Tea, chocolate & books

...makes my world go around....
Slightly immature chocoholic with too many teapots and books all over. I indulge daily in scifi, fantasy & fanfic.
This blog contains Glee, Teen Wolf, Doctor Who and chocolate in heavy doses.

Did you know that, no matter the evidence, if a jury feels a law is unjust, it is permitted to “nullify” the law rather than finding someone guilty? Basically, jury nullification is a jury’s way of saying, “By the letter of the law, the defendant is guilty, but we also disagree with that law, so we vote to not punish the accused.” Ultimately, the verdict serves as an acquittal.

Haven’t heard of jury nullification? Don’t feel bad; you’re far from alone. If anything, your unfamiliarity is by design. Generally, defense lawyers are not allowed to even mention jury nullification as a possibility during a trial because judges prefer juries to follow the general protocols rather than delivering independent verdicts.

Surprisingly, the Supreme Court has routinely agreed that judges have no obligation to inform juries about jury nullification. Paradoxically, jury nullification is permitted to exist as an option to all juries, yet this option cannot be discussed in most courtrooms.
[…]
Jury nullification is undoubtedly feared because of its ability to upset the system. A jury that considers drug laws to be outrageous can nullify. A jury that is aware of the mass inequality in incarceration rates and believes a defendant was targeted via racial profiling can nullify. A jury that believes a harmless defendant is a victim of the prison industrial complex rather than a perpetrator can nullify. This counter-verdict exists so that citizens can right the wrongs inherent in our supposed “justice” system.

Of course, as the New York Times points out, jury nullification hasn’t always been used to “do good.” Historically, racist southern juries have nullified cases involving hate crimes and overly optimistic juries have nullified instances of police brutality, unwilling to fault police officers. However, if you agree that an informed jury can produce the correct verdict, nullification remains a valuable tool in the pursuit of justice.

freemarissanow:

Today in Free Marissa Alexander news, hundreds converged at the Duval County Courthouse in Jacksonville, FL demanding that the State of Florida Free Marissa Alexander right now with no delay!!

Great news coverage HERE.  Learn more about Standing Our Ground Week of Action events happening until Friday, August 1st HERE.

DONATE to the Marissa Alexander Legal Defense Fund HERE!

(via deliriumbubbles)

happysterekthoughts:


I hope you don’t mind that I ficced all over your art. O.O

"Are you fucking kidding me right now Derek?” Stiles yells, voice reaching the point where it starts to go pitchy. The tension is high and thick and buzzing in the air, accumulated from the past half hour of fighting with only their words for weapons. 
Which between them is much sharper than tooth or claw anyway. 
"There was something off about him,” Derek tells him resolutely, arms crossed firmly over his chest. He’s a bit louder than usual, but he’s nowhere near as animated in his anger as Stiles. Not that that’s a difficult feat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Stiles lets out a wordless little screech, so frustrated that he’s having trouble forming actual syllables instead of angry, animal sounds. “Dude, I want you to apologize! He was the first fucking normal person I’ve met since I was sixteen years old! And you just—you pissed all over it!” 
"You want normal Stiles? The door is right fucking there," Derek replies, jaw clenched and hand gesturing to the loft’s exit. "No one is forcing you to be here. No one has ever forced you to be here.” 
Stiles goes still at the words. His whole body seems to relax, even the little tick in his jaw. He stares hard at Derek’s face, eyes flicking from left to right as he examines him. Picks him apart. Takes him in.
A humorless laugh falls from his slack mouth. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he says finally, turning with a shake of his head and slamming the door behind him. 
Derek feels the fight leave his body in a rush, like a dam finally crumbling under the weight of rough and angry waters. He scrubs a hand down his face.
He hadn’t meant to ruin Stiles’ date. He’s just so…stupidly in love with the kid. And the jealousy went howling viciously through his veins and clouded his head like thick, hot smoke and he’d just—
The pitter-patter of gentle rain against his window suddenly becomes a roar as the sky cracks open and pours down on the city. 
And Stiles doesn’t have his Jeep with him. 
Derek follows the path the boy took out of the building, takes the steps two at a time to gain a little time, plunges into the cold rain like ripping off a band aid. A little ways in front of him, Stiles’ red over shirt, obscured a little by the downpour, is trudging forward. 
"Stiles!" Derek yells over water pelting the pavement with a sound like displaced static. "Stiles!"
"What?!" Stiles snaps, body whipping around to face him. "What do want Derek?!"
They’re standing so much closer than they had been, emotions crackling like electricity between them. “I don’t—”
"I can’t keep doing this,” Stiles cuts him off, motioning wildly to the space between them. 
"What’s ‘this’?" he asks, voice soft and even against Stiles’ rough and warbling. 
"This thing where I’m…completely in love with you and you refuse to let me move on!”
Derek’s caught a little breathless, eyes focusing on the slick pink of Stiles’s lips, on the droplets that pool in his philtrum, collecting in the bow of his upper lip. 
"You want to move on?" 
"Of course I do Derek! This unrequited thing is bullshit!”
"I love you too."
"It’s not cute! It hurts and it just keeps hurting no matter how m—"
But Derek drinks the rest of his words right out of Stiles’ mouth, lips colliding with his and arms snaking around his waist like he’s trying to meld them into one being. 
Stiles tries to finish his sentence at first, words muffled and unintelligible, before his body catches up with Derek’s. He pulls back just enough to get his arms up and around Derek’s neck, suddenly returning the kiss with hard ferocity. Devouring it. Swallowing it down. His body is cold and wet but Derek’s mouths is hot, and his hand is curled in the fabric at Derek’s shoulder, and the werewolf’s tongue is fucking Stiles’ mouth, and his hand comes up from the boys back to cradle the base of his skull, and it’s…it’s not perfect. 
But somehow it is. 
Between kisses, Stiles tells Derek, “I don’t want normal.”
And Derek replies, “I don’t want anybody but you.”

happysterekthoughts:

I hope you don’t mind that I ficced all over your art. O.O

"Are you fucking kidding me right now Derek?” Stiles yells, voice reaching the point where it starts to go pitchy. The tension is high and thick and buzzing in the air, accumulated from the past half hour of fighting with only their words for weapons. 

Which between them is much sharper than tooth or claw anyway. 

"There was something off about him,” Derek tells him resolutely, arms crossed firmly over his chest. He’s a bit louder than usual, but he’s nowhere near as animated in his anger as Stiles. Not that that’s a difficult feat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Stiles lets out a wordless little screech, so frustrated that he’s having trouble forming actual syllables instead of angry, animal sounds. “Dude, I want you to apologize! He was the first fucking normal person I’ve met since I was sixteen years old! And you just—you pissed all over it!” 

"You want normal Stiles? The door is right fucking there," Derek replies, jaw clenched and hand gesturing to the loft’s exit. "No one is forcing you to be here. No one has ever forced you to be here.” 

Stiles goes still at the words. His whole body seems to relax, even the little tick in his jaw. He stares hard at Derek’s face, eyes flicking from left to right as he examines him. Picks him apart. Takes him in.

A humorless laugh falls from his slack mouth. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he says finally, turning with a shake of his head and slamming the door behind him. 

Derek feels the fight leave his body in a rush, like a dam finally crumbling under the weight of rough and angry waters. He scrubs a hand down his face.

He hadn’t meant to ruin Stiles’ date. He’s just so…stupidly in love with the kid. And the jealousy went howling viciously through his veins and clouded his head like thick, hot smoke and he’d just—

The pitter-patter of gentle rain against his window suddenly becomes a roar as the sky cracks open and pours down on the city. 

And Stiles doesn’t have his Jeep with him. 

Derek follows the path the boy took out of the building, takes the steps two at a time to gain a little time, plunges into the cold rain like ripping off a band aid. A little ways in front of him, Stiles’ red over shirt, obscured a little by the downpour, is trudging forward. 

"Stiles!" Derek yells over water pelting the pavement with a sound like displaced static. "Stiles!"

"What?!" Stiles snaps, body whipping around to face him. "What do want Derek?!"

They’re standing so much closer than they had been, emotions crackling like electricity between them. “I don’t—”

"I can’t keep doing this,” Stiles cuts him off, motioning wildly to the space between them. 

"What’s ‘this’?" he asks, voice soft and even against Stiles’ rough and warbling. 

"This thing where I’m…completely in love with you and you refuse to let me move on!”

Derek’s caught a little breathless, eyes focusing on the slick pink of Stiles’s lips, on the droplets that pool in his philtrum, collecting in the bow of his upper lip. 

"You want to move on?" 

"Of course I do Derek! This unrequited thing is bullshit!”

"I love you too."

"It’s not cute! It hurts and it just keeps hurting no matter how m—"

But Derek drinks the rest of his words right out of Stiles’ mouth, lips colliding with his and arms snaking around his waist like he’s trying to meld them into one being. 

Stiles tries to finish his sentence at first, words muffled and unintelligible, before his body catches up with Derek’s. He pulls back just enough to get his arms up and around Derek’s neck, suddenly returning the kiss with hard ferocity. Devouring it. Swallowing it down. His body is cold and wet but Derek’s mouths is hot, and his hand is curled in the fabric at Derek’s shoulder, and the werewolf’s tongue is fucking Stiles’ mouth, and his hand comes up from the boys back to cradle the base of his skull, and it’s…it’s not perfect. 

But somehow it is. 

Between kisses, Stiles tells Derek, “I don’t want normal.”

And Derek replies, “I don’t want anybody but you.”

(Source: streamgiraph, via spookybibi)

And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to say a few words about escapism. I hear the term bandied about as if it’s a bad thing. As if “escapist” fiction is a cheap opiate used by the muddled and the foolish and the deluded, and the only fiction that is worthy, for adults or for children, is mimetic fiction, mirroring the worst of the world the reader finds herself in.

If you were trapped in an impossible situation, in an unpleasant place, with people who meant you ill, and someone offered you a temporary escape, why wouldn’t you take it? And escapist fiction is just that: fiction that opens a door, shows the sunlight outside, gives you a place to go where you are in control, are with people you want to be with(and books are real places, make no mistake about that); and more importantly, during your escape, books can also give you knowledge about the world and your predicament, give you weapons, give you armour: real things you can take back into your prison. Skills and knowledge and tools you can use to escape for real.

As JRR Tolkien reminded us, the only people who inveigh against escape are jailers.

—Neil Gaiman, from theguardian.com (via thensiur)

(via lovejoybliss)

I have to leave for work in 20 minutes - if I want to be on time that is. Considering that I will have absolutely nothing to do for the first hour, I’m sure you can guess my level of wanting to be on time.

Oh, the motivation…

*sigh*

sassy-gay-justice:

witchlingfumbles:

allthingshyper:

shadowstep-of-bast:

hate-my-human:

secretcallgirl:

kokilax:

randomizeyourmind:

Rape has become endemic in South Africa, so a medical technician named Sonette Ehlers developed a product that immediately gathered national attention there. Ehlers had never forgotten a rape victim telling her forlornly, “If only I had teeth down there.”
Some time afterward, a man came into the hospital where Ehlers works in excruciating pain because his penis was stuck in his pants zipper.
Ehlers merged those images and came up with a product she called Rapex. It resembles a tube, with barbs inside. The woman inserts it like a tampon, with an applicator, and any man who tries to rape the woman impales himself on the barbs and must go to an emergency room to have the Rapex removed.
When critics complained that it was a medieval punishment, Ehlers replied tersely, “A medieval device for a medieval deed.” 
- Half the Sky, Nicholas Kristof

REBLOGGING THIS. x1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000

A medieval device for a medieval deed - yes.

This is perfect

BLESS THIS PERSON

I BOW TO THIS INTENTION

Can we talk about how beautifully this turns rape culture on its head? Instead of “If they weren’t dressed like that they wouldn’t have been raped” THIS IS LITERALLY “IF THEY HADN’T TRIED TO RAPE SOMEONE THEY  WOULDN’T HAVE SPIKES IN THEIR DICK”*

That bold bit~

sassy-gay-justice:

witchlingfumbles:

allthingshyper:

shadowstep-of-bast:

hate-my-human:

secretcallgirl:

kokilax:

randomizeyourmind:

Rape has become endemic in South Africa, so a medical technician named Sonette Ehlers developed a product that immediately gathered national attention there. Ehlers had never forgotten a rape victim telling her forlornly, “If only I had teeth down there.

Some time afterward, a man came into the hospital where Ehlers works in excruciating pain because his penis was stuck in his pants zipper.

Ehlers merged those images and came up with a product she called Rapex. It resembles a tube, with barbs inside. The woman inserts it like a tampon, with an applicator, and any man who tries to rape the woman impales himself on the barbs and must go to an emergency room to have the Rapex removed.

When critics complained that it was a medieval punishment, Ehlers replied tersely, “A medieval device for a medieval deed.” 

- Half the Sky, Nicholas Kristof

REBLOGGING THIS. x1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000

A medieval device for a medieval deed - yes.

This is perfect

BLESS THIS PERSON

I BOW TO THIS INTENTION

Can we talk about how beautifully this turns rape culture on its head? Instead of “If they weren’t dressed like that they wouldn’t have been raped” THIS IS LITERALLY “IF THEY HADN’T TRIED TO RAPE SOMEONE THEY  WOULDN’T HAVE SPIKES IN THEIR DICK”*

That bold bit~

(via supergreak)

waxjism:

"I spent like 10 years of my life pretending to fly around on a broomstick and you’re asking me if preparing for a love scene was ‘tricky’ because the other person also had a penis?"

(Source: badkryptonian, via deliriumbubbles)

kushnkabbage:

haleighbaleighbee:

fashioninfographics:

How many times can you wear it between washes?
Via

Huh. I think this is the most important thing I’ve ever reblogged.


But nothing

Knitted sweaters should also be aired regularly - proper airing can easily double the wear-times. (Also, while I’m at it, always store knitted garments flat, not hanging.)

kushnkabbage:

haleighbaleighbee:

fashioninfographics:

How many times can you wear it between washes?

Via

Huh. I think this is the most important thing I’ve ever reblogged.

But nothing

Knitted sweaters should also be aired regularly - proper airing can easily double the wear-times. (Also, while I’m at it, always store knitted garments flat, not hanging.)

(via deliriumbubbles)

Potter has done too much for me for me to ever want to shit all over it. I’m never going to say: ‘Don’t ask me questions about that’. I remember reading an interview with Robert Smith from The Cure. Somebody said to him: ‘Why do you still wear all that makeup, don’t you feel a bit past it?’ And he said: ‘There are still 14-year-olds coming to see The Cure for the first time, dressed like that. I’d never want to make them feel silly.’ It’s a similar thing with Potter. People are still discovering those books and films. It would be awful for them to find out the people involved had turned their backs on it. Though sometimes, people do come up and say ‘I loved you in The Woman in Black,’ which is really sweet. That’s them knowing that it matters to me that I’ve done other stuff.

—Daniel Radcliffe for London Magazine (x)

(Source: potterbird, via afleshjackforblainecharitydrive)