the little ones back, darlin’. The big ones you keep. Now give me a kiss.” I tried to stop smiling long enough to comply. His lips were warm as they moved over mine, the kiss erotic in its careful lightness.

Religion serves all of us; men, women, gays, straights, blacks, whites, Americans and Indians. If it does not comply with our needs, wishes and happiness, then religion without a doubt is a plague that must be stopped.

But when I look past the rainbow landscape, the shops with overflowing shelves, the rattle and hiss of daily life that spills from every mouth and machine, I can see the difference. It's an absence — an absence of guards, of bindings, of rabid fear to comply. And in that absence, human will and creativity and resourcefulness have grown, unchecked, filling every possible crevice like some tenacious, lovely weed. These people refuse to be stopped. There is nothing to stop me here.

As soon as Christopher and Albert stepped up to the dais, he was disconcerted to hear a cheer rising from the crowd, spreading and growing until the noise was deafening. It wasn’t right for him to receive more acclamation than the other soldiers--they deserved just as much recognition for their courage and gallantry. And yet the ranks were cheering as well, humbling him utterly. Albert looked up at him uneasily, staying close to his side. “Easy, boy,” he murmured. The queen regarded the pair of them curiously as they stopped before her. “Captain Phelan,” she said. “Our subjects’ enthusiasm does you honor.” Christopher replied carefully. “The honor belongs to all the soldiers who have fought in Your Majesty’s service--and to the families who waited for them to return.” “Well and modestly said, Captain.” There was a slight deepening of the creases at the corners of her eyes. “Come forward.” As he complied, the queen leaned from the horse to pin the bronze cross with its crimson ribbon to his coat. Christopher made to withdraw, but she stopped him with a gesture and a word. “Remain.” Her attention switched to Albert, who sat on the dais and cocked his head as he regarded her curiously. “What is your companion’s name?” “His name is Albert, Your Majesty.” Her lips quirked as if she were tempted to smile. She slid a brief glance to her left, at the prince consort. “We are informed that he campaigned with you at Inkerman and Sebastopol.” “Yes, Your Majesty. He performed many difficult and dangerous duties to keep the men safe. This cross belongs partly to him--he assisted in recovering a wounded officer under enemy fire.” The general charged with handing the orders to the queen approached and gave her a curious object. It looked like…a dog collar? “Come forward, Albert,” she said. Albert obeyed promptly, sitting at the edge of the dais. The queen reached over and fastened the collar around his neck with a deft efficiency that revealed some experience with the procedure. Christopher recalled having heard that she owned several dogs and was partial to collies. “This collar,” she said to Albert, as if he could understand her, “has been engraved with regimental distinctions and battle honors. We have added a silver clasp to commend the valor and devotion you have displayed in our service.” Albert waited patiently until the collar was fastened, and then licked her wrist. “Impertinent,” she scolded in a whisper, and patted his head. And she sent a brief, discreet smile to Christopher as they left to make way for the next recipient.

The metaphor of the early American explorer fits policing and the complex problems we face on the street daily. As we search for peaceful outcomes to the situations we encounter numerous unknowns despite the similarities, in the types of incidents and crises we observe day to day. Standard operating procedures, policy and procedure practices are all very useful when we have standard problem and things go as we plan but what happens when things deviate from the standard and go outside the normal patterns? Here is where we must rely on resilience and adaptation, our ability and knowhow. Experienced people using their insights, imagination and initiative to solve complex problems as our ancestors, the early American explores did.  As we interact with people in dynamic encounters, the explorer mentality keeps us in the game; it keeps us alert and aware. The explorer mentality has us continually learning as we accord with a potential adversary and seek to understand his intent to the best of our ability. An officer who possesses the explorer mentality understands that an adversary has his own thoughts objectives and plans, many which he cannot hear, such as: “I will do what I am asked,” “I will not do what I am asked,” “I will escape,” “I will fight,” “I will assault,” “I will kill,” “I will play dumb until...,” “I will stab,” “I will shoot,” “he looks prepared I will comply,” “he looks complacent I will not comply, etc.” The explorer never stops learning and is ever mindful of both obvious and subtle clues of danger and or cooperation.

Frequently, those who love someone with BPD become isolated because their loved one insists that they cut off ties with others. Too often, they comply.

Like power, dependence has become a dirty word. We want our children to be self-directing, self-motivated, self-controlled, self-orienting, self-reliant, and self-assured. We have put such a premium on independence that we lose sight of what childhood is about. Parents will complain of their child’s oppositional and off-putting behaviors, but rarely do they note that their children have stopped looking to them for nurturing, comfort, and assistance. They are disturbed by their child’s failure to comply with their reasonable expectations but seem unaware that the child no longer seeks their affection, approval, or appreciation. They do not notice that the child is turning to peers for support, love, connection, and belonging. When attachment is displaced, dependence is displaced. So is, along with it, the power to parent.

PART 2 LEAVE ! DISAPPEAR ! ALL OF YOU , THAT NO LONGER MAY I BEHOLD YOUR PAIN OF BEING ! RUN TO THOSE WHO ARE LIKE YOU , THOSE CAMP FOLLOWERS TO COMFORT ONE ANOTHER , AND WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO EXIST , SOMETHING THAT YOU READILY ADOPTED , MINDLESS AS YOU ALL ARE , AND ROUSE THAT JOY AND ENTHUSIASM OF TOGETHERNESS WHICH IS SO ESSENTIAL TO YOUR LIVES AND WHICH APPERTAINS TO YOUR VERY DEFINITION OF BEING HUMAN AND HENCE OF BEING ALIVE , WHENEVER YOU FEEL DEJECTED SO THAT CAN BUCK EACH OTHER UP BY ALL OF YOU CONFORMING TO THOSE LAWS WHICH YOU HAVE ESTABLISHED AS YOUR '' TRUTH '' AND WITH WHICH YOUR EXISTENCE HAS BEEN REPLACED , KNOWING ONE ANOTHER BY THE ONE PROPERTY OF ALL OF YOU BEING CONFORMISTS THAT YOUR CONFUSION OF NOT KNOWING WHO YOU ARE MAY BE DISPELLED ! FOR IS IT NOT DISTASTEFUL TO EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU TO FIND THE PATH TO YOURSELF , AND THEREFORE TO BE YOURSELF ? WHAT DOES THAT SIGNIFY BEING YOURSELF ? , BUT TO STOP REPRESENTING SOMEONE ELSE'S THERORY , SOMEONE ELSE'S DOCTRINE , SOMEONE ELSE'S LAW WHICH YOU FOLLOW OBEDIENTLY IN YOUR NESCIENCE AND IN THE TERRORS OF YOUR MIND OF NOT KNOWING WHAT ELSE TO DO , SOMETHING THAT YOU SHARE WITH YOUR CAMP FOLLWERS , OR YOU WOULD NO LONGER BE THAT ! , CONSTITUTING THE VERY EVOCATION OF THAT MADNESS OF HUMAN EXISTENCE ! PRESS THE TRIGGER AND KILL SOMEONE IN ORDER TO COMPLY WITH THE PITILESS OBEDIENCE OF YOUR LAWS ! THAT IS HOW YOU HAVE BEEN RAISED : TO KILL ! THAT IS YOUR DESTESATBLE ONLY TRUTH !...

Three times Hoffman requested the Rawalpindi to stop and take her crew into safety, but the auxiliary cruiser showed no inclination to comply with the requests.

I have great, wild hopes of finding my daughter as she will be in adulthood, when she nominally stops needing me, when she is past the seizures and denunciations that I expect will come at adolescence because they came so brutally for me. I hope that I am right in my interpretation of the organic grandmother, that mother hunger is a primal trait of womanness, and that my daughter's need for me may prove larger, more enduring, more passionate than the child's needs for meals, clothes, shelter and applause. I hope that she needs me enough to show me who she is, to give regular dispatches, her intellectual progeny, and to trust me with their safekeeping. I hope that she likes to barter- Youth and Experience haggling over Notoriety. May she spit fire and leave me gladly but sense in her very hemoglobin that she can find me and rest with me and breathe, safely breathe, if only for the intermission between cycles of anger and disappointment. For as long as they last, my bones, brains, and strength are her birthright, and they may not be much, but they are tenacious by decree, and they’ll comply happily with the customs of dynasty. When Youth comes calling, Experience gets her shovel and digs.

If you had asked me to stop breathing, I would have complied without complaining. But not loving you is not an option.

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Power was about bending other people’s free will, making them comply and obey. Good people didn’t think in those terms, which made the avid pursuit of power a vocation for evil people. Worse still was the certainty that evil people would never stop trying to lord their will over others. And the natural result of that truth was that evil people would always gravitate toward government while most good people would avoid it at nearly all costs. Government wasn’t a necessary evil, it was necessarily evil. It couldn’t be otherwise given the nature of those who yearned to be a part of it.

What are you doing?” “Taking you for a ride.” As she sputtered with questions, he touched a gentle forefinger to her lips. “Trust me,” he whispered. Amelia complied in a daze as he pulled her from the bed, wrapped the velvet robe around her, and tucked her feet into soft slippers. Clasping her hand firmly in his, Cam led her from the room. The house was still and soundless, the walls hung with portraits of aristocrats with disapproving faces. They went out the back of the house to the great stone terrace, its wide curving steps leading down to the gardens. The moonlight was crossed with shredded clouds that glowed against a sky the color of black plums. Puzzled but willing, Amelia went with Cam to the bottom of the steps. He stopped and gave a short whistle. “What—” Amelia gasped as she heard the pounding of heavy hooves and saw a huge black form rushing toward them like something from a nightmare. Alarm darted through her, and she burrowed against Cam, her face hidden against his chest. His arm went around her, tucking her close. When the thundering stopped, Amelia risked a glance at the apparition. It was a horse. A huge black horse, with puffing breaths that rose like wraiths in the raw air. “Is this really happening?” she asked. Cam reached in his pocket and fed the horse a sugar lump, and ran his hand over the sleek midnight neck. “Have you ever had a dream like this?” “Never.” “Then it must be happening.” “You actually have a horse who comes when you whistle?” “Yes, I trained him.” “What is his name?” His smile gleamed white in the darkness. “Can’t you guess?” Amelia thought for a moment. “Pooka?” The horse turned his head to look at her as if he understood. “Pooka,” she repeated with a faint smile. “Do you have wings, by any chance?” At Cam’s subtle gesture, the horse shook his head in an emphatic no, and Amelia laughed shakily. Walking to Pooka’s side, Cam swung up onto the packsaddle in a graceful movement. He sidled close to the step on which Amelia was standing and reached down to her. She took his hand, managing to gain a foothold on the stirrup. She was lifted easily onto the saddle in front of him. Momentum carried her a little too far, but Cam’s arm locked around her, keeping her in place. Amelia leaned back into the hard cradle of his chest and arm. Her nostrils were filled with the scents of autumn, damp earth, horse and man and midnight. “You knew I’d come with you, didn’t you?” she asked. Cam leaned over her, kissing her temple. “I only hoped.” His thighs tightened, setting the horse to a gallop, and then a smooth canter. And when Amelia closed her eyes, she could have sworn they were flying.

first published on tumblr 27 Aug 2020 Biden and Harris are AMERICANS for AMERICANS and world peace. white power slave hole American rot blood lust sadistic arousal yet continues even with the survivor Mr Blake chained to a bed. Police racist garbage please stop getting your sadistic arousal at the expense of humanity your racist sadistic aroused pull to continue salivating over the capture cage slave hole of mr blake is very nauseating. you enjoy humiliating and debasing humanity because you want to control our lives our movement our vote. racist sadistic police forcing us to comply with sadistic misogyny because you cant have us and you do not control us You racist cops want to destroy humanity because mr.jacob blake reveals the emergency door. The emergency that the world is over your stupid racist bitches violence who want to use us for your sadistic fuck and its not wanted by humanity. dont want it. NO THANK YOU. YOU HAVE RACIST IDIOTS DEDICATED TO HUMILIATING AND DEBASING HUMANITY BECAUSE THEY CANT GET A LIFE OR THEY FEEL IT IS THEIR FUCKING DUTY IN LIFE TO PUT HUMANITY IN ITS PLACE WHAT PLACE IS THAT RACIST ZUNT BITCHES?????????? YOU RACIST ZUNTS COULDNT HAVE A FUCKING DAY IF YOU DIDNT FUCK ABOUT HUMANITY IN SOME FUCK. YOU ARE DISGUSTING IN YOUR USE OF HUMANITY FOR YOUR OWN PROFIT. YOU MAKE A NICE PROFIT OF OFF THE ABUSE HUMILIATION DEBASING DEHUMANIZATION YOU INFLICT ON US. STUPID FUCKING RACIST BITCHES FROM GOVERNMENT TO THE POLICE TO ANY FUCKING SOCIAL CONSTRUCT. AND HUMANITY IS OVER YOUR EVIL BITCH. GET A LIFE FIND IT GO SOMEWHERE OR NOT DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT WITH YOUR LIFE AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM FOLK WHO JUST WANT TO HAVE A DAY. sadistic murder aroused racists want to keep humanity in the slave hole because racist dont want humanity to advance any exchange out of the slave hole is based on the racists sadistic aroused need its always the stupid fucking racists or racist sadistic cops taking advantage of humanity theres never freedom never any conditions for freedom or power to choose or change. Well this is over. humanity has power stupid fucking sadistic cops and taxpayers are over this evil bitch of yours. GO get some processing racist cops on how you abuse of power with so much of your murder blood lust because you cant handle your own sex and sexuality and feelings you fight because you want humanity who does not want you and NEVER WILL!!!! go get processing racist cops. Find out why you cant handle your own explorations of your own sexuality and how you want to murder hurt humiliate humanity who reject you and your racism. how you are racists murdering cops who exist for those exchanges. Even the set up is a sadistic master turn on the whole fucking thing is nauseating and then the after clean the blood up after the scene routine the put the slave back in the slave hole is beyond silence it makes want to vomit and never stop vomiting. leave humanity alone. fuck off racist cop unions no you dont look powerful or witty or anything smart to the world AMERICA is a mockery to the world because of your stupid bitch moves. Americans are powerful and voting for real leaders that will eradicate this evil racism by finding real cops who just do their work to serve and to protect humanity and thats it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gwencalvo 8 27 20

first published on tumblr 27 Aug 2020 Biden and Harris are AMERICANS for AMERICANS and world peace. white power slave hole American rot blood lust sadistic arousal yet continues even with the survivor Mr Blake chained to a bed. Police racist garbage please stop getting your sadistic arousal at the expense of humanity your racist sadistic aroused pull to continue salivating over the capture cage slave hole of mr blake is very nauseating. you enjoy humiliating and debasing humanity because you want to control our lives our movement our vote. racist sadistic police forcing us to comply with sadistic misogyny because you cant have us and you do not control us You racist cops want to destroy humanity because mr.jacob blake reveals the emergency door. The emergency that the world is over your stupid racist bitches violence who want to use us for your sadistic fuck and its not wanted by humanity. dont want it. NO THANK YOU. YOU HAVE RACIST IDIOTS DEDICATED TO HUMILIATING AND DEBASING HUMANITY BECAUSE THEY CANT GET A LIFE OR THEY FEEL IT IS THEIR FUCKING DUTY IN LIFE TO PUT HUMANITY IN ITS PLACE WHAT PLACE IS THAT RACIST ZUNT BITCHES?????????? YOU RACIST ZUNTS COULDNT HAVE A FUCKING DAY IF YOU DIDNT FUCK ABOUT HUMANITY IN SOME FUCK. YOU ARE DISGUSTING IN YOUR USE OF HUMANITY FOR YOUR OWN PROFIT. YOU MAKE A NICE PROFIT OF OFF THE ABUSE HUMILIATION DEBASING DEHUMANIZATION YOU INFLICT ON US. STUPID FUCKING RACIST BITCHES FROM GOVERNMENT TO THE POLICE TO ANY FUCKING SOCIAL CONSTRUCT. AND HUMANITY IS OVER YOUR EVIL BITCH. GET A LIFE FIND IT GO SOMEWHERE OR NOT DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT WITH YOUR LIFE AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM FOLK WHO JUST WANT TO HAVE A DAY. sadistic murder aroused racists want to keep humanity in the slave hole because racist dont want humanity to advance any exchange out of the slave hole is based on the racists sadistic aroused need its always the stupid fucking racists or racist sadistic cops taking advantage of humanity theres never freedom never any conditions for freedom or power to choose or change. Well this is over. humanity has power stupid fucking sadistic cops and taxpayers are over this evil bitch of yours. GO get some processing racist cops on how you abuse of power with so much of your murder blood lust because you cant handle your own sex and sexuality and feelings you fight because you want humanity who does not want you and NEVER WILL!!!! go get processing racist cops. Find out why you cant handle your own explorations of your own sexuality and how you want to murder hurt humiliate humanity who reject you and your racism. how you are racists murdering cops who exist for those exchanges. Even the set up is a sadistic master turn on the whole fucking thing is nauseating and then the after clean the blood up after the scene routine the put the slave back in the slave hole is beyond silence it makes want to vomit and never stop vomiting. leave humanity alone. fuck off racist cop unions no you dont look powerful or witty or anything smart to the world AMERICA is a mockery to the world because of your stupid bitch moves. Americans are powerful and voting for real leaders that will eradicate this evil racism by finding real cops who just do their work to serve and to protect humanity and thats it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gwencalvo 8 27 20

Come forward." As he complied, the queen leaned from the horse to pin the bronze cross with its crimson ribbon to his coat. Christopher made to withdraw, but she stopped him with a gesture and a word. "Remain." Her attention switched to Albert, who sat on the dais and cocked his head as he regarded her curiously. "What is your companion's name?" "His name is Albert, Your Majesty." Her lips quirked as if she were tempted to smile. She slid a brief glance to her left, at the prince consort. "We are informed that he campaigned with you at Inkerman and Sebastopol." "Yes, Your Majesty. He performed many difficult and dangerous duties to keep the men safe. This cross belongs partly to him- he assisted in recovering a wounded officer under enemy fire." The general charged with handing the orders to the queen approached and gave her a curious object. It looked like... a dog collar? "Come forward, Albert," she said. Albert obeyed promptly, sitting at the edge of the dais. The queen reached over and fastened the collar around his neck with a deft efficiency that revealed some experience with the procedure. Christopher recalled having heard that she owned several dogs and was partial to collies. "This collar," she said to Albert, as if he could understand her, "has been engraved with regimental distinctions and battle honors. We have added a silver clasp to commend the valor and devotion you have displayed in our service." Albert waited patiently until the collar was fastened, and then licked her wrist. "Impertinent," she scolded in a whisper, and patted his head. And she sent a brief, discreet smile to Christopher as they left to make way for the next recipient.

Share the Blame As we discussed earlier, how both partners can be at fault. Although the cheating partner should take 100% of the blame as they could have always talked it out with you and let you know of your intentions beforehand, you should also take responsibility for keeping them in an unhappy or ungrateful union. If the infidelity happened because the partner felt less heard or unappreciated, then the wronged partner must accept it and know that some part of the hurt and isolation that they have brought upon themselves is because of the way they treated their spouse. This knowledge and acceptance can help the process of healing and allow them to be more emotionally available for their partner the next time around. Set Some Ground Rules Before forgiving the adulterous spouse, the wronged partner must lay down some ground rules for how things will be between them from now on. It doesn’t have to be a revenge list since the goal is to get back together. Point out how they can earn back the lost trust and respect in your eyes. Some other rules can be keeping no secrets between them from now on, making more time for the family, removing passwords from their phone and laptop, allowing the other person to see what they are doing without hiding or closing the tabs, etc. If they comply to all of these, it means they really are up for going at the relationship again. It also gives you some power over them and makes them feel like dictated and dominated, which is great at the end of the day because let’s face it, they brought it upon themselves.

Eventually, the boy reaches the threshold of his grandmother's patience, and when the carrot doesn't work, she reaches for the stick to impose her will upon him. Like many grandparents and their parents before them, she crosses the line of respect for his choice and adds punishment—in this case, guilt and shaming, which is the second tool of domestication. “Do you know how many children don't have anything to eat around the world? They are starving! And here you are, wasting your food. It's a sin to waste food!” Now the young boy is concerned. He doesn't want to look like a selfish child, and he really doesn't want to be seen as a sinner in his grandmother's eyes. With a sense of defeat, he relents and subjugates his will. “OK, Grandma, I will finish my soup.” He begins to eat again, and he doesn't stop until the bowl is empty. Then, with the tenderness that makes her grandson feel safe and loved, Grandma says, “That's my good boy.” The boy learns that by complying with the rules of the dream, he can earn a reward; in this case, he is a good boy in the eyes of his grandmother and receives her love and encouragement. The punishment would have been to be seen as a selfish child, a sinner in her eyes, and a bad boy. This is a simple example of domestication in action. No one doubts that the grandmother has the best of intentions; she loves her grandson and wants him to eat his lunch, but the method she is using to achieve that goal has negative unintended consequences. Anytime guilt and shame are deployed as tools to provoke action, this counters any good that has been achieved. Eventually, these negative elements will resurface in one way or another. In this case, let's imagine that when this boy grows up, the domestication that occurred around this issue is so strong that it still has an imposing power over him well into adulthood. For instance, many years later he goes into a restaurant where they serve a big plate of food, and halfway through his meal his body signals to him the truth of that moment: I am full. Consciously, or subconsciously, he hears a voice: It's a sin to waste food. Consciously, or subconsciously, he answers Yes, Grandma, and continues to eat. Finishing his plate like a good boy, he responds to his domestication rather than his needs of the moment. In that instant, he completely goes against himself by continuing to eat after his body has already let him know that he is full. The idea is so strong that it overrules his body's natural preference to stop. Overeating may damage his body, which is one of the negative consequences in this case of using guilt and shame as a tool. The other consequence is that he is experiencing internal suffering by reliving a past moment of guilt and shame, and it is controlling his actions in the present.

And the famed result was that most volunteers complied, shocking the learner repeatedly. Teachers would typically try to stop, argue with the scientist, would even weep in distress—but would obey. In the original study, horrifically, 65 percent of them administered the maximum shock of 450 volts.

What Happens After You Get Your Partner Visa in Australia? Receiving your Partner Visa in Australia is an exciting and life-changing milestone. It means that you can finally live, work, and study in Australia with your Australian partner, whether you're together onshore or you're transitioning to a permanent visa after your temporary one. However, the process doesn't stop once you receive your visa approval. There are several important things to consider once you're granted a Partner Visa, from understanding your visa conditions to planning for the future. In this blog, we will outline what happens after you get your Partner Visa, including your rights, responsibilities, and what you can expect next in your journey towards permanent residency. 1. Your Visa Status and Conditions Once you receive your Partner Visa, it’s important to understand your visa status. Depending on whether you're applying from inside or outside Australia, your visa status may differ slightly, but generally, the visa will be granted in two stages: Temporary Visa (Subclass 820/309): This is the first stage. You are granted a temporary visa to live with your partner while waiting for your permanent visa application to be processed. Permanent Visa (Subclass 801/100): This is the second stage, typically granted after a waiting period (usually 2-3 years from the initial application). The permanent visa allows you to stay in Australia indefinitely. In the case of an onshore application, once your temporary visa is granted (Subclass 820 or Subclass 309), you can live, work, and study in Australia while your permanent visa (Subclass 801 or Subclass 100) is processed. It’s important to be aware that you may need to demonstrate that your relationship is still ongoing and genuine before being granted the permanent visa. If you are granted a temporary visa (Subclass 820/309), you may need to wait for up to 2 years to be considered for the permanent visa. 2. The Right to Live, Work, and Study in Australia One of the most significant benefits of a Partner Visa is the ability to live and work in Australia. Once your temporary visa is granted, you can: Live in Australia with your partner and enjoy the experience of building a life together in a new country. Work in Australia without any restrictions, allowing you to earn a living and contribute to the economy. Study at Australian institutions without needing to apply for a separate student visa. While waiting for the permanent visa, you can also access the Medicare system (Australia’s public health system), which provides affordable healthcare. 3. Your Partner’s Role as a Sponsor After receiving your visa, your Australian partner is responsible for ensuring that the relationship remains genuine and ongoing. The Department of Home Affairs may request periodic updates about your relationship, so it’s important to maintain transparency and keep them informed if any significant changes occur, such as a separation. As a visa holder, you are required to follow certain conditions, including: Staying in a genuine relationship with your sponsor throughout the duration of the visa. Not breaching any laws or engaging in behaviors that could affect the validity of your visa. Failure to comply with visa conditions could result in visa cancellation or refusal of your permanent visa. 4. Applying for Permanent Residency For those who receive the temporary Partner Visa (Subclass 820 or 309), the next step is to apply for the permanent Partner Visa (Subclass 801 or 100). After about 2 years, you’ll be assessed for permanent residency. During this time, you need to prove that your relationship is still genuine and ongoing.

Informing smokers of the risks had only a mild impact on smoking rates. Even after the Surgeon General’s landmark 1964 report of the dangers, U.S. tobacco sales continued to climb until 1980. In taming habits, knowledge is just not a powerful lever. Willpower also isn’t much help—not when stacked up against nicotine. The Centers for Disease Control report that 68 percent of smokers say they want to quit completely. However, each individual attempt usually fails. Only about one in ten actually stop smoking for good. Most end up relapsing, typically within a week. The conflict between habit (smoke here) and conscious awareness (it’s now illegal) should decrease over time. As people repeatedly comply with a prohibition, their habits become linked to new places, ones where they now repeatedly smoke. Thus, in Lewin’s famous equation, behavior is a function of the person and the context/environment.

He wouldn't ever be safe, even if he complied, he could still be harmed in some way; call it an accident, call it"what did he do to deserve it?" call it he should've stopped sooner and faster and laid flatter on the ground, call it Rasheed's legacy, call it a few "bad apples," God-fucking-damn it, the inconvenience of somehow getting the bad one every fucking time, the inconvenience of losing your life, the lack of luxury to test each apple for the gun-toting worm.