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marlsbys-dragons · 1 year

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I’m so scared right now.

I’m writing this not for any grand statement or call to action or anything, but because it’s safer for me to express my thoughts here than elsewhere right now.

If this goes like my other original posts, chances are no one will see this. That is ok. I might prefer it, actually. Though if you do happen to see this, please don’t take that to mean I don’t want interaction. This is a time to pull together, and that can most easily be done, in my opinion, by talking.

Like most of the people I figure are likely to see this, I am a queer American. If you are part of this group, chances are pretty good you know what I’m talking about. Earlier today, March 27th 2023 as of writing, there was a mass shooting at The Covenant School in Nashville Tennessee. Six were killed, three children, all age nine, and three adults, all aged between 60-61. The perpetrator was one Aiden Hale, 28, killed by police during a gunfight after their arrival on-scene approximately 14 minutes after 911 was called.

If you are surprised by that name, so was I. Hale is being reported on mainly by the name Audrey Hale, his legal name, as according to a family member who asked to remain anonymous, he had only recently started identifying as transgender and using he/him pronouns. Despite this, almost all of the quotes featured in stories that I could find use she/her pronouns, and many stories refer to him as either a transgender woman or a female. The latter is inaccurate, the former strikes me as dangerously wrong.

Now, all of that is tragic backstory for the main point of this post. Some ungracious among you may attribute me lingering on the gender identity of the murder as opposed to his crimes as some sort of deflection, or worse, sign of respect. To any hypothetical people doing so, this is not for you. This person was clearly deeply mentally unwell, and if he had survived I would’ve been advocating life in prison.

However, while my heart goes out to the families of this senseless act, my mind turns to my own family. Not just my literal family who I live with, but my queer family, specifically my trans siblings across the US. We are already facing violence, oppression, and open criminalization to a degree not seen in my admittedly brief lifetime. Republicans and other right-wing actors are doing everything they can to instill baseless fear and hatred into our fellow Americans, forcing through bills that restrict our liberties and violate our human rights.

The easiest targets for this hatred are trans women, aided by the overwhelmingly male statistics of sexual violence, and long-running and unfounded rumors seeded by transphobes and TERFs regarding alleged assaults and sexual motives for transition. After trans women come trans children, targeted for the same reasons children always are: dismissal by adults at large and a subsequent inability to speak to their own defense. And the bills are getting worse. To share a personal detail I don’t like to publicize, I am a parent of two, and there are bills in state legislatures across the country, Florida comes to mind, that could take my children away from me and throw me in jail for supporting them. A seemingly logical progression, which may have already been taken without my knowledge, is criminalizing trans people who live with children, something I have had nightmares about.

Why I am afraid is relatively simple, but to fully explain my reasons I want to share some further information: according to the Daily Mail, this shooting is is the 129th in the States this year. According to some very rough math I did on gunviolencearchive.org, a site whose list for 2023 has already reached 6 pages, this is in fact the 130th. Personally I would trust the Daily Mail’s number more. Also according to some quick finger counting on gunviolencearchive.org, we surpassed 100 mass shootings sometime on March 5th, a day with 4 separate incidents and a combined total of 3 dead, 13 injured. This is nearly two weeks earlier in the year than 2022 or 2021, and more than two months earlier than 2018-2020. I could not stomach looking farther.

Some of you may have realized the awful truth about these numbers: in each of the last three years, we in the United States have had more than one mass shooting a day. Again per gunviolencearchive.org, that is a feat replicated by both 2020 and 2019, as well as 2016, the only other year to do so after their archival began in 2014.

As a trans person in America, who loves a trans person in America, who has trans friends across America, who has already had to start laying plans to flee the state I was raised in if it continues its present course, who sees nothing but fear in the future of so much of my family, I can only think that this will lead to bad things.

The twisting and slanting has already begun. An article on Fox News refers to Hall as a transgender woman, despite his actual identity being a transgender man, and the usual bias of that company to call him a woman. Meanwhile, the New York post has an article focusing heavily on Covenant’s status as a Christian school.

Our enemies despise us with a visceral and blinding rage. They have proven time and time again that facts, logic, reason, human lives, mean nothing in their pursuit of a radicalized right-wing populist agenda and the power they think it promises. And now this? The all-too-real intersection of two of the biggest issues in US politics today: gun violence and transness. One which the right led to through inaction, and the other they manufactured out of hate.

I am no pundit, no scholar or insider. I cannot claim to forecast the future happenings of American politics with anything more than a layman’s weary eye. But I am a trans American, and despite everything I still want to be proud of this country, and I could see no resolution in sight to either gun violence or anti-trans legislating, only escalation, and now the two have merged. What will happen to us now? Sources:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/nashville-covenant-school-shooting-suspect-identified-as-audrey-hale

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/nashville-christian-school-shooter-appears-former-student-police-chief-rcna76876

https://www.newschannel5.com/news/what-we-know-about-the-covenant-school-shooter-in-nashville

https://www.foxnews.com/us/nashville-shooter-audrey-hale-transgender-woman-opened-fire-covenant-school

https://nypost.com/2023/03/27/nashville-school-shooter-audrey-hale-identified-as-transgender-and-had-detailed-manifesto-to-attack-christian-academy/

https://www.cnn.com/us/live-news/nashville-shooting-covenant-school-03-27-23/index.html

https://www.gunviolencearchive.org/reports/mass-shooting

https://www.gunviolencearchive.org/past-tolls

https://www.cnn.com/2023/03/06/politics/america-mass-shootings-2023-gun-violence/index.html

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-11907933/Nashville-school-shooting-Americas-129th-mass-shooting-2023.html

https://www.them.us/story/florida-bill-trans-kids-supportive-parents

Note: I wrote this in a hurry, with no real plan, and no proof-reading. If there is anything erroneous, please let me know. I apologize if it’s a bit disjointed.

#politics #us politics #gun violence #mass shooting #school shooting #transphobia mention #implied homophobia #queer politics #mass shooter #mass shooters #death #violence #lgbtqia+ politics #gun control

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sylvain-writes · 3 years

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Guarded Hearts and Safe Houses (Leonardo x Reader) Chapter 7/9

Rated: T

Gender Neutral Reader, canon typical violence/injury, light angst, strangers to lovers, supportive family.

for @melodiousmelodrama

The blood drains from your face. You feel light-headed and unsteady on your feet. “Are my… are my…”

Donnie’s eyes lock on yours. “Raph’s there with Mikey. Everyone’s OK,” he says, but it brings little relief. “Your parents were at a charity function for the hospital.”

“And Gram?” Your throat’s gone so dry, you can barely get the question out.

“At the neighbors’.”

A shaky breath passes through your lips as you wrap your arms around yourself.

Leo stalks the mat as he thinks aloud. “This was a targeted attack. Their numbers might not be what we projected. But they didn’t get what they came for - hostages or us. They’ll be back. We have to get the humans to a secure location.”

Your thoughts extend beyond the safety of your family. “You have to protect the apartment building.”

“Yes.” Leo gives a sharp nod. “We have to defend the city. They’ll strike the building again. We can set up a base of operations somewhere close. Keep a lookout.” He whips out his phone and calls his brothers. “Mikey, sweep the area for somewhere to set up a base. Prepare for another attack.”

Mikey’s voice carries over the speaker. “You got it, bro.”

“Donnie,” Leo commands, “get us ready to move out. Whatever we need. Devices to track their signature, that new bo you’ve been working on. Anything else you got that might help against these guys. We’ve never been up against something like this before. We’re gonna need every advantage we can get.”

“The new weapons? But I thought you said...” Donatello rises to his full height at his brother’s nod of approval. “Of course, Leo. It’d be my honor to supply the team with new hardware. To be used in tandem with our traditional weapons, of course.”

Leo urges him, “Go!” and Donnie heads out at a sprint.

When Leo turns to you, you’re having trouble catching your breath. Tears cloud your vision and the lump in your throat makes it hard to speak.

“This is my fault,” Leo says by way of apology. “I shouldn’t have let my feelings distract me. Your family should have never been in danger.”

You understand now. How being a distraction to him is dangerous. The world depends on him. Tending to you, indulging you, led to this.

You believed his fears and insecurity about being vulnerable, showing weakness, were baseless. But leaving the city open to attack, leaving your family at risk… it isn’t worth whatever feelings stir in your chest when you think of him.

You’d rather have him and everyone else safe, than to be selfish. This isn’t him choosing to ignore you, this is him choosing to save the world.

When you return to your family home, Leo kneels before your parents and Gram. “I have dishonored you, failed you. I know my words are not enough, but I hope you will allow me to defend you and your home. I will not fail you again. On my honor. On my life.”

Your father, filled with fear, sputters before leaving the room. You know him, he doesn’t put the blame on the turtles, not really. But he doesn’t have anywhere else to direct his feelings of anger, fear, and confusion. Not yet.

Leo appeals to the women as they remain. “I allowed my mind to be clouded by distraction. It will not happen again. I devote my life to ninja and to your protection.”

His apologies hurt more than you thought they would, know you’re the distraction of which he speaks. Though you came to that same conclusion less than an hour ago, hearing it from his lips ties your stomach in knots.

“It’s time for you to go,” you find yourself saying. “You being here puts a bigger target on us, doesn’t it?”

Leo nods and stands.

“Then, go save the city, Leo. We won’t stand in your way as distractions anymore.”

Leo’s face twists in pain before his emotions slip behind the wall he builds so well. He heads for the window and you close it behind him with more force than necessary.

Once he’s gone, you try not to think of him. Your family needs you. They’re shaken and confused. And you don’t have all of the answers, but you have faith in the brothers. You have to believe they can fight this threat to the city. You have to believe they can win.

The Krang don’t attack again that day. Or that week. And a lookout returns to the roof. But it’s Leo and you won’t go up there. You don’t want to talk to him and it’s clear he doesn’t want you around.

But being in the apartment, unable to spend time on your rooftop escape, is making you stir crazy. You do get little drop ins from the other guys, sometimes right before their patrol.

Raphael will stop in to see Gram, ask about a new stitch he’s working on for his latest yarn project - a blanket for Mikey. A birthday present the young turtle isn’t supposed to know about.

Donatello dropped in to give you a secure phone so you could contact them in case of an emergency. “Or, you know, if you ever just want to talk about life, the universe, and everything.”

Mikey leaves you horoscopes, but it’s bittersweet. He doesn’t stick around to explain what he thinks they mean.

You convince yourself you’ve gotten over Leo, that the reason you spend more time looking at his horoscope than the others is because he’s the one perched on your roof and if the horoscope is predicting bad news for him then that translates into bad news for you, for your family, for your building. And you need to be prepared. You are absolutely not looking for any clues in regard to his feelings for you, any clues as to when you can expect him to knock on the window and apologize for pushing you away. When you can expect him to announce he’s come up with a way for you to be a boon to their cause instead of the distraction he’s determined you to be.

When the Krang launches an attack on Times Square, it’s all over the news. People are frantic. The city is in chaos. And you don’t know what to do. There’s no way off the island - and though you’d like your family to get to New Jersey, to get somewhere safely out of the way, you don’t even think of leaving yourself.

You and Leo haven't spoken to each other in over a week and you have no idea how he’s been handling everything. The guys haven’t given many clues. Mikey’s horoscopes are too vague to understand without his interpretations.

You know Leo holds so much inside, not wanting to burden his brothers with more than what he thinks they can handle. Why doesn’t he realize that if he trusted other people to share the burden, it’d be easier for everyone to carry? His brothers wouldn’t be as worried about him and all four of them would be better prepared to handle whatever dangers are to come.

You kiss your parents and Gram goodbye and head south toward Times Square. They know where you’re going. They don’t try to stop you. Mother straps a pack full of medical supplies to your back and squishes your face before you go. “I would be right beside you,” she says, then casts a meaningful look at Gram and Father.

The city is madness. The streets, which you thought would be teeming with people running for cover, are empty. Everyone who could find shelter has found it. Those who couldn't, well, they don't need shelter anymore.

You charge through the streets on foot, sure the subways are out of order. There are no cabs to take you, no clear streets to drive through even if there was a vehicle to drive.

You duck behind an abandoned news stand as a disembodied brain alien floats past. You peek through the rows of magazines to see it's not the only one. There must be a dozen krang moving down the streets. They don't seem to be looking for anything, led by an unseen force.

You startle when you feel a large, cool hand close over your mouth and nose. "Don' scream, a’right?" You'd recognize Raph's voice anywhere.

The tension in your shoulders eases up, but only a little.

"Your supposed t’ be hitchin’ a ride with Don. Gettin' the hell outta here with Gram and ya parents."

You pry Raph's hand from your face and gasp for air. The dude really doesn't realize just how massive his hand is. "I'm not leaving. I can help."

You notice the gash on his arm, and without hesitation, you swing your backpack off of one shoulder and around to your chest. It takes only a few seconds for you to fish out antiseptic spray and a roll of gauze. You patch him up efficiently. And Rapahel grunts. It's about as much thanks as you could hope to get while he's focused on the fight.

"Told you. I can help. Get back out there. Is anyone else hurt?"

"Bout a few thousand New Yorkers." Raph’s brow furrows and his eyes look haunted. It only lasts a moment before he shakes his head and shifts his frown to a grimace. “These slimeballs fucked with the wrong city.”

You look around at the First Responders on the scene. "What about your brothers?"

"Why dontcha ask 'em yourself?" he asks as he scans the area for any sign of those things .

You grab the secure cell from your pocket and dial the open line to the turtles. "Mikey. You alright?"

"Hey! What's shakin'?" Mikey’s greeting is casual and bright, even amid bedlam.

"You sound winded."

"I'm kinda in the middle of something,” he explains, and you can hear the thuds and shuffling of a brawl. “Can I call you back? Later? Oof. A lot later? Yow! That's my good side, dude!"

In spite of everything, he manages to make you smile. "Where's Leo?"

A gruff voice joins the line. Deep and calm. “I’m right here.” Mikey’s channel cuts out and the background falls silent. Leo has found somewhere quiet to talk. "Where are you?"

Raph leans toward the phone to answer for you. "Wit me."

There’s shock in his voice, confusion and concern. "You're supposed to be with Donnie."

"Well, I'm-"

"Helpin', alright?” Raphael defends. “Got a little banged up over here. Glad I had someone on my side t' patch me up.”

You smile at him and he shoves your shoulder a bit before smiling back. And you were wrong, your first impression of him… that his snarl couldn't be improved by a smile, because when Raph smiles it really does light up his face. Softens his edges.

It's like the rare occasion when Mikey lets himself get lost monologuing about his interests - before he catches himself and hopes that you aren't upset by his enthusiasm.

You've only seen Donnie smile like that once. Carefree.

But you've never seen Leo wear a carefree smile. Not ever. Maybe something tight lipped. Or something fond. Sad. Leo’s smiles hold secrets and burdens. His shoulders hold responsibility. There isn't a carefree bone in his body. He holds the weight of the world on his shell. And try as he might to hide the toll it takes on him, his brothers can see he can’t do it alone.

"Fine,” Leo concedes. “Stay with Raph."

"We're comin' to you, brutha."

"Wait where you are- No!" There's a thud and a gasp and Leo gives a shout of pain before the line goes dead.

#tmnt x reader #leonardo x reader #leo x reader #gender neutral reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #my writing #guarded hearts and safe houses fic

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homestuck-kinstuff · 4 years

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Hello I was wondering if I could get a tarot reading for my John timeline? Thanks

Hello John,

Absolutely, it's a genuine pleasure to see your name in our inbox. I hope everything is going well for you. 💜

Pleasantries aside, I have the details of your reading below the cut:

Beginning

The Sun, Reversed

The Sun, your Radiance and Joy, was often shaded or hidden from view. You were unhappy as a child, finding it hard or nigh impossible to see the good that was right in front of you.

This is not to say that you weren't looking. It's likely you didn't ignore this happiness. Rather, you were simply unable to see it. It's possible you suffered from depression early on.

The Fool, Upright

The fool, by nature, is the embodiment of naiveté. A complete blank slate, with all the innocence and blithe enthusiasm of a child.

New journeys are indicated by this card-- and the Fool is brimming with excitement for the road ahead. The Fool, being what he is, knows nothing of the dangers that may befall him, and so he stumbles forward with blind optimism.

If this is a game universe, I would say this card represents your excitement preceding, and then your unknowing entry into it.

Middle

Knight of Swords, Upright

This card represents a person who is filled up and absolutely carried away with an idea. Filled with this vision, this person propels themselves forward with unbridled ambition.

Though we admire the knight's energy and dedication, we should be warned that their quick action may not be well thought through, and unforeseen obstacles and consequences may lay waiting.

Strict meaning of the card aside, my intuition tells me this card may represent your timeline's Dave. However, you would know better than I. If that doesn't feel right, I recommend taking a quick look at the meaning to this card. Another facet of it's identity may align better with what you remember of your timeline.

2 of Cups, Reversed

The communication in what was once a strong partnership has broken down. There is an imbalance, or tension in this relationship where once there was total unity, balance, and respect.

It's difficult to find equal footing with them, to get back on the same page.

Something shook your relationship with the person above. Usually thick as thieves, you're now suffering greatly.

If we assume the card above represents Dave, you may not have known what led up to this breakdown in communication. Dave likely pretended everything was fine, or ignored the issue entirely until he wasn't able to anymore.

It may have seemed like he became suddenly hostile out of nowhere, and you likely had no idea what it was you had or hadn't done, and were therefore unable to make amends.

This is entirely speculation, however. You would know better than I.

Towards Your End

Queen of Wands, Upright

This card represents a feminine figure in your life who is fiery, determined, and strong. They are a natural leader, who's courage in the face of adversity is an inspiration to everyone around them.

This person likely helped you a lot in this point in your life. They may have pushed you in the right direction, had a shoulder and open ear, or offered a sturdy support when you needed it most.

4 of Pentacles, Reversed

Conservatism can be beneficial, but not like this. Your fear of loss could easily tip the scales from practical collection, into obsessive hoarding. Particularly of material or worldly things.

Why do you feel you need such strict control, John?

If this is a game timeline, I'd wager the objects hoarded were some kind of game construct. Grist, or treasure, or weapons. Something of that nature.

Regardless, greediness and possessiveness are big themes here.

You

Knight of Cups, Upright:

The knight of cups is a man who is in touch with his emotions and intuition, and can then channel those things into action.

You feel deeply, and trust your instincts when making decisions. You may be the sort who is inclined to trust these intuitions more than hard fact, but it's also likely you value the opinions of those you're close to, almost to a fault.

Challenges

The Devil, Upright:

If ever there was a card to represent the finicky concept of evil, The Devil would come the closest.

This card represents the fears, obsessions, and insecurities that hold humanity back from their potential, making them slaves to their own shadows.

If this is a game timeline, I get the impression this card represents some kind of world-shattering boss type, an entity you likely could not defeat on your own. My intuition strongly suggests this card represents Lord English.

In a non-game timeline, this card could embody any fear, obsession, or insecurity that can consume a life and turn it upside down. A good example would be drug addiction.

How you Faced them

Justice, Upright:

Justice indicates the very cusp of rebirth. But to achieve this rebirth, a self reflection is needed. The answers you find will be critical in facing these challenges.

Intuition states this alludes to the retcon device, and the strange, backtracking, canon-altering shenanigans you had to partake in, but I am not at all certain. I do, however, feel fairly certain about one fact, no matter how baseless it may be.

In the end, you dispensed Justice. It may not have been quick, it may not have been clean, but it was done.

The End

Ace of Swords, Upright:

This is a powerful card. It holds the potential for immense power and almost assured success.

But you should also be warned of it's double-edged nature. This power can be used to shelter and protect, or cut down for ruthless self gain.

If this is a game timeline, the retcon device may have been compromised, and used to bring about your end. It's also possible when using the device, it took you out alongside your intended target.

In a non game timeline, you may have found yourself in a position of power, where many possibilities opened themselves to you. This could have lead to your downfall, either by corrupting you, or drawing the corrupted to you: bringing about your end.

Advice

Knight of Wands, Upright:

This card represents a "Man of Action." This individual embodies the passionate pursuit of a vision. Because this person is very focused on action, they may also err on the side of impulsiveness, or become unrealistic or brash.

As someone who is in touch with your emotions, if you feel very strongly about something, it can become all-consuming. It may be hard for you to see outside of this goal. This ideal may have been held in your mind for so long, you no longer see it as separate. After all this time, however, this concept may no longer be accurate.

It's time to let go a little. Allow yourself to enjoy little things again. Pointless, childish things. Allow yourself to be silly. Don't destroy yourself to accomplish a goal, no matter how passionate you may be. Silliness can sometimes be even more important.

Temperance, Upright:

It's time to bring some balance back into your life. You've been living in excess, living in extremes, living from one mad thing to the next.

It's time to walk the middle road, and regain your sense of calm. Strike a balance between work and home, spirit and body, friends and the passionate pursuit of an enemy.

Loosen your grip on what is tight in your fist. Curl your hands on what may be slipping through your fingers. Breathe John, breathe.

The Magician, Reversed:

The Magician is the representation of pure willpower, the manifestation of the ancient phrase, "as above, so below." The magician takes all that is available to them and molds it to their will.

Reversed as they are, you may be using these gifts of creation selfishly, or you might be getting further and further from the truth.

Either way, some self reflection may be needed. You should take some time to reevaluate what guides you, your actions, and your personal truth. It is always good to know oneself and what drives you. It can be your most powerful asset.

Thank you for sticking with me, I hope this was illuminating. Do let us know if there's anything else we can do to lend a hand.💜

Kind Regards,

🌹Mod Rose🌹

#homestuck kin #homestuck #hs kin #anon #kin #anonymous #hskin #hs kin blog #mod rose #tarot reading #tarot #tarot card readings #john kin #john egbert #john egbert kin #john homestuck

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inventors-fair · 4 years

Photo

Fanwalker Notes, pt. 4 ~

@partytimesdeluxe — Zyshi, Songseeker

Looking at the SOI Sorin, I wouldn’t say that you have to Confidant the top card for that first one. Heck, you can even make it do damage! That’s where my only real major qualm with this card is, because for three colors you can push a little bit. My second one is more pondering, and it’s about the flavor of this card. On Tarkir, with (presumably) the Mardu, I can see where that last ability comes in for combat, but in general, I wish there was a little more warrior spirit in this card, y’know? What does songseeking look like on a card? What kind of bardic bloodlust are we spreading here? I’d lean into looking for what music looks like on RWB cards and implementing that into her abilities.

@quirkyotter — Eos Adraxus, Armorsmith

Elemental artifact? I would expect a Construct, and I would expect that it has a color. I do like how it gives things improvise, even if the artifacts that it creates have the tendency to blow up. They feel like jittery defenders, and I think that that’s okay. I also appreciate how you made it a rare with the static and two abilities, and that’s what those kinds of cards were made for. Might want to revise that last ability, though: “Artifacts you control are have indestructible.”

@rhys-the-redeemable — Ferox Ira

I think it’s up for discussion whether or not those first two abilities are in the RB color pie. The first one not being a “may” ability really feels volatile and might even discourage you from playing creature spells. Honestly, that second ability? I like it, and I’m pretty sure that it’s in pie. I’m also getting that Ixalan pirate vibe, but I’m not exactly sure what kind of character Ferox is to force your own things to fight. That kind of downside doesn’t really make me want to play the card right now. The emblem is probably fine, though - after you switch first strike and menace around. Keywords got order!

@sorustyitshines — Marric of the Northern Tradewinds

And another pirate! The second ability should have “You may” before all the other things. And man... Having the ability to have a pseudo-Insurrection on turn six might be a little too powerful considering that Marric creates a blocker each turn. And it’s permanent? Whoof. In terms of flavor, yeah, this is honestly probably one of the best pirate planeswalkers that we have here and I’m definitely for it. The card itself needs a little bit of revision to not be busted.

@thetabbybadger — Rhynn of the Combine

This card honestly feels Ravnican through and through. But additionally, I’m a little offput by the nonbo synergy. Giving the creatures Adapt after putting counters on them feels like trying to have your cake and eat it too. For the second ability, too, what happens if there are no counters among creatures you control? It’s not an “if” clause, so do you just make a Drake regardless? The heavy mana cost feels like it’s trying hard to be a Simic card more than it is just a plain planeswalker. I think that if you make the emblem a little more powerful, a little more removed from the counters, and maybe revise the mana cost, you can have a fine card.

@teaxch — V. S. Roseclair, Plagiarist

Hey, I came up with this card!.... Just kidding, anyway. Plus abilities on planeswalkers really shouldn’t target, because if your opponents have any kind of Sanctity effects then you can’t activate it. That second ability I do like a lot more, even though it falls into the same problem of needing TWO targets. Heh, well, it can always target the same creature, though, useless as that is. That last ability is pretty neat, but it’s easily circumvented by your opponents simply, well, not casting instants or sorceries. I know that’s a baseless argument, but hey, it’s true. Honestly, this whole concept is pretty awesome for a card, and I do like where you took your ideas. Maybe a couple winning tweaks and we could have something playable.

@ten-thousand-salamanders — Krimhilde

Unless either flashback or surveil are found throughout the set, I don’t think that the two separate abilities should be on the same card. Cards within a set can mix and match sometimes, but Planeswalkers are more universal. I think only Narset, Domri, Wrenn and Oko have plane-specific abilities like that, and most every planeswalker sticks to evergreen - and for good reason, considering the universality a planeswalker needs to be the face of any set. The first two abilities, though, are fine. The last one should read “You control target player” for whatever, and really, should just be a print of Worst Fears. Why only main and combat for an ult? You can make powerful abilities powerful.

@thekinglerp — Floarea Lunii

Trying to upset Vraska as the Ravnican Golgari planeswalker is a bold attempt. Moonflower tokens, though! I find that concept fascinating. I don’t think they’ll play well in practice, because, well, removal is crazy powerful as is, but I do appreciate you branching out. That ultimate, though, is both a rules nightmare (although maybe it’s allowed to be because it’s a walker) and kind of mediocre. For an ultimate, even Garruk has Overrun. Spending seven turns to give your team an anthem feels like a bad time. I’d rather have something bigger. And after seven turns, I’ll have to then spend twice as long explaining the interaction between deathtouch and trample.... Again, kidding, but it is a hard concept.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path — Coraline, Guild Coordinator

I could have sworn this card had something to do with Ravnica from the name, but I suppose not. I apologize for not capitalizing “Treasure” in that first ability - that was my bad. The missing second quotation in the emblem is a direct copy, though. So! This is another one of those cards that should be separate cards and not a single planeswalker. Tribal elements just don’t work well for walkers, fun as they may seem. They are universal cards. They need to fit in whatever shell they might find themselves in. A card like this literally only works in an ally deck, nowhere else, and it’s frustrating to see. Ability note: the second ability needs to search for a CARD, and to shuffle after.

That’s all there is, there ain’t no more walkers. Tune in tomorrow for one last contest for this year. It’s gonna be a doozy.

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #contest #entries #commentary #fanwalkers #inventor's fair

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iohourtime · 5 years

Text

Kiokuya (Memory Man) - Novel Spoiler (Part 4)

This is the last part of the recap of Kiokuya (Memory Man), the novel in which Yamada’s new movie is based on. There are obviously spoilers in here.

Links to previous part(s): Part 1: Prologue + Episode 1 Part 2: at present 1 + Episode 2 + at present 2 Part 3: Episode 3 + at present 3

Episode 4: First and Last Contact*

*This part is pretty long because I kept a lot of the conversation in the last scene. I feel that the movie is probably going to end the same way. Frankly, that is probably the only plausible ending to the story.

Ryoichi saw Kyoko talking with friends in the cafeteria. She glanced over at his direction but did not see him. He didn't feel as shell shocked as before, but he still couldn't forget it ever happened.

Ryoichi did not find another plausible case after Saza. However, Memory Man became even more popular among the high school crowd, so the forum was flooded with new traffic. The discussions were mostly baseless speculations, although it was generally accepted that the following were the ways to contact Memory Man:

If you need him, he'll show up.

Leave a note on the message board by the train station.

Sit on the green bench at the park and wait.

One day, Ryoichi was going home from the store and decided to check out the park. There weren’t a lot of slides and stuff, plus there were a lot of tall trees, so the park was kind of secluded. There was a guy with a long coat sitting on the deep green bench with his dog. A young high school girl approached the bench and may have made eye contact with him. Flustered, Ryoichi left immediately while wondering if the girl was trying to contact Memory Man.

Since that day, Ryoichi chose to walk home through the park to observe. Every day, there would be some high school girls nearby. They just seemed to be curious more than anything, but one day, there was a girl who looked like she was searching. He sat down next to a girl and asked if she was “waiting for someone”.

“I'm researching the Memory Man.”

Her face turned white. “That had nothing to do with me.” And she left hurriedly. Ryoichi wondered if he was being over sensitive.

…………

A week later, Ryoichi walked by the bench again and saw a familiar figure. Maki!

His heart raced, just like the first time he saw someone waiting there. This was probably just a coincidence. She just wanted to sit down for a bit. He tried to comfort himself but he felt an unexplained terror. He didn't want to see her because if he did, he would have to confront the truth. He ran home.

…………

Ryoichi never got a response from ICO or DD. Even though the chat room had been taken over by the newbies, he went in hoping to bump into those two. He found Doctor instead, who hadn't seen them lately but thought they might just be waiting for the new people to get bored and leave.

Ryoichi wasn't so sure. Yes, ICO might not have time for this nonsense but DD totally thrived on this. A thought suddenly entered his head. Did they have their memory erased because they were getting close?! Once the idea was planted, he couldn't get it out of his head. He knew DD worked at the flower shop of Hospital K,so he had to go see for himself.

He got to the flower shop and saw the familiar had of light brown hair. “Hey.” Ryoichi said tentatively.

“Oh welcome. Do you need help with the flowers?”

“No… I'm RYO. Do you remember me? We were in the same chat room and met once offline. We talked about urban legends.”

“Urban legends? Oh, I remember some site I didn’t visit in my browser history. It could be my brother using my computer without permission again! Maybe you mixed us up? He sometimes pretend to be me for shits and giggles.” DD smiled.

Ryoichi felt a shiver down his spine, yet he was able to stay calm outwardly. “Can I ask you a question? Have you heard of Memory Man?”

“Sorry. Is it a movie?” Whoever he was in real life, he was no longer DD.

…………

This was the third time Ryoichi had been forgotten but he was hit just as hard as before. It was clear that DD and probably ICO’s memories were erased. Kyoko, Nanami, and now DD. They were 3 people he knew. Was it a coincidence? He had this uneasy feeling that Memory Man was onto him. He couldn't even talk to ICO and DD since they forgot about the investigation and him!

Ryoichi went for a walk to clear his head and ended up at the park. He ran into that girl at the bench from the other night.

“Sorry, do you remember me? I asked you about Memory Man before.”

“The popular urban legend? I'm not interested in these weird stuff.” She replied with a shrug.

Another one. Ryoichi was so freaked out he couldn't move. And then he looked over at the bench and saw her.

“Maki…”

“Ryo-chan!” Ryoichi felt a sense of danger. If all the people around him were getting their memory erased, who will be next? Maki trotted over to him without a care.

“Are you going home? Let's go together!” Ryoichi let Maki grab his arm. He looked at her smiling face and told himself not to be scared.

…………

Ten years ago, Maki’s parents were renovating their house so they temporarily moved in with her paternal grandparents. Her maternal grandparents also rented an apartment nearby. One evening after dinner, Ryoichi walked her home to her other grandparents.

Since their moms were best friends, Ryoichi and Maki were like family. Ryoichi took her upstairs to her mom and they heard a conversation they were not supposed to hear.

“We shouldn't see each other alone again.”

“Um. Please tell Maki for me…”

Ryoichi still remember Maki’s face, how hard she was trying not to cry. That was the first time, and probably the last time he saw Maki so heartbroken. Because she forgot all about it the next day.

…………

Ryoichi sat on the green bench. Maybe if he just sat there, he could prevent another person from being Memory Man’s victim? He couldn't help thinking about ICO and DD. How could Memory Man know about them? Was he or she someone close to him? Maybe someone in the original chat group? It must be someone who knew about the investigation!

Thinking back to the first sighting from 50 years ago, it seemed incredulous that Memory Man, who was probably elderly, to be spying on them online. Maybe there were more than one person?

Memory Man is good at investigation, could be female… could it be ICO? Was she stringing us along the whole time? Then again, it could have been anybody. If that person had marked Ryoichi, would Maki be in trouble? He couldn't bear to think about Maki having her memory erased again.

The dream. The recurring nightmare. What does it mean? Although Maki is no longer a child, if Memory Man strikes, there's nothing she can do against him! Don't be scared again. Don't run away like last time. Like I did in the dream.

“Ryo-chan?” Ryoichi looked up. Maki was standing in front of him.

“I'm waiting for someone.” “Who?” “I'm not sure…” Ryoichi must have confused the heck out of her “... hold up, I'm actually waiting for you!”

“Huh? Why?” Maki asked.

I have to do it. Ryoichi thought. Talk to her. Ask her. Stop hiding.

“You know you could meet Memory Man if you sit on this bench.” Ryoichi started gently.

“Oh, you mean that rumour? Yeah, it is harder to find someone at school who doesn’t know about this.” Maki replied.

“Are you trying to look for Memory Man?” Maki did not speak, nor did she look at Ryoichi. Ryoichi knew he got his answer.

“I am not going to ask what you want with him. I just want you to know that if you make the request, that memory will be completely erased from your mind. Do you know how that feels? Just because you don’t remember, it doesn’t mean it never happened. Don’t you find that…” Fear, sadness, loneliness. Ryoichi remembered how he felt when Kyoko forgot about him. “I just want you to think carefully about it. You can’t undo it. I know I am selfish, but those memories make a part of you. If they are gone, you are not 100% you anymore. I don’t want any part of you to disappear.”

Is he too late? Can he still talk Maki out of this destructive decision? He didn’t know where to begin or how to convince her.

“I thought you don’t believe this urban legend.” Maki said.

“I don’t believe in the story. I know.” Ryoichi came clean about everything. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you met him when you were a kid. I was walking you home after dinner. We saw something that made you very upset. I remember how hard you were crying. All I knew was that I couldn’t leave you there, so I took you to your Grandpa Sugawara’s apartment building and saw you walk through the gates. The next day, you didn’t remember a thing. You even asked me what was wrong with me. I was very scared and thought maybe you were in shock and forgot about it, but now I know you must have met Memory Man.”

Ryoichi tried to convince Maki with logic. “Maybe you think this was ancient history and since you don’t actually remember, it is no big deal. But don’t you find this horrifying? That someone could take something as important as memory from you with or without your consent? I am sorry I am rambling… but I just want to tell you everything before you decide to meet Memory Man.”

Ryoichi wasn’t sure he could convince Maki. “Yes, while I am very worried about you, on the other hand, if you have your memories taken away, I know I will feel repulsed, and scared…”

“Are you scared?” Maki asked. Ryoichi knew he had to tell her the truth if he hoped to convince her.

“I had this dream of you with him. He put his hand to your forehead. My heart was screaming at me to grab you and run, but I always wake up at this point. When I think about it, I must have seen the exact moment when your memory was erased.�� Ryoichi finally told Maki what he had tried to keep from her for the last year. But wait… the original incident happened when Maki was 5 or 6. In the dream, Maki looked around 10 or 11. Did she met him twice? He paused to think.

“What do you know about this urban legend?” After being silent for so long, Maki suddenly asked.

“I just know from the internet. The meeting places, how you pass along the message, etc. Oh, and that Memory Man could be a tall, thin man… or a woman. Wearing a grey jacket.”

“And Memory Man will erase the memories of those people who joked around with the request, right? There are so many theories. ‘Memory Man eats your memory’, ‘You won’t remember your encounter with Memory Man’, ‘Once the memory is gone, it won’t come back’, ‘Memory Man cannot erase his own memory.’” Maki listed what she heard before.

Ryoichi was surprised. Of course he heard some of them, but Maki’s research was very detailed. So she was that serious about her search for Memory Man?

“Oh, that conversation? Even though I don’t remember, I knew what it was about. We heard my mom and dad talking right?” Maki said. Ryoichi stared at her. Maki smiled slightly and continued.

“Just like you said. My mom had an affair with my uncle. I found out about it when I was in junior high.” It dawned on Ryoichi - Maki tried to get her memory erased again at that time. “I knew my mom stopped the affair already and she gets along with my dad now. I just cannot look at her the same way even though I don’t blame her anymore. So I asked him to do it… He refused.”

“Refused…?” Maki nodded. “That was when he told me about the first incident.”

So Maki knew all along. She was just pretending. Ryoichi knew why she might hide the fact that she met Memory Man. He was just laughing at himself for foolishly thinking he could protect her.

“He said I was too young and he had no choice but to make me forget. But in the second time, I was already old enough to think for myself so he refused. He didn’t want to use his powers easily because it cannot be undone.” Ryoichi knew it was hopeless. Maki had already decided.

“Ryo-chan, you do remember.” Ryoichi looked baffled. “You just said you saw it in your dreams.”

“It’s true that memories will not coming back. He told me that second time.” Maki said.

Why would Memory Man tell Maki all this? Ryoichi was confused, but he only managed to ask, “You actually remember Memory Man?”

“He was my favourite person. Ryo-chan remembered him too.” Maki smiled sadly with tears in her eyes. “It was Grandpa Sugawara.”

Ryoichi had always thought things would be different had he walked her to her grandpa’s door. Turn out it wouldn’t have mattered.

“The last time Grandpa erased someone’s memory was 30 years before that night. When I asked him that second time, he refused. Shortly after, he died. I think I may have been the last one he used his powers on.”

“Then in my dream… that man with you, was that Grandpa Sugawara?”

“No… he was someone unimportant.” Maki said.

Why? Why was I trying to tell her to run? Ryoichi thought as he sank back on the bench. “I always thought he did something to me too…” Maki shook her head.

“No… it was me. Grandpa didn’t eat your memories. You have met Memory Man many times. You don’t remember?” Ryoichi was so shocked he couldn’t even nod.

“I took them just in case. The first time was a failure though; that’s why you keep having those dreams.” Maki looked like she gave up. “They said Memory Man only appears at dusk…well, I have school! And the long grey jacket? It is the school jacket. The bench story was around for a while, and the message board? I’m not sure how that got out, but I did take a few requests that way. I’ve met ICO, by the way. I also met the guy who worked at the flower shop in the hospital… I was getting worried since it looks like you have found Memory Man.”

“So, the Memory Man I have been looking for was…”

“Sorry, Ryo-chan.” Maki looked like she would break down and cry. Ryoichi didn’t know what to do. He was more stupid than he thought. He was worried about Maki trying to find Memory Man. She hadn’t been looking at all.

“I feel differently about my powers. I was given a gift and I should use it. That man you saw in your dream, Ryo-chan? That was my first client. Unfortunately you saw me, so I had to erase your memory. That was the first time. The second time was after you started your investigation into Kyoko-san’s incident. I really don’t want to erase the memory of someone I know… but my efforts were wasted anyway. You kept looking. I was going to do it again, but I was so afraid and delayed doing it.”

“You felt afraid?”

“Yes, I was afraid.” Then why did you do it? Ryoichi thought to himself. Maki interrupted his thoughts.

“If someone asked me for help and I have the power, then why shouldn’t I? That’s my life purpose. I know this is serious so I only erase what is necessary and no more.” Maki looked at Ryoichi as if she was begging him to understand.

“I am not afraid when I erase other people’s memory since I appear before them as Memory Man. But you are different. I am Kawai Maki in front of you. You know everything about me.” Ryoichi saw a glimpse of the Maki he knew; the one he felt compelled to protect. He also knew he had been useless.

“I don’t blame you. I know you had to do what you think you need to do. I just want you to think about it.” He knew she was hurting inside and thought she had no choice with her mission. He wanted to get through and help her see the other side.

“I know those people really wanted the memories to be gone. I agree with you. But some of those bad memories could eventually transform into fond memories. Or they could become the catalyst for something different. Those people could change their minds in a few years. Having these gaps could prevent them from doing what they were supposed to do in life.”

“Ryo-chan. Were you sad when Kyoko-san forgot about you?”

“It was painful but not enough for me to want to forget meeting her. It’s a choice. I am allowed to choose to remember, right?”

“I knew you would say that, Ryo-chan. I guess I am giving them a second chance. The slate is wiped clean. But is a second chance really useful?” Ryoichi was shocked to hear that coming from Memory Man.

“Kyoko-san is no longer afraid of the dark, but what if she gets attacked again? Then what I did would be pointless. Ando Nanami may have forgotten Takahara-sensei, but what if she meets another person she couldn’t live without? Kaname and Misao can try rebuilding their friendship. Maybe this time Misao will fall in love with a different boy. Or she falls in love with Kaname again and their friendship is over. Or maybe Kaname feels different this time? All these what if’s! I never felt confident I actually helped. And why do other people have this choice and I don’t?”

“Maki…”

“Because I am the Memory Man, I cannot erase my own memory. People can happily forget but I cannot. I have to bear their burdens each time I erase their memories. Even when the person I care about forget about our time together, I still have to remember.” Maki wiped her tears from her eyes. “Grandpa is gone! Is this my punishment?”

Ryoichi wished he could help her. “Perhaps you have done enough already. Don’t force yourself to continue. I know you have the power but you don’t have to use it, right? I know I am an idiot but I want to protect you. I don’t know what I can do so tell me? Do you really want to keep going with your mission? Let me help.” Ryoichi didn’t know what else to say. “Maki… don’t cry.” He pulled her into his arms and let her cry on his shoulders.

“No, Ryo-chan, I don’t need your protection. Really.” Ryoichi held Maki tighter. “Just once… can you like me?”

Ryoichi didn’t even have time to think about what she meant. He just saw a fog enveloping the surroundings and a white light broke through.

Epilogue

Yoshimori Ryoichi came to his senses and was surprised to see himself sitting at the park holding a sobbing girl in his embrace. He looked and saw his neighbour, a girl who was like his little sister.

“Maki?” Ryoichi had not seen Maki cry like that before. In his mind, she was always a sunny girl. “Maki, are you ok?” But Maki would not stop. “OK, OK…. Don’t cry… I don’t know what to do when you cry.” He didn’t know why, but he felt his heart breaking for her.

Maki was still sobbing and muttered something. Ryoichi thought he heard her say “I’m sorry.”

My comments

So that was kinda of sad, right? I suppose they could have gone with a happier ending but it will be a cop out. What do you think? Anyway, thanks for reading till the end. I wish I could be a bit more concise in the recap, but oh well.

#kiokuya #記憶屋 #novel summary #episode 4 #the end #yamada ryosuke #yoshine kyoko #renbutsu misako #sasaki kuranosuke #origami kyoka

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themagnumnopus-blog · 6 years

Note

You have delusions of persecution and worms in your brain

As promised to a friend. How bad could I possibly be?

youtube

A Prologue To More: Weep for you have failed.“I may not agree with you, but I will defend to the death your right to make an ass of yourself." - Oscar Wilde

You lack originality and you couldn't be funny if you tried.

At least between the two of us, even with worms in my head, I know something's there.

You're a fool without compare and I'll kick your derriere in any conversation you can bring. You are a whining little brat that is so flat you couldn't think of any way to fight what I say. You are vapid in the head without a thought behind or to your conviction, you have already proven that by using your own contradiction, your hypocrisy is plain and you failed to come at me with a brain. You simply have an addiction to your stupidity as anyone that reads this can see. You can't stand in a debate or even speculate that you can against me, because of your propensity to lie. If you think that you might win I beg you think again because I'm really quite a nice gal or guy. I mock and shame you. I unlike you do not seek to defame you. I simply state what I see, you must have a reason you're afraid of what I say. So I will say it louder and say it prouder because you try to take my voice away.

re·tard - delay or hold back in terms of progress, development, or accomplishment.

Now if you think you have a chance come forth to let us have a dance. If I'm really a fool I can't win but you've lost before you've started and I assert you're retarded and that you simply retard whatever argument you make. I do not seek to offend you but if you think that you can seek to quiet me, you simply seek to retard society. Well hey, what do you say? I say I'll take you any day and indeed will take you any time. Oh, yes. Let me wait. It's fine. I just get more time to strengthen my debate, I don't mind. Gather whatever you might, a fool's facts are my delight, they're so easy to debunk and I'll just cut your argument down chunk by chuck. For every inch in the arena, you think you'll take I will beat you back, yard by yard. With a club of facts, I'll beat you back all the way to denial and laugh all the while. You are simply an unarmed child.

I win.

Prove that I have "delusions of persecution" , whatever you might mean by that, prove that I am of a race or gender or sex that I have talked about, defended and furthermore prove me wrong. If it's a delusion it is self-evident in the real world that I'm wrong. Whatever you think I'm wrong about. Even if you prove that I am one of the groups I defended you've done nothing but waste your time. This isn't about me or you as a person it's about our ideas.

A quote I love and it fits perfectly here, it's been attributed to a lot of people but the contents are so exacting here it's hilarious. "Great Minds Discuss Ideas; Average Minds Discuss Events; Small Minds Discuss People." - Eleanor RooseveltFace Me in the Arena: A few thousand words about the ten that could not quiet me. Part One: The BallThere is a term for when a debate or conversation over ideas political or otherwise brakes down into name calling and attacks on character. It's commonly accepted that if you have to resort to name calling or attacks on the character of your opponent you have lost. You've attacked me like a coward and now I have sympathy from whoever sees that. Your small minded hateful message you tried to quite me with has now backfired. You have tied the knot, put it around your neck and I have just pushed you off. To beat me you now have to get back on my level and try to take me off whatever high ground I clearly occupied. Good luck. You have played me an easy win by not playing the game but attacking the player. This is your penalty. You lose.That is why I always stay civil and try to approach a conversation from a neutral and objective perspective. Never claim something you can't prove when it comes to political and real-world philosophical beliefs. If I say that the West has a problem with misandry, I promise I have a reason to believe so and that proof can be found, if I say that socialism is creating fascists, the same, if say that anti-white sentiment is creating anti-white extremists and in turn creating white supremacists, you darn dootally better believe I can more then likely prove it. Buuuuuuuuut now I don't have to, the burden is on you, you poor little cretin. You have attacked me. You now have to prove me wrong or be laughed at as an idiot. The best part is I know you can't or you would have A) tried to do so publicly or B) sent proof. As to what you're calling me names over, hilariously, I don't know. I don't know what your upset over. I don't need to now through by simple fact you have shot anything you say in the foot by attacking me like a petulant child with name calling and baseless accusations.You have given me the ball by failing your argument before you've even tried to make it. If you have no way to disprove my statements then you have to attack me, discredit me, try to make me be quiet? How weak is your point of view, your argument, your belief in what you have to say that you can't defend it? How weak is it that you're afraid to talk with someone who you claim has worms in their head. What? Are afraid to lose to some you clearly think is stupid?Part 2: Hy·poc·ri·sy I bet money you claim to be against bullies, against oppression, maybe you call yourself a good person and think that you have the right to say the above. You have said what you have to me because of a difference of opinion. I think that you are the worst kind of person because of this.“Of all the tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under the omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber barons cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.” - C. S. LewisYou have every right to say whatever you please, you really do in my opinion but I'll be damned if you have the right or think you have the right to try and keep people silent based on a difference of opinion. If you think I have a complex, it should be so self-evident that you have absolute proof and objective truth to the contrary, no matter what it is. I think you're projecting and have a victim complex, you are not the target of anyone least of all me. I don't care about you, your narrative or your emotional situation. What? Do you have a sob story? I'll give you a better one that I can prove. I'm here for the truth, willing to change my point of view for facts and proof. If you don't like it? Tough shit. I don't care. I will not be dissuaded by emotional pleas. If you have proof use it. Now is the time.I have never sent hate mail, I have never blocked anyone (not even the person that sent this), this is the first hate mail I've ever had sent to me and I state and stand by for a fact that I cannot be made afraid by pathetic cowards that can't even make a statement. I will gut you like this if you send anon hate to me. It will be public and I will laugh at you and everyone else that reads it will laugh at you. You have no power here or anywhere else, least of all over me. I am no one's enemy. If you come to me in good faith and as a human to another human for an honest conversation, public or private, I'm willing to talk and be friendly. You get what you put in with me.Part 3: I Laugh at Thee“Freedom of speech is not only the right to say as you please, it is also the right to have what you say contested, and where it does not accord with reason - refuted, or with sense - ridiculed.” - David Joseph Cribbin, father crowI and anyone else reading has watched your ten unprovable, undefendable, small-minded words be turned into thousands against you and is laughing with me at you right now. You look like a twit, I have made a twit of you and you deserve it. You have run into my arena an unarmed opponent and been gutted for it. I'm not sorry to anyone, most of all you. If you think that I can be refuted then do so. I have every right to offend you with what I say, though it is not my intention, the truth can be offensive sometimes and as a human, you need to learn how to deal with that. I am a human of liberty and...“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” - George OrwellPart 4: Why I Gut You.“The problem with today’s world is that everyone believes they have the right to express their opinion AND have others listen to it. The correct statement of individual rights is that everyone has the right to an opinion, but crucially, that opinion can be roundly ignored and even made fun of, particularly if it is demonstrably nonsense!” - Brian CoxI condemn in my harshest and most potent terms any and all people who prompt, advocate for or send messages like this to anyone regardless of what you think. Never hate or hate bomb anyone, ever, for any for any reason. Again ever. You give them absolute power and make yourself look like the villain, I have garnered sympathy and ran hundreds of words against this person already and I'm not even done yet, I'm lambasting and laughing at their poorly thought out insult to prove a point. They came to me so anything I do at this point is justified in the eyes of anyone looking at this. If you read this I'm sorry you misstepped and fell on a land mine face first. You came to me to get this.I make fun of you because your pitiful attempt at silencing me is in and of itself demonstrable nonsense and makes you look weak. Bullies are generally weak, using fear and work using crowd based courage and/or anonymity to strike at people that they can't actually fight and win or are not sure they can fight and win. I will never be silenced by cowards, my mind will be changed by humans that can prove what they believe and do not have to resort to childish small-minded attacks on character. Especially one so ill-founded. I will listen to anyone who wishes to speak with me as a person. BUT even to my attacker above, I still offer the hand freely, come talk to me, privet or public. Seriously. About whatever you have a problem with me over. We can sort it out. You had a reason to think this was okay, which it never is but I would actually love to hear it. Again I don't care if you apologize or not, that's not my concern. I beyond what you might think am just an honest person that honestly wants to talk, change minds and have us grow. Childish things like this hate message retard us as a society, as a people, as the human race.Part 5: I Pick My Battles“To a coward, courage always looks like stupidity.” - Bill MaherSome people may think I'm stupid for taking the stance I do on bullies and bullying, on hate. Just block people, just do this, just do that, etc. I don't care what other people do to shitty little bullies but are they going away? No, they aren't. They are going to bully someone else that might not be able to take it, until you challenge them, make them realize how they look and have everyone laugh at them. People generally don't like being mean to other people but they don't realize is that that doesn't stop cretins like this, challenge them. They think they are in the right. Prove them wrong.I'm a really nice person but in order to be worth the respect I offer freely, you have to treat me with the respect I deserve as a human. I have no problem putting down this type of person or putting myself out in the open while I do. Don't let these people threaten you, put them out in the open and laugh at them while you challenge them. Demand proof. If they had the proof they would use it but they don't and even if they did have proof of me or anyone else being specifically anything then they also have to prove that the bias they accuse you of exist. Refute the proof, provide counterproof and make counter accusations. I'll prove without reasonable doubt this person has a victim complex about the time they prove I have "delusions of persecution." For me, it just doesn't stick and I know it doesn't. I treat everyone with the same even-handed respect I expect. So instead of wasting hours trying to prove I fall into the groups, I talk about, to simply still be at square one again when I say 'Okay. Whatever. Now, prove me wrong.' Just make a statement and provide some level of proof. It's not personal. You don't need to make it personal.I never attack a person or people. Definitely not when I can fight an idea and this is exactly why. Even if you win in that respect and sway people to not like me based on character, that's not enough to win. You're costing yourself the war. You have won a battle that you and a fraction of a percent of people care about. If you win that battle and somehow prove I'm a card-carrying member of the kkk or some such nonsense. You've wasted time and energy that could have been used trying to beat my point and you still have to beat it. Call me a pedo, call me a Nazi, call me any insult, make any kind of accusation and I'll just say 'Prove it' and wait. Then if, well, when you can't I'll just call you a liar and you know you have to try and win that back. All before you even start to work on my end of the debate. I'm a smart person, I pick my battles and give no ground to anyone without cost. Without exacting, bloody, and hilarious cost. While people juggle narratives I trip them up with facts. Fight me in a fair and even exchange of political ideas and you might just prove a point. As far as your ten-word attempt goes, even if you prove I have a complex of my own and actually am stupid what you don't realize is . . . you now have to beat the idiot. I hope I've made it plain and painfully clear how hard that's going to be.Part 6: Here's The Close“Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.” - United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human RightsI only seek to hold opinions without interference as I also seek to receive and impart information. I have done nothing in the above other than impart knowledge and nothing that could be constrained by the rules that govern the civil world. Welcome to humanity those who make it here, come and talk. Drop me a supportive message or a difference of opinion, I welcome all and if you're not comfortable talking to me directly simply drop a message in as an anon, I will never disable it or my asks. I will never block anyone. Just be prepared to talk civilly. If you don't like what I say, you are free to leave or personal preference on my end express distaste. I don't want to be stuck in an echo chamber like whoever sent me the hate mail and thought it was okay.If I can take ten off-handed words and stretch that into an almost three-thousand-word public chastisement. Only six words short actually. Now if I can do that, what do you think I can do to a bad argument? Again though we could just not. Anyone, as said, can come to me and talk with respect, invite some much-needed dialogue. Never know but in the end, it is your choice. Not mine.Last quote...“You can't expect someone to understand your journey, when they've hardly lived one of their own.” - Nikki Rowe, Once a Girl, Now a WomanYou don't know me but you could so I will offer in honesty and with respect. Join my journey going forward, let's talk. Door's open to anyone. :)

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witnesstorture · 4 years

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Martin Gugino - The "Buffalo Protestor" and our Friend

Update:

Buffalo News | October 7, 2020

‘I’m good. The city is not good’: Man pushed by police speaks at protest

June 9, 2020 FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

CONTACT: Matthew Daloisio, 201-264-4424 WAT RESPONDS TO TRUMP’S MALICIOUS TWEET

Trump callously lied this morning on Twitter about Witness Against Torture’s friend and fellow activist, Martin Gugino – the 75-year-old elder who was shoved to the ground and stepped over by the Buffalo police force while protesting the death of George Floyd. WAT organizer Jeremy Varon has written the following op-ed, exposing the person Martin really is and what is truly at stake in this moment.

Martin Gugino — The “Buffalo Protestor” and our Friend By Jeremy Varon

I too reacted with horror at seeing the video of a 75-year-old man bleeding from the head after being shoved to the ground by Buffalo police. My stomach turned tighter when I realized, “Wait, I know that guy.” And now the president has tweeted about him, spinning the grotesque falsehood that his fall and terrible injury were somehow a set up.

The man is Martin Gugino. For years we worked together in Witness Against Torture, a close-knit group dedicated to closing the U.S. prison camp at Guantanamo and opposing torture. Our community is beside itself.

None of us is surprised that it was Martin meeting the police line in a posture of non-violence. Martin is gentle, principled, and undaunted. Allied with the Catholic Worker tradition, he is also deeply committed to a tapestry of causes, from fair housing to immigrant rights. Guiding his activism is belief in the sacred power of non-violent resistance to injustice. If that makes him an “agitator,” as Buffalo’s police chief slandered him, then the world needs more agitators.

The video of Martin is already part of the iconography of our times, in which every disturbing visual seems a metaphor for something bigger. Eulogizing George Floyd, Reverend Al Sharpton used the image of the policeman’s knee on his neck as a symbol for centuries of anti-black oppression.

Each video clip of police brutalizing protesters points to a much larger system of law enforcement abuse, endemic in communities of color. I saw in my friend’s vulnerability and the scene surrounding him other meanings as well, useful for understanding our troubled society.

A galling aspect of the video is how rows of officers strut indifferently past an aged man lying still and wounded, as if dead. It made me think of the tens of thousands of elder Americans needlessly lost to Covid-19 and the callous disregard shown them by the Trump administration. Its catastrophic response to the virus has entailed the seemingly willful sacrifice of our seniors to Trump’s strongman fantasy of a virile nation. Shove the old, decrepit people out of the way. Step over them. Don’t help them. They were going to die anyway.

Covid-19 is as well an infuriating story of race, with Blacks greatly more likely to die from the virus than whites. The death of Black seniors — often in poorer health and homed in under-resourced facilities — feeds that disproportion.

The shared root of the twin crisis of Covid-19 and racism is the stunning disposability of certain lives in America, no matter its capacities and ideals. The difficult lesson of the current protest movement is to think about that failure in a new way. The police have not lapsed in their mission to serve and protect. For many communities, the police are built to dominate and abuse. Our health care system has not failed to keep us healthy. It is designed to keep only some of us healthy, while lining corporate pockets.

Martin’s abuse signals as well the perverse priorities of our current government. Among the state’s solemn obligations is to protect the lives and well-being of its people. So too, it must protect the nation’s ideals. For America, the true meaning of “national security” must be the defense of life and liberty. And yet, rather than tirelessly working to mitigate the virus and safeguard our freedoms, the Trump administration has declared the urgent need to rid public space of the people exercising basic rights. Like in Buffalo, police departments have gotten the message.

My last thoughts about the video are linked to the anti-torture activism Martin and I shared. In his eulogy for George Floyd, attorney Benjamin Crump named what was done to him as “torture.” It was a striking description I had not heard before. Floyd’s lynching needs no added indignity to stir our outrage. But torture has a special sting, both because of its willful cruelty and its supposed alienness to America.

For years, we in Witness Against Torture vigorously protested what was in fact America’s systematic use of torture after 9/11. Like other human rights groups, we wanted the detained men to be subjects before the law, with basic protections and access to US courts. In our work, we did not think much about race.

Yet Black Lives Matter and other activists impressed on us an uncomfortable truth: that many of the abuses in War on Terror prisons, like solitary confinement, are routine in America’s domestic prisons, holding predominantly people of color. Access to the law, moreover, is no guarantee of justice. Sometimes the law is the problem.

We began to see torture as part of a continuum of state violence, including in its racial aspect. Almost exclusively, the victims of post-9/11 torture have been brown-skinned Muslim men, demonized with the label “terrorist.” Despite the innocence of most of the men historically held at Guantanamo, the law has been all but useless in freeing them. No one responsible for their torture has been held to legal account, including during the Obama administration. Going forward, our group sought to highlight the parallels between domestic and overseas abuses in a vast system of dehumanizing violence.

Dismantling anti-black racism is today’s urgent priority. But abuses of power crave synergies, making other causes relevant. Recall that president Trump is an avowed supporter of torture. His former lawyer John Dowd wrote a bizarre letter, tweeted out by Trump, describing the peaceful protestors cleared from Lafayette Park as “terrorists.” Trump’s own tweet branding Martin as a member of “Antifa” is of a piece with this nonsense that uses baseless fears to justify repression.

Such rhetoric makes an enemy of the American people, threatening to sic on them the tactics of the War on Terror. It seems, as yet, more a sign of desperation than strength — like heavily armored police pushing a 75-year-old man to the ground and the President lying about it. Martin will get up, god-willing, and be back on the streets. The more of us who are there, the more pitifully desperate and disarmed those opposing the tides of change will become.

Jeremy Varon – Professor of History, The New School

[email protected]

Photos by: Justin Norman, ShriekingTree.com

Martin Gugino – The “Buffalo Protestor” and our Friend was originally published on Witness Against Torture

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mindfulwrath · 7 years

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Silver, Part IV

I am going to ship this man with literally everyone and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.

Words: 3559 Warnings: Typical Victorian no-homo-ing Part I Part III

Jasper had been thinking for a long time. Actually, he had been thinking the same thought, over and over and over again. It had not gotten him very far. He was still in the burnt-out husk of his room. He had managed to sit down on the bed, only because he felt his knees wouldn't hold him.

The thought was, Oh dear.

In fairness, it had gone through just about every conceivable permutation of tone, from flustered to frightened to despondent to delighted, round and round, back and forth, up, down, and sideways. His lips were still tingling. His face was still hot. His stomach was still slimy with shame. Rachel would be expecting him back at some point. She would notice immediately that something had happened. He would have to explain. There was no question of lying to her. She would know. She would know and she would be gravely wounded by it.

Oh dear.

Then there was Mr. Hyde to worry about, that manic man of mystery who had so gleefully whipped up the Society into a frenzy, so eagerly led the charge of violence against Moreau. He had, technically, saved Jasper's life last night, bringing down the creature that was out for his blood, but the action had seemed somehow removed from Jasper's existence. Hyde had killed the thing because it had been conveniently within killing range, and instantly afterwards had forgotten about both it and Jasper in favor of bigger game. Was he a jealous man? A dangerous man? He'd certainly seemed to take a vicious joy in violence. If Jekyll's face in the immediate aftermath had been anything to judge by, he certainly wouldn't be a happy one.

Oh dear.

Jasper could still faintly smell the peppermint, especially when he closed his eyes. He could taste it lingering on his lips. A phantom handprint glowed on his face, phantom fingers gripping his own, strong and comely and impeccably graceful. He shivered at the heat in his chest. He shrank from his own mortifying awkwardness, looming up malformed and wolfish in his memory. What an ass he'd been, what a blind fool! And poor Jekyll, poor brilliant incredible Henry, doing his level best to maintain his impossible professionalism, so stunningly captivated, so beautifully enraptured, by him, by him, by ordinary, gangling, clueless Jasper!

Oh dear.

Jasper put his face in his hands. Every inch of him was squirming, pulled between extremes of guilt and fear and heady jubilation. It was too good to be true. It was too terrible to be real.

It was a damned difficult position to be in.

He laughed into his hands, because it was either that or cry, and he'd done his crying for the day. He also considered screaming, but that might have worried someone, or worse, drawn attention. The last thing he needed was someone walking in on him like this, asking him what was wrong.

Right on cue, there was a knock at his door.

Oh dear.

"Mm-hm?" Jasper squeaked, unable to lift his face from his hands due to the abominable blush coloring his cheeks. He heard the door squeak open.

"Mr. Kaylock?" Dr. Bryson said. "My dear boy, is everything all right?"

He shook his head. Pretty much nothing was all right. At least he was being honest.

"Should I . . . pretend I never saw you?" Bryson asked. "I am adept at pretending I never saw things. For example, I have already pretended not to see someone else fleeing very urgently away from this very same room."

Jasper fervently wished he could evaporate on the spot. It just kept getting worse.

"I shall take your distressed silence to mean that I should make a quiet exit," Bryson said.

"No," Jasper blurted. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts any longer. He might simply come apart, shredded from within by the opposing stresses.

"Ah," said Bryson. Footsteps crunched in the ash, and the door squeaked closed. "May I sit with you?"

Jasper nodded. Bryson settled in near him, but not too near. For a moment, Jasper had a sudden, striking, stupid vision of what might happen if Bryson tried to kiss him. It was so incongruous it almost made him laugh. What came out instead was closer to a sob.

"I'll be very quiet," Bryson promised, "unless you would like me to talk. Otherwise, I am here to listen, if there's anything that needs to be said."

Sniffling, Jasper managed to pry his face far enough out of his hands to speak.

"It's just," he said, "how d'you tell a girl you know has got a—a thing for you that you've kissed someone else?"

Bryson took a long breath through his nose, then sighed it back out.

"Well," he said. "Honesty is, as ever, the best policy, but its best implementation is via tact, which is a significantly more difficult proposition."

Jasper looked up at him, shocked more by his composure than anything.

"I . . . I s'pose," he said. "But I don't even know where to start."

"Have any . . . promises been made?" Bryson asked. "Any exchanges of . . . shall we say exclusive implications? With either party?"

"Well," said Jasper, rubbing the back of his neck, "no, not exactly. Not at all, really. It's been pretty obvious, though. From—from both sides. Both the girl and me, I mean."

Bryson nodded sagely. "And would you like to continue this courtship?"

Flushing, Jasper shrugged, squirming under the frankness of the question.

"Y-yeah," he said. "I think I might. Yeah."

"And with the . . . interloping party?"

The blush became furnace-hot.

"I . . . I dunno," he admitted. "I don't guess so. I think probably not."

"Ah, wonderful," said Bryson. He nudged Jasper with an elbow. "Open with that."

Jasper cracked a smile, then rubbed it off his face. He sniffled.

"What if she hates me, though?" he said.

"Then I suppose she will hate you, and that is her prerogative," said Bryson. "Thus far, from what you've said, you've been perhaps . . . unwise, but certainly not dishonest. The one is forgivable. The other, less so. Whether or not she chooses to forgive it is entirely up to her. The most that you can do is bring whatever you have to the table, and allow her to bring what she has, and if the two should happen to meet in the middle, then—wonderful! And if not . . . well, at least you've not wasted much time."

Jasper chewed his lip. Bryson nudged him again.

"Try not to go into it with any hypotheses," he suggested. "It isn't science, and if you treat it like it is, you will make things infinitely worse."

"I can't even imagine," Jasper said, shaking his head.

"And if it all goes immensely wrong, you can always flee the country," Bryson offered. "I'll loan you a balloon."

Jasper cracked up again. Bryson chuckled.

"Dr. Bryson?" Jasper said. "How d'you—sorry, not to sound rude or anything, but how d'you know all this?"

Bryson raised his eyebrows.

"Mr. Kaylock," he said. "Do you think I've never had any girl troubles in my thus-far storied life?"

"I—well," said Jasper, thrown for a loop. "Yeah. I sort of figured everybody at the Society was . . . a bit detached from all that stuff. Embarrassed at best, or clueless at worst, or just too busy for it. At least too busy for my—my girl troubles."

"My dear boy," said Bryson, shaking his head. He gestured expansively. "Life is a vast, complex, messy sort of a thing. It would be impossibly hard if any of us tried to face it alone. And it would be unbearably dull if we attempted to devote ourselves entirely to our science. We've got to do silly, stupid, unwise, ugly things from time to time, whether they involve girls or otherwise. It's what keeps us on the near side of mad."

"I guess," said Jasper. "Seems like things might be a lot simpler if it was just science."

"The only things in this vast and awesome cosmos that seem simple are things we don't understand," said Bryson. "Sometimes you learn a great deal more by getting it wrong than you do by getting it right, in life as in science. Sometimes mistakes are necessary to make any progress whatsoever. Sometimes, Mr. Kaylock, you've simply got to royally screw up."

Jasper snorted. A glob of snot came out of his nose and splattered across his mouth, and he hurriedly hid it behind his hand, mortified. Bryson handed him his handkerchief.

"Thanks," Jasper mumbled, wiping his face. "Sorry."

"I have over forty of them," Bryson said. "For just such occasions. You can return it at your convenience, preferably at a moment of significant symmetry."

"I'll keep an eye out," Jasper promised. "Um. Thank you."

"I do it all the time," Bryson confided. "You're right, most of the people here have all the emotional competency of a teaspoon. It's something about Jekyll, I'd wager. Like seeking out like, you know?"

At mention of Jekyll's name, Jasper went hot all over, burning from his scalp to his toes. He bit his lip to push the tingling out of it. It was a wonder his ears didn't spontaneously combust.

"Mm," he said. Bryson raised an eyebrow at him, but then judiciously looked away.

"You're welcome," he said. "And best of luck, my boy. Take care of yourself."

"Mm-hm," said Jasper.

With a final sympathetic wince and a pat on the shoulder, Bryson left him, shutting the door quietly behind him. Jasper put his face back in his hands.

"Bollocks," he mumbled.

It took far more whiskey than Lanyon would have expected for Jekyll to pass out in his chair, and he was loath to help Poole carry him up to bed for fear it might wake him. His apprehension proved baseless, however—Jekyll was sleeping the sleep of the dead, and Lanyon could probably have amputated one of his fingers without waking him. Nonetheless, he insisted on staying with him, at least for the first few hours, in case of complications.

"Complications, sir?" Poole said, frowning.

"The man hasn't slept in days and he's got eight drinks down him, Poole," Lanyon said. "Eight drinks at least, because I don't know that I believe his accident explanation, and he has been known to indulge in a bit of solitary wining in the dark."

Poole made a constipated expression and avoided looking at either of them.

"Very good, sir," said Poole.

Lanyon narrowed his eyes and folded his arms.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Poole?" he asked.

"I shouldn't, sir, it's beyond my station," said Poole.

"I'm asking you to," Lanyon said. He added, more softly, "Please."

Poole fidgeted for a moment more before hanging his head.

"I heard some sort of . . . argument," Poole admitted. "Between Dr. Jekyll and—well, someone. It was brief, but very heated. That's why I came to check on him, sir. I heard raised voices and then the shattering of glass."

"My God, who was it with?" Lanyon demanded.

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," Poole replied, shrugging. "He was alone when I found him. I never heard the other voice, only Dr. Jekyll's. I thought it very strange, sir, very strange indeed, being that—well, only a few moments had passed, between when I heard the glass shattering and when I let myself in. I was very concerned, you see, otherwise I would never have barged in the way I did, sir. I was concerned Dr. Jekyll might have been injured in some sort of—altercation. But there was no one there, sir, not a soul, just Dr. Jekyll sitting in his chair and the front of his cabinet smashed. He was nearly insensible, sir."

"What do you mean, insensible?" Lanyon asked. "Don't spare me the details, Poole, I am acting as his doctor now."

"Well, sir, it was this way," said Poole, uncomfortable. "I thought at first he had hit his head, sir, or something of the sort. He had that look about him. Dazed, sir, mumbling all his words and speaking mainly nonsense. When I saw no obvious wound, I thought perhaps he'd been at the drink, sir, as you mentioned, but there was no smell of it on him at all, and no opened bottles anywhere that I could see. I don't know what had come over him, sir, but I know it didn't come away again until you arrived, and if I may, sir, I'm very glad it did. I didn't dare to ask him who he'd been arguing with. I was afraid he might. . . ."

Poole trailed off, leaving endless implications hanging in the air like yellow London fog. Lanyon looked back at Jekyll. He was lying on his side just as they'd left him, his hair mussed, his limbs askew. There were dark, blue-gray circles around his eyes. His cheeks were still flushed with drink, his nose red. Blood had seeped through the bandages on his hand, rusty and spotted.

He didn't look mad. He looked exhausted, worn through, used up, and drunk, but he didn't look mad.

Lanyon wondered if he really knew what madness looked like. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth and turned back to Poole.

"I imagine we shall have the truth out of him when he wakes up," he said. "In the mean time, it's best to let him sleep it off. Do try and keep the rest of the house quiet, would you Poole?"

"Of course, sir," Poole said, sketching his little half-bow.

"Good man," said Lanyon. "Off you go!"

Poole took his leave graciously. It became so quiet in his wake that Lanyon could hear Jekyll's breathing, slow and deep and steady. Carefully, Lanyon brought the room's chair to the bedside and settled into it. With one hand, he smoothed the hair back from Jekyll's forehead, as gentle as he could be.

"Oh, Henry," he sighed, an iron fist around his heart. "What am I to do with you?"

Jekyll made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Lanyon froze, two knuckles deep in his hair and petrified.

"Henry?" he squeaked.

"Mm," Jekyll said, without moving.

"Are you . . . awake?" Lanyon hazarded.

Jekyll did not respond, apart from a minor twitch of the face. Lanyon relaxed, and continued running his fingers through Jekyll's hair.

"Dreaming," Jekyll mumbled, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Lanyon could have slapped him. "Clearly."

"Clearly," said Lanyon, equal parts annoyed and charmed. "Pleasant dreams, Henry?"

"Mm," Jekyll said again, shifting in his bed, leaning his head ever so slightly into Lanyon's hand. Lanyon rolled his eyes and carried on petting his hair, which was very soft.

For a time, this pleasant state of affairs continued on uninterrupted. Just as Lanyon was beginning to wonder if Jekyll had fallen back to sleep, he mumbled out something else.

"Always thought you had very attractive hands, Robert," he said.

"You are still drunk," Lanyon said, quickly muffling every other thought and feeling that threatened to well up.

"Dreaming," Jekyll corrected. Lanyon's fingers brushed a particular spot behind his ear and he melted. One amber eye cracked open and regarded Lanyon with catlike bliss.

"There is to be no dreaming with your eyes open," Lanyon scolded, yanking his hand back.

Jekyll's mouth curled into a smile and his eye drifted closed again.

"Dearest Robert," he sighed.

If there was meant to be anything else, it never came. Lanyon waited for several minutes, but it seemed that Jekyll really had dropped off again. Lanyon sat back and sighed, shaking his head.

"You poor fool," he murmured.

He wasn't sure if he was talking to Jekyll or to himself.

"Um."

Rachel looked up. Jasper was hunching in the doorway, rubbing his arm, staring at his feet.

"Oh, no," she said. "That looks like bad news."

"Um, sort of," he said. He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Well, the good news is, I've made cookies!" Rachel said, trying her damnedest to be bright. "And they're all for you. Did . . . did you lose much?"

"My notebook," said Jasper. Rachel had just opened her mouth to pour out her sympathies upon him when he kept talking regardless. "Um. Look. There's . . . there's something I've got to talk about with you. And it's sort of really important."

"All right," said Rachel, baffled and apprehensive. "What is it?"

He rubbed his arm. He shuffled in and shut the door.

"Um," he said. "I know there hasn't been, like, any . . . anything, with you and me, or anything, but I sort of was thinking I might like there to be, and I thought maybe you'd like there to be, too, um. . . ."

"Oh," said Rachel, heat rising from her chest to her face. "That. Um. That sounds good. Yes. I think that's the, um, the ideal. Goal. Sort of thing."

He looked up at her and flashed a sheepish grin, then rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Hah," he said, and then cleared his throat. "It's just that, er, well, that being the case, um, there's something I really ought to tell you, because I feel like you . . . you deserve to know."

"What, is the werewolf-ness transmitted through kissing?" Rachel asked, cocking an eyebrow and folding her arms.

"What? No," said Jasper. His face went slack with panic. "At least—at least I don't think so. Oh God. What if it—oh God."

"I was joking, Jasper, I was kidding," Rachel said. "That's not a thing."

"Right," he said, sagging. "Right, no, yeah. Um. Well. So. Speaking of kissing, um."

"Yeah?" said Rachel, while her heart made a determined bid to kick its way out of her chest.

"I've sort of . . . kissed somebody who isn't you," he mumbled.

Rachel blinked. "Oh," she said.

"And it's not—it's not like it's going to be a-a-a thing, it's not going to be a thing," he assured her, his face the very picture of earnestness. "It just sort of happened, but it's not going to happen again, and I thought you really ought to know, but I don't want you to think that it's—that I've—that I'm not—"

Rachel leaned an elbow on the counter and propped her chin on her hand. Jasper was blushing so hotly it was visibly making him sweat. She smiled, fighting down the needling pain in her heart.

"My, you do get round, don't you," she said. "So who was it, then?"

Jasper's face went white. His eyes flicked to the window. He gulped.

"I—I dunno, I really shouldn't," he said. "I don't want to cause any—any problems, I don't want to get anybody in—in trouble, or anything. Cause any feuds, or—or anything like that."

"Nah, come off it," said Rachel. "You've said it's not a thing, it's fine. Besides, I'm already good friends with all the women here, I'm sure it won't be too much of an issue. And I couldn't possibly blame anybody for wanting to kiss your adorable face."

Jasper promptly buried said face in his hands. Rachel grinned and tossed a cookie at his head.

"Come on," she said, "fess up. Was it Miss Flowers? You're probably her type."

"Wsnt a wmn," Jasper mumbled.

"What was that?" Rachel said.

"It . . . wasn't a woman," Jasper said. Rachel's eyes got very big.

"Oh, wasn't it!" she cried. To her surprise, she was actually having a great deal of fun. "Was it Archer? I bet it was Archer, he took a real shine to you."

"Rachel, please, I really shouldn't," Jasper moaned.

"Nobody's going to care, Jasper," she said, waving a hand at him. "What happens in the Society stays in the Society. Everybody already thinks we're destroying their Good Christian Values, we've all pretty much decided to go for broke."

"What? No, that's not—that's not it at all," said Jasper. "It just—it can't leave this room, all right? Can you promise me that? I really, really don't want to get anyone in trouble, is all."

Rachel sighed, rolling her eyes. "All right," she said. "My lips are sealed. Now tell meeeeeeeee."

Jasper fidgeted. A shy smile tugged at his lips. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"It . . . it was Doc—Henry," he admitted.

Rachel went frigid.

"What," she said.

"Um?" Jasper squeaked.

"When?" she demanded. A lump was already rising in her throat, furious tears welling in her eyes.

"Just—an hour ago? I dunno!" said Jasper.

"What did you do? What happened?"

"I—it was—I don't know! It all happened really fast! We were talking and then I gave him back his coat and then, I dunno! It just sort of happened! It wasn't my idea!"

Rachel upended the entire pan of cookies. Jasper shrieked and dove beneath the nearest table.

"That snake!" she cried, her voice cracking shrill with the strength of her emotion. "That scheming bastard!"

"Rachel—"

She fled from the kitchen before he could see her crying.

#tgs #the glass scientists #silver #fanfic #coming in very early today because i don't have to work!#oh shit i have to prep for d&d later aaaaaaaahhhhhhh wHOOPS

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myprofessionalpaperwriters-blog · 7 years

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Abortion

spontaneous miscarriage is ane of the most controversial topics of each(prenominal) metres. It has ca apply countless deaths and s ever soal baseless confrontations amongst the two sev whilelize parties of ruling. The fight between pro- life historyspan and pro-choice supporters has been long and brutal. This is because, patronage what several people whitethorn believe, still digest is neither in force(p) nor wrong. It is the function of a face-to-face opinion, where, each side afterward part say with certainty that the opposite geniusness is wrong. \n\n The question remains, should spontaneous spontaneous miscarriage be legal? though some may protest on this point, the f act as is that legalized abortion is the tho mode to nourish the moves of women around the world. If you look into American history to see the results of prohibiting abortions to women, you exit see that no abortion designates a good buy women dead. The violence, which occurs straightaway because of the pro-choice/pro-life conflicts is stripped- mint in comparison to the thousands of dim women who solveed to illegal abortions--either ego-inflicted or preformed by the backroom professionals-- which resulted in infection, broad blood loss, and death. It is straightaway since the abortion is legal bankrupt for women, because they feed a place to go to where abortions can be performed in a clean purlieu and with minimum risks. The legalization of abortion is the just straight choice, no guinea pig what side one takes in the debate. Women bequeath try to do what they think is necessary to proceed as they wish, no topic what the risks atomic number 18. In order to harp as she chooses a adult female may shake off up her freedom, her morals, her beliefs, her family, or as yet her life. \n\n spontaneous abortion has been around for some age in all inhabit corner of the world. It has always been true as a mean(a) to prevent the suffe ring of two the charr and her potential tyke. Abortion has been practiced widely in every society for many an(prenominal) a(prenominal) reasons including famine, war, poverty, overpopulation, or simply because a cleaning woman felt she was not ready for a small fry (Whitney 40). No one ever questioned a womans proper to this procedure. aft(prenominal) every(prenominal), who tho God had the right to judge what a woman did with her own body? This eyeshot process lasted till the 1800s. During the era of change people began to turn their attention in a current direction, the foetus. They began to protest abortion as cruel, inhumane, and dischargeous. Filled with a refreshed ace of solve and the glory of a fresh, worthy cause to uphold this impertinently morality swept the countryside enclose everyone in its wake. Abortionists who were erst adore and dep revokeed upon were now scorned and threatened. though abortions still happened with regularity, they were kept mum and seen as a matter of pity. Over the next nose candy years, public sen clock timent for the foetus continued to rise until the fatal happened in America during the too soon 40s; Abortion was made illegal. (Cohen 17). on that point was much back patting and kudos among the pro-life supporters. And why wouldnt in that respect be? They had succeeded in saving the drop deads of the hundreds of innocent babies who would grant been senselessly slaughtered for the convenience of selfish, ignorant, and commanding women. Because of this new virtue, women would settle down and raise families or give these beautiful children over into the pass on of the hundreds of loving couples who were equitable postponement for a baby to rallying cry their own. It seemed that the perfect law had expert been passed. Or had it? \n\n It has been proven time after time passim history that the human touch sensation will not get out forbidding. Some intimacy inside us feels the sho ot to strike out at that, which restrains us and holds us from the life we penury. Just as prohibition of alcohol made a black market for spirits a virtual inferno was immediately erected to fulfill the new unavoidableness for abortions. Government, by regulation, had once again created a need that would be fulfilled by the lawless. more or less doctors, fearing incarceration, refused to treat the women who so dreadedly extremityed abortions. Women, visual perception no separate response to their problems, were practically heroical tolerable to turn to these Back inhabit clinics. These clinics were located in poverty-ridden sections of the metropolis and their conditions were deplorable. The places themselves were layered in disgustful dirt and diseases. Inexperienced butchers victimisation dirty and crude equipment interact the girls. As if these backroom clinics were not kindly ill enough, at that place was an even more appalling stopping point a woman talent bedevil faced. If a woman wasnt able to pay the overprice price for the illegal surgery, she would frequently perform the act herself. knit needles, coat hangers, antiseptic douches and poisons were used most often (Welton, 123). soupcon rooms primarily in the more urban aras were coverage higher numbers of obstinate bleeding to the point of death. pelvic inflammatory disease and other forms of life threatening sepsis were on the rise. Self startd inebriety was another complication. (Boyer, 98). \n\n One function most people do not think near is the foetus. If, as some say, life and the sense of self set most at conception, how many atrocities fetch been caused by the incompetence shown during this time? Some may query what drove these women to such extremes ripe to keep back and abortion. Why didnt they righteous work the baby? \n\n The respond lies in our most prefatorial human instinct: to stomach as beaver as the woman can. These women wanted to live their lives as they chose, not the way it was chosen for them to live. Being strained to bear a child could mean having to support it and big(p) up dreams of a better life. Also they might consecrate been pressured into a shotgun nuptials to save their reputations. In the check Back Rooms, by Ellen Messer, a woman named Liz, explains her reasons for having an abortion. People surrender said to me, How can you be in favor of abortion? If youd had one, you wouldnt capture these beautiful children. solely I would cast had them. It just would pick out been later when I was better prepared to trouble for them. And maybe they would have a nicer man for their father. I would have been more prepared and all our lives would have been so much easier. Even though I love my children dearly, I ruefulness that I did not have an abortion when I was attached the option. I should never have let others influence my decision. (29) \n\n For many women, being forced to deal with a c hild would mean placing it into the dust. It is comm only when thought that every orphan is just temporary, that on that point is a family out there waiting for the child with surface arms. The truth of the matter is that many families do not want children unless they are white, healthy and pretty. near of the others are either dragged through the system until they are 18 or sent to live with foster families who are sometimes uncaring or even abusive (187). All women are aware of these realities, and many, refused to bring a child into the world and have it live such a way of life, which makes abortion their only way out. \n\n Also there is the fact that many women want to hide their present distinguish from families or employers. They know that they could be disowned or fired for their calamitous state. They are desperate to keep their secrets, so desperate in fact that they are willing to risk their lives. This is a risk a woman shouldnt have to take. In the book Abortio n: A Positive Decision, Mrs. Lunneborg states that The desire not to have a child is by far the best reason for an abortion. There are enough unwanted children in the world already.(18) And so these women risked, and often lost, their lives in these illegal abortions. If they were caught afterwards, they were supercharged with murder. But is abortion murder? \n\n Abortion is defined as The induced termination of maternalism before it is capable of survival of the fittest as an individual (Frohock 186). Considering this definition, at the time of most abortions, the fetus is not an individual. The definition is far too unsophisticated. One postulate to take into consideration the developmental stages of the fetal life span. \n\n Most abortions occur soon after the confirmation of pregnancy, which is usually earlier to the 12th week. The rootage 12 weeks are known as the first trimester or the embryotic phase. At this time the fetus is most 3-3.5 inches long and has a w eight of 15-20 grams. The neurological system is primitive at best, demonstrating only vague swimming motions (Rosenblatt 37). The scrap trimester heralds a time of quick growth. At about four months the mother usually first perceives fetal movement. At 24 weeks the brain resembles that of a mount up somebody. The fetal weight is about 650 grams. (39) The third trimester is from 24 weeks to birth (approximately 40 weeks.). At 26 weeks the nervous system begins to mould some body processes. (40) When fashioning the conscious decision to stamp out the life of the fetus one must take into deem the development of the fetus. One of the approaches might be assessing the neurological development. It is only logical that the more composite plant the neurological system is the more likely you are to induce pain or end a sense of self if in fact that sense exists prior to birth (Frohock 28). In many ways it is akin to the decision to pull the spark plug on a individual laying in c oma. Here, one must decide whether or not to withdraw that which the person needs to survive. Yet the decision to terminate the life is not considered murder but an act of the deepest humanity, an opinion that contrasts greatly to the shame and impatience faced by an aborted mother during the time of the crowd together anti-abortion attitude. How long would women suffer this mental anguish? (Haddok 132) \n\n Based on the information, presented in the Roe vs. wade case, the Supreme Court govern that a woman was allowed by the Constitutions 14th amendment to receive an abortion before the first trimester. It now appears that the pro-choice advocates had won the governmental tug-o-war at last. However, violence continues between the two groups as the animosity and resentment has grown to new heights. Now, more than ever, research articles are coming out about a womans right to concealing vs. a fetuss right to life. The law may have been passed, but the war goes on. \n\n In cultivation no matter what a persons opinion on abortion is, women have always had abortions, they have them now and most probably will always have them. It shouldnt be for anyone but the significant woman having the actual abortion to decide on whether or not it is the best thing for her. If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Custom essay writing service. Free essay/order revisions. Essays of any complexity! Courseworks, term papers, research papers. 100% confidential!Homework live help. Custom Essay Order is available 24/7!

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politicalfilth-blog · 7 years

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2,190 Days Of Suffering: Syrians Describe Surviving The Rebel Invasion

We Are Change

In this second part of the ongoing “Syrians Speak Out” series, MintPress News contributor Sarah Abed puts us in touch with Yasmine, a young woman who has witnessed the ongoing Syrian conflict first-hand. Yasmine has previously spoken to MintPress News about the Christian genocide occurring in Syria.

Article via Mint Press News by Sarah Abed

During the past six years, a country that was previously absent from mainstream media coverage has taken center stage in the news. One needs only to turn on the TV, read a newspaper or hop online to hear about the ongoing conflict in Syria – a conflict that has been described as this decade’s most brutal humanitarian crisis.

But these headlines have only reiterated the State Department and NATO’s devious “regime change” narrative that has increased Western support for NATO-armed and funded rebels. This narrative uses invariably baseless allegations, misinformation and propaganda to defame the Syrian army and government and lay blame on Syrian President Bashar al-Assad for the humanitarian crisis brought on by the rebels.

After hearing these fabricated and exaggerated reports of genocide, chemical weapons and atrocities committed by the Assad government, most Western audiences have the luxury of simply carrying on with their day. The uncomfortable scenes they witness in the media every day fade away in their consciousness.

But the luxury of indifference is not afforded to those living in countries that have been wracked by war brought on by U.S. intervention, which in the case of Syria has come in the form of millions of dollars in arms and funds funnelled into the hands of CIA-trained rebels with the intention of inducing a sectarian civil war.

In addition to this, the U.S. has been bombing groups like ISIS in Syria while simultaneously arming rebels who are aligned with Daesh, including the Al-Nusra Front, which has been linked to al-Qaeda.

In 2016 alone, the U.S. dropped over 26,171 bombs on Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, Libya, Yemen, Somalia and Pakistan in its so-called “war on terror.” That’s an average of 72 bombs every day and the equivalent of three per hour, according to an analysis of U.S. strikes around the world.

Those living under the threat of being bombed, kidnapped, raped or killed do not have the option of turning off the news and returning to their normal lives. They live in a constant state of fear and are surrounded by immense destruction and devastation. Many families have lost members due to the war.

How can we relate to those in these war-torn countries? How can we see them as fellow human beings who deserve to live a life of peace and happiness?

We can do so by hearing their stories and learning first-hand how their lives have been changed by war. The absolute worst thing we can do is ignore them. They need and want to be heard. The voices of Syrians devastated by the NATO-imposed regime change operation have been silenced by mainstream media for far too long.

In part two of our ongoing series on the Syrian crisis, we get a detailed view of what life is like in Syria’s capital of Damascus.

When reading the heartbreaking stories that many Syrians share, try to imagine yourself in their shoes. This is the only way to fully relate to them as your brothers and sisters in humanity. They have been cheating death every day for over six years – that’s 2,190 days of suffering, something that many of us would have a hard time relating to or are even able to fathom.

Today we’ll hear from Yasmine, a 35-year-old woman who has witnessed the development of the conflict from its very beginnings. She wants the world to know that Syria’s so-called “revolution” is, in fact, a proxy war.

Yasmine from Damascus

Behind the Umayyad Mosque in Old Damascus, a volunteer helps prepare the Iftar (fast-breaking) meals that the Saaed Association serves to impoverished Damascus residents. (Photo: Eva Bartlett)

First, a little bit about me so you can have an idea about my perspective. I am an engineer, I work for Syrian Telecom. When I graduated, I was so enthusiastic and eager to work and fight the corruption that I’d heard about. But when I started working, I learned that it would not be that easy to achieve my dreams in this environment.

There was no possibility for growth, all the good spots were taken and if I wanted a promotion, I would have to wait for someone else to die in order to climb up the ladder. I decided to work in the private sector and started studying for an MBA. I graduated in November 2010. This is just so you know that I am not blindly pro-Assad – I have had my share of injustice and I criticize everything because I dream of a perfect city.

At the end of 2010, when things started happening in Tunisia, I didn’t really pay attention. But then one day I was chatting with a friend from Tunisia, so I asked her how things were there. She said she didn’t know and that she didn’t dare to go out, as there were gangs in the streets that were looting. I told her that I heard on Al Jazeera that people were celebrating that their president was gone. I said she should be happy for her victory. She said, what victory? It is a total mess and we don’t know who is killing who.

At the time, I was a follower of Ayman Abdul Nour on Facebook. He was a presenter for Orient News, the channel based in Dubai. He used to shed light on all the bad things that were happening in Syria – I liked him because I believe that criticism is always good. But when I started reading what he was writing, it shook me.

His articles were always about Syrian revolution – I remember seeing two articles on his website titled “When are Syrians going to move and stand up” and “Syrians will never move.” I started having doubts about him, so I began following him closely and noticed that he had a lot of sectarian comments on his articles. He had certain followers who were saying bad things about Syrians.

Things kept escalating and (former Egyptian President Hosni) Mubarak fell, but still nothing happened in Syria. I was at work in March 2011 when my friends told me that there was a crowd of women at the post office, someone spread a rumor that [Syrian First Lady] Asma al-Assad was paying 100 dollars for each woman to show up and join in protests. Women were standing at the post office waiting to get the fake reward. I knew back then that there was something vicious going on, that someone was trying to collect people to start something.

The First Demonstration

Al Jazeera, Orient News and Al Arabiya showed a snapshot of a demonstration that happened in Al Hamidia for an entire day, showing the same scene the entire day and claiming that the secret service was using force against demonstrators. I called Al Jazeera to ask them to show more of the demonstration, if it was really as big as they described it, but no one answered.

I went out for a jog and ran into my aunt, who coincidentally happened to be in Al Hamidia when the demonstration happened. I asked her if it was big, but she said it wasn’t. She said the demonstrators gathered for a few minutes and then left – no one said anything to them, people watched for awhile and then everything went back to normal.

So from day one we knew it was not a real revolution. Afterwards we started hearing all kinds of frustrating news. For instance, one of my friends told me about an incident involving her cousin’s 13-year-old son. He came home one day with 200 dollars in his pocket, way too much for his age. So my friend’s cousin asked him where he got it – his son told him that someone gave him the money in exchange for writing negative things about Assad on a wall.

There was something strange about the demonstrations that started happening in Dara’a. News about the demonstrations started popping up on Al Jazeera and Al Arabiya before they even happened. It almost seemed like the rebels were getting their orders from the TV networks.

There were actually many pro-Assad demonstrations in 2011, but no one ever heard about them. Al Jazeera even claimed that some people were forced to go to the pro-Assad demonstrations, but in truth, I sometimes had to take time off work and lose pay to be part of them.

In another instance, a friend of mine who works for Syriatel [a telecoms company owned by Rami Makhlouf, cousin of al-Assad] told me that all vehicles that had the company’s name on them had been vandalized. She said their drivers were attacked and sometimes murdered. Government cars driven by company employees had been stolen.

I lost many of my coworkers who lived in the suburbs, where the radicals were active. Many of them were murdered just because they were working for the government, regardless of whether they were pro-Assad or not. Many employees who did offsite work like repairing telephone lines were murdered while working.

The year 2011 was a year of expectations. We were scared and waiting – the so-called rebels were trying to gather in al-Abbasiyeen Square and do something similar to what happened in Midan al-Tahrir in Egypt. Fortunately they failed, the police protected the area well. But a lot of cars were still stolen – the rebels were seeking funding, so they stole and kidnapped a lot that year. They were trying to create an atmosphere of fear and pressure.

My friend at work told me about another incident in which a group of people purchased a large amount of bread and threw it into a river to make it appear as if we were in a state of crisis. It worked – Al Jazeera reported on it later and it became difficult to buy bread because people really believed we were in a crisis.

The “rebellion” spread to Jobar, a municipality of Damascus where my uncle worked as a pharmacist. It was the Friday before Easter when people came to Jobar and started destroying everything they saw, trying to push people in Jobar to rise up against al-Assad. I called my uncle to make sure he was okay, he said he was hiding out at his neighbor’s house. That was the last time I spoke to him – he died a month later from a heart attack.

I called my friends every Friday that year to ask if they’d seen demonstrations in their towns. They all reported that there was nothing going on, contrary to what Al Jazeera was reporting. The few demonstrators who went out each Friday demanded things they knew nothing of, and when the president would capitulate, they would demand something else the following Friday. It was perpetual.

The July Bombing Of Damascus And The Start Of A War

I was at work on July 18, 2012 when a man from a German consulting company that we dealt with came to work in the morning and said he and one of his colleagues been instructed by his embassy to leave Syria and go back to Germany. They had been working in Syria for over a year. Around 11 or noon that same day, we heard that a bombing had occurred at the Syrian National Security headquarters. Six high-ranking military officials were killed.

It looked like it had been planned or known of in advance – why else would the German consultants have left so quickly? Maybe the governments involved expected that the country would collapse after the bombing. On that day, I saw the first warplane flying above Damascus, shooting at the “rebels” in Jobar. This is the day our government started fighting. But we’d already been suffering daily.

No More So-Called “Revolution”

In this Monday, May 14, 2012 photo, a girl walks past Syrian rebels at Khaldiyeh neighborhood in Homs province, central Syria. (AP/Fadi Zaidan)

The most important thing is that people know that what has happened in Syria is not a revolution. If that were the case, we wouldn’t need any help from the outside. Turkey was setting up a refugee camp long before people started to flee.

I’ve heard from friends that people in some places are threatened if they try to go to a refugee camp that was set up in Jordan, some have even been killed or had their houses burned down. Another friend tried to get into Jordan, as she had an appointment with the embassy, but the Jordanian border patrol refused to let her in because she didn’t have a refugee stamp on her passport.

The same thing happened to another friend’s brother. He was just trying to enter because he’d signed a work contract with a company there, but they wouldn’t let him in without putting a refugee stamp on his passport. This is a way to artificially increase the number of refugees. It makes you feel like you’re in prison and that the world wants you dead.

In order for this war to end we need the U.S.-led coalition to leave Syria. We also need them to stop supporting terrorists, whether intentionally or not. We also need Turkey, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Jordan to stop supporting terrorists. The armed opposition should return to their senses and stop their fruitless fighting. Everyone knows, including the opposition themselves, that they are puppets and pawns in a proxy war.

The Syrian government should clamp down on traitors who sided with our enemies. Our military should keep fighting the terrorists in co-operation with our allies. The U.S. should reclaim all the prisoners they released from Guantanamo who later became the leaders of Daesh. Syrian radical Muslims should be removed from Syria and taken to places where they can practice their radicalism freely.

Yasmine’s Hopes For The Future

I try to be optimistic, but warmongers never stop and they are not ashamed of their crimes. It’s hard to know what to say. But my hope is for peace to return to Syria. Rebuilding the country will be the result if we can get peace back. I know that those who left Syria may not come back, or at least not all of them. But I am counting on their love for Syria.

A great deal of young men and women have already died or left, there are few left to build the future of Syria. We need Syrians to work together to return Syria to the peaceful state it was in before this proxy war began.

If reading Yasmine’s story has left you speechless, then we have made some progress. Stories like hers should shake us to our core. Maybe then, we can stand up against imposed wars, Western imperialism and invasions that have devastated countries in the Middle East and beyond. We need to fight against the misinformation disseminated by mainstream media. As concerned citizens of the world, we are responsible for taking action and bringing about positive change.

In Part III of our “Syrians Speak Out” series, we’ll speak with Shadi, an atheist from the Syrian city of Safita who will share the intimate details of his kidnapping and torture in 2012 by the Free Syrian Army in Idlib. Shadi’s bone-chilling recollection highlights the cruelty of the terrorists that the U.S. government has described as “moderate rebels.”

This article first appeared on MintPressNews.com and was authored by Sarah Abed.

The post 2,190 Days Of Suffering: Syrians Describe Surviving The Rebel Invasion appeared first on We Are Change.

from We Are Change https://wearechange.org/2190-days-suffering-syrians-describe-surviving-rebel-invasion/

#We are Change #We Are Change

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