#But This Unwarranted Destruction Needs To Stop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddies-house · 8 hours

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TW: mentions of bad mental health

im imagining eddie being absolutley taken back when he finds out how people have previously treated you resulting in hesitation when being vulnerable with him.

and he's been through some shit, he's not exactly one to be voluntarily vulnerable either but with the tables turned it's like a moment of oh. like you're hiding from him, muddling your own emotions as a means to keep the peace.

he realizes that coming in strong, asking "what's wrong?" almost too oboxiously like he's previously done, only chases you further into your mind, it only insinuates that there are consquences if you were to answer so rather than being met with honesty, it's always "nothing" followed by forced smiles and sucked back tears that he's regrettably brushed off in those moments, trying to keep you comfortable. but while his intention to ease your chaotic mind by simply moving on had no ill intent, he soon recognizes the harm its caused and the pattern he's assisted in creating.

realizes he takes it far too personal when you shut down on those particularily bad days, thinks it's cause of him, only to contribute to the self destruction taking place in your mind when he continuously begs the questions "what's wrong?" "what do you want me to do?" "what can I do?" "come on, tell me what's wrong". he never understood that he was never the issue but he quickly made himself into one by nearly berating and prodding you with his questions. and then one day he sees it. sees the way your eyes go dull when he asks.

sees the front you put on, "everything's okay" while your lip wobbles. he doesn't take it personal this time, there's nothing distracting him from the obvious signs, the symptoms of broken hearted individual struggling to keep up despite the aches and pains that linger within. its a heartbreak he's so familiar with yet seems to be so blind to in others, thinking he's the only one to experience it, not selfishly but hopefully. so he straightens up and silently tells himself to quit all of his bitching because this is bigger than him, it's not because of him. you need him and he's been too insecure to think that maybe words aren't required, not by you anyway. there is no quick fix, no remedy to just stop the pain like popping an ibprofen or slapping on a bandaid, it just is. raw pain and vulnerability that should be allowed to be felt, not cured.

so this time, he recognizes the wall you put up, just like every other time though it was previously ignored. before he can even say anything, he knows you're anticipating his bombarding questions that have no answer. sees the way you tense up, the slight panic in the way your fingers tremble at the prospect of being figured out. except this time he speaks softly, a shake in his voice because he's terrifed to scare you off once again. says "i love you" then gently wraps you up in his arms, provides a barrier between you and the world you're at war with.

holds you on the kitchen floor, face pressed to his chest with a mixture of tears and snot.

runs his fingers down your spine delicately.

whispers "it's okay" when he knows it is in fact not, only hoping you're able to decipher that he means it's okay that you're not okay, it's okay that it's 1AM and while the world is asleep you're both tangled up on top of crumbs and possible neglected coffee stains

apologizes.

because for all those times you've coaxed him through an unwarranted episode, he's been neglecting you at your worst. not on purpose but it's neglect nontheless. and he knows all about it.

sings under his breath when the sobs have stopped wreaking havoc on your body. quiet hums of a familiar song, you are my sunshine.

tucks you into bed, makes you a late night snack cause he knows your appetite fails you in times like these, kisses your forehead and threads his fingers through your hair.

he's not perfect nor has he ever desired being held to such a high standard. but for you he wants to try.

#im not projecting :')#no way #is this therapy?#crying in the club y'all #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you

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therobotmonster · 7 months

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The Fantastic Four Movie Problem: A Pulp Peg in a Hero-Shaped Hole.

There's been a lot of attempts to make Fantastic Four movies, and none of them have really worked.

(I made the best one biggest. Fight me.)

I know why.

It's because the Fantastic Four, while being in the superhero genre, are not superheroes. They are adventurers.

They have more in common with these guys:

Than these guys:

And it all comes down to story structure, particularly in the origin episode.

Superheroes are by nature reactive. They respond to threats, protect people, and generally act as a blend of rescue worker and (usually) nonlethal sheriff. They are the heightened-reality version of the helpers of Mr. Rogers' philosophy. Doomsday shows up, you stop Doomsday. If there's no crime, you're not doing anything that day.

But the Fantastic Four, and particularly Reed, are adventurers. They go and find their trouble. There might be vague rumblings of something strange or unusual seismic activity or whatever to initiate the adventure, but Reed isn't waiting for the phone to ring so he can punch a bank robber, he's making plans for an expedition to Monster Island or he's built a doorway to the Negative Zone for the express purpose of exploring another universe.

The Fantastic Four go looking for interesting things and find trouble when they get there. The main exception to this is Doctor Doom, and the rush to make him the main villain in the first film is a rush past a glorious feast to go straight to the dessert.

It's like starting Holmes off face to face with Moriarty from day one, and it puts the Fantastic Four in the same do-gooder box as the rest.

It chops out their most unique aspect, their proactive nature, that all their personalities hinge on: It informs Reed's obsessive need to know and how it warps his priorities. It feeds Johnny's thrill-seeking and recklessness. Ben's mutation is the cost of that drive taken to the point of hubris and informs the spirit of the whole team. And Sue, who is the most traditionally superheroic in her outlook, has the codependent role of keeping her loved ones safe despite their self-destructive adventurism.

It's a long standing fandom joke that Reed is an asshole.

It's not unwarranted, but the whole team is a dysfunctional but still caring family, each with similar flaws. A thing that the adaptations often lose because they wind up being overly bicker-y to make up for the more static, reactive superhero format, and blaming Reed for them being freaks is easy pathos.

If they were treated as the pulp adventurers they are in spirit, you'd have a lot more chances for them to bond as each leg of the journey into the Savage Land runs into natural hazards and lesser foes on the way to the climax fight.

In short: Pulp it up.

#fantastic four #media #tropes #marvel movies #mcu #roger corman #fantastic four 2005 #Fant4stic

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leafkingofbirds · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

More Jack/Kieran conversation!!

Please forgive my verbosity haha (this is so long omg it needs editing)

Jack stares at Kieran, uncomprehending and wary.

“I could hate you for all you’ve done,” Kieran begins. “In fact, I wish that I could. It would be far, far easier to hate you. To condemn you, kill you, and feel vindicated, without ever having to accept the truth. Instead, I must confront the facts. I must acknowledge that, despite the abhorrent actions you took, the offenses you committed against me...they were not entirely unwarranted. Your crimes deserve punishment – for the murder of my most beloved knight, whose innocence and lifetime of dedication to my family demands I bring his spirit justice. But I will not kill you, Jack. There must be peace between our peoples, at long last, and killing you would only continue a destructive cycle. For the sake of everyone I love and have ever loved, I am compelled to make this right. Somehow, we must find a way to change things. And I can’t do that without you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re their leader. They will follow you, Jack. I’ve seen them. Few mortals would find the bravery to invade the Moon Court without such a general at their head. Your people will not trust me, and, I admit, they have no reason to. But your job is not finished. Join your army with my cause, and let us together take down Opulence.”

Jack makes a face toward Ella, her aura of magic softened - but still evident. “You have your super-charged mortal weapon right there. Use it. Use her. No army of mine can compare.”

Kieran resists the urge to bristle at the dehumanization. He’s angry, lashing out like a wounded animal. Trying to inflict any wound he can.

Kieran knew exactly how that felt.

He took a moment to ensure his voice was calm, no to rise to Jack’s bait. “Perhaps Ella’s magic is enough to take back the Sources - but she is still just one person. And this fight concerns us all.”

“No,” Jack says immediately. “They’ve suffered enough under my command. I won’t lead them into certain death.”

“I can’t die,” Ella interjects, making them both turn to look at her. Her arms crossed in front of her, she looks haughty, almost bored. “I’m not Fae. No weapon can stop me. Let me lead them.”

Kieran can’t help but flinch at how eagerly she jumps to violence, remembering her callous disregard for life on either side of the battle, destroying everything without restraint.

That is not my Ella. That is a stranger wearing her face.

“Ella,” Kieran says, unable to bare looking at her. “Could you give me a moment alone with Jack, please?”

“Suit yourself. I’ll be outside the door. If you try anything, Jack–”

“He won’t,” Kieran assures them both, locking eyes with Jack. Ella leaves, closing the door behind her.

Jack’s gaze fits uncomfortably to Kieran, and somehow, without knowing this man – without knowing he ever existed until a scant time ago – there is something of an aching familiarity, pulled deep from the recesses of his heart and memory. To look upon someone of his own blood, when he thought he never would do such a thing again…

“Why did you do that?”

“To gain your trust. At the moment, Ella is not herself, and her magic is more than both of us combined. This is between us - let us stand on equal ground and speak man to man. Without my secret weapon.” Kieran sighs audibly, hating himself, hating what he knows he must do. “I look at you, Jack…and I cannot help but see the resemblances between us. Had our fates been reversed, I very well may have followed the same path you forged that found us here today. I would feel the need to make others suffer the way I have suffered. You’ve committed a grievous wound to me, and it’s one that will not heal quickly, if it ever shall. But…I look at you and I see our mother’s eyes. I see a man who should have grown up beside me…who should have been my brother. I see many wrongs that can never be put right.”

Kieran is surprised at how much the urge to pummel Jack lessens as he speaks. Whatever spirit of grace Ella had infused in him was still at work, even now that her own merciful heart was gone.

Jack sucks in a pained breath, and Kieran falters only briefly at the glimpse of this alternate life that flashes before his eyes. He had never once aired these thoughts, not even to Ella. Had scarcely allowed himself to entertain the idealistic imaginings that he should have long since outgrown.

But he couldn’t help picturing what childhood might have been like, trailing in the footsteps of an elder brother. Someone he could have looked up to and admired. Who could have given him advice. Been there beside him, as a comfort, a guide. Perhaps it would have been Jack learning swordplay with Sir Monty, Jack laughing as he bested his teacher for the first time, with a friendly rivalry.

The path of those thoughts was a downward spiral, too painful to continue. Kieran quickly pulled himself away before it drowned him.

Even now, looking into Jack’s eyes, still so full of suspicion and an unwillingness to surrender, Kieran can see the young man Jack once was, and know that he would have idolized these same traits in his elder brother. This strength, bravery, and determination.

Kieran has to force away the emotion in his voice. “I spent a long century cursed and alone, Jack. I pushed away, or frightened away, everyone but Longclaw and Sir Montgomery. Until Ella came along, it was a century empty of love or hope. And now, knowing that all along, you were experiencing the same? It fills me with grief. But I was given a second chance, and it changed everything. Tis only fair I offer you the same. You should have been allowed to grow up a prince. To be welcomed home to your…family.”

I wouldn’t have been alone. Neither of us would have been alone.

It would have caused no end of scandal, Kieran knew, if he had known of Jack and welcomed him into his court. It might have even sparked a way between the courts. But there was a part of Kieran that wished it could have happened. He would have fought that battle if it meant none of the rest of this had ever happened.

Jack’s throat bobs on a swallow. He says nothing for a moment, then… “You can’t tell me a halfling bastard would have been allowed to become a prince of Fae. And if my parents had stayed together in defiance of the Sun Court, you would not have been born.”

Kieran grimaces. Jack isn’t wrong. The most likely outcome, if Jack’s father and their mother ran off together with the infant Jack, all three of them would be dead now, and Kieran would have never existed.

“I’d like to believe we could have changed things, given time. The crown grants many privileges of rule. Once my mother was gone…Well. We can’t say what might have been. But I wish I had known. I would have sought you myself. All of this could have been avoided.”

Jack’s mouth screws up into a petulant frown, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Really?. What would you have done, Night Prince? Welcomed me to sit on the throne? Given over your crown, and shared dominion over half of the realm?”

Kieran feels the urge to rip out his hair. “Gods, you are infuriating. Now I see what my parents had to endure with me. Jack, listen to me, damn you. I am offering to share that power now.”

If anything, Jack’s suspicious eyes only narrow more.

“You have shown yourself a good leader – I’ve seen how you take care of your people, not risking their lives unnecessarily. You’ve managed to take down both courts with an army of mortals, something that has never been done since their creation. I have no choice but to respect that. And what Fae remain will have no choice but respect you. Or fear you.”

“So you wish to install me as a puppet to pacify the unwashed masses? I set out to destroy the courts, not join them!”

“You set out to save your father, Jack. Perhaps abolishing the courts was simply a convenient bonus, and I understand why. But the courts were formed because Fae are too powerful to exist without laws governing their behavior. So consider that in order to gain something out of all of this disastrous mess, you may have to compromise a little.”

Jack glares at Kieran, but he’s no longer arguing. Which meant he was listening, at long last.

“I want mortals to have a place in the future of this realm. I want this realm to have a future. The responsibility of these lands has rested on my shoulders since I was old enough to stand.” Kieran glares. “This goes against my nature, I hope you appreciate that. If we had met a year ago, things would have been very different - but I am a changed man. I owe many things to Ella, but most of all I have learned to admit when I am wrong. Here and now, Jack, I offer the hand of peace. And with it, an offering to change centuries of injustice.”

Jack stares at him in disbelief. “I don’t believe a word of this.”

“I do not lie,” Kieran hisses, insulted. “A tyrant now holds all the power of Fae. That is your fault. We are going to win it back, or die trying. Join me. Take the first step in showing that Fae and changeling need not be enemies. For whatever it may be worth, coming from a crownless, mortal, powerless prince – I’m offering you a chance to help shape the world we rebuild from the ashes into something better. For us all.”

There is no lessening of Jack’s suspicion. “If I refuse, are you going to let your consort kill me? What strange curse have you put upon her to make her so powerful?”

“I did nothing,” Kieran growls. “Ella made the only choice she thought could save the ones she loves - from you. She sacrificed her heart to gain magic no mortal was meant to possess, and it stole away everything that she was.”

Jack’s eyes went wide. “She used the mortality cure.”

“It is no cure. It is a curse,” Kieran tells Jack viciously, who glares back, unrepentant. “It stole Ella away from me and made her empty. And it would have done the same to your father. No magic can stave off death forever. But my Ella would not want you to die. And in her stead, I must do what she would have wanted.”

Jack doesn’t fully believe him, Kieran can tell. But he’s beginning to.

“Help me fix this,” Kieran urges.

“You acknowledge the world can’t return to what it was?” Jack asks, venom in his voice. “I won’t help you return Fae to power while mortals beg for scraps.”

“You did a fairly thorough job of dismantling the Sun Court,” Kieran muses. “So I imagine the world cannot return to what it was, no matter what happens next. But the magic of Fae must always be held in balance. Someone must be strong enough to hold the key to the sources of magic, and willing to keep unruly Fae in line by whatever means necessary.”

“So you propose yourself for the role, I assume?” Jack sneers. “Trading one tyrant for another.”

“No,” Kieran snaps, insulted. “I propose we return to the Moon Palace to reunite with whoever is left. And that we all work together to determine what our shared future will look like. We aren’t bound by the constraints of the past any longer. None remain who installed those unequal structures of power. I’m offering you a chance no other Fae has ever offered a mortal, let alone a changeling, to influence what comes next.”

Jack’s eyes widen slightly, a flash of surprise. “You want credit for doing the bare minimum? Why would any Fae ever give up one iota of their power? Let alone a prince?” He sneers the word with derision.

Kieran’s irritation flares, and he tamps it down with some effort. “Because despite what you may believe, I have known what it means to suffer. In fact I have known little else. I have watched every last member of my family die at the hands of those who professed peace, until I alone was left to defend and uphold my court. I have been betrayed and cursed heartless by someone I believed to love me, forced to roam the night as a thoughtless beast for a hundred years, unable to feel love or happiness. I offer this because you are the last of my blood, and you too have suffered unjustly. Because I have found peace in the love of a mortal, and I must save her from this curse. Because I tire of pain. I have had my fill of it. And I’m not the only one.”

Kieran glances behind him, where Ella has gone. Despair spins into a whirlpool inside him at how empty Ella's eyes have become, knowing she won't be there to give them the advice he needs. He turns back to Jack, who at long last has the decent to look shaken. “I’m tired, Jack. I’m tired of losing those I love. Aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, Jack looks toward his father’s body, and he squeezes his eyes closed.

Kieran softens his voice. “More than vengeance, more than anything, what I want now is to create a world in which these things cannot happen to another generation.”

“The selfless Fae prince,” Jack scoffs bitterly, not looking at him. There's tears in his voice. “Such an unlikely choice of hero for this fairy tale.”

Kieran, fed up, grabs Jack and hauls him to his feet, forcing him to look Kieran in the eye. “Do not mistake me: I am a selfish man. I am not merciful or kind. But while my Ella cannot be…” Kieran closes his eyes briefly, trying to remember her smile. “Then I must be both, for her sake. The reason you are still alive is not because I lack magic, but because I choose to break this cycle. You may be stronger than most mortals, but even without my magic, you are no match for me."

Jack glares and bristles, an argument ready in his mouth. Kieran can see it, and the beast in him roars its ugly head and dares him to say it, wants the fight, wants to be justified in venting his rage with fists and more pointless bloodshed that would solve nothing.

Instead, Kieran lets go of Jack, and steps away. “You don't trust me; that's fine. I wouldn't trust me, either. But you must decide if your cause is worth more than your ego. For I will create a new world from the ashes of what you have destroyed. I will move heaven and earth, do whatever must be done, because I wish to finally know what it is to live in peace. I want to know what it is to have hope in a better future. And I want to love my Ella as well and as long as fate grants us. It is not only for our mother’s sake that I spare your life, but mine as well. I do not want to live a life chained to hatred and vengeance any longer. I want to learn what it’s like to have a brother, to create a new kind of family. I want to live my life with a clear conscience. The question is…do you?”

Jack’s lips part, as if he means to speak, but no words come out. He pushes himself away from the wall, his legs trembling.

“It seems I am not the only stubborn, foolishly idealistic one in this room.” Jack’s eyes move to his father’s deathbed once more. He’s exhausted, wounded, weakened. There is blood pooling where he fell. And yet he sets his jaw and thrusts out his hand. “This will not be easy. Even with your secret weapon. Even if we best Opulence, the rest of Fae will fight you tooth and nail. They will resist any attempts at change.”

Kieran can’t help but smirk. “I know my countrymen perhaps better than you, Jack. But I am their prince. And they will bow when I tell them to.”

“With that kind of confidence…” Jack coughs, hacking and wet, blood in his teeth. Kieran had wounded him perhaps worse than Jack had let on. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Kieran allows himself a smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

"That world you describe…” Jack begins, his voice choking only a little. “It's something my father always hoped to live long enough to see. Perhaps...perhaps we can yet fulfill his dream. I think I owe him...that much."

Jack's shaking hand takes hold of Kieran’s, and the brothers touch for the first time in peace instead of in violence.

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smolalienbee · 2 years

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bestie you know what song and you know what relationship I'm requesting 😔

omg hiii you are so right, i sure do know

yennskier // inspired by Her Sweet Kiss (The Witcher OST)

(send me a character/pairing and a prompt and i’ll write you a ficlet!)

It starts with a kiss.

Worse yet, it starts with a fake kiss.

(Well, no, the kiss is as real as it can be, it's the reasons behind it that make it a play pretend, a performance, fiction.)

In the same way as she had become his wife for the sake of his safety, Yennefer presses her lips against his to protect him. And suddenly, Jaskier gets it.

The strength of her current, the electric charge of her skin against his. Gods, no wonder Geralt had fallen so hard. She pushes him against an alley wall and he can’t help the way he leans into her, presses further into the kiss. He hopes it will go on longer, that it won’t stop, that her warmth will stay with him like this.

But the danger is gone as soon as it appeared and so she pulls away. They both linger in this strange space, breathing in each other’s air. Purple eyes, gorgeous eyes, blink up at him and Jaskier feels like he’s lost a part of himself to her the second their lips touched.

In that moment, the words of his own song bubble onto his tongue, unwarranted, though the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to laugh - because he was wrong. This realization is sudden, but accurate, he knows, he knows, that he was wrong, that there is no destruction to be found in her touch. Nothing to fear in the wake of her kiss, only warmth and longing and safety.

“Yennefer?” he croaks out because she still hasn’t let go of him and he needs - he needs to bring himself back to reality before he loses himself in her eyes completely.

She licks her lips, her gaze flickers to his mouth - but then with a nod, she steps away.

“We should go. Quickly.”

“Or else you’re going to have to press me up another wall?”

She smacks his arm, laughs, and his heart aches with longing.

(The story is this - it starts with her kiss.)

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lalsingh228-blog · 21 days

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Anti- Drone Technology Market Size, Share, Growth, Trends, Analysis 2029

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powertrumpeter · 5 months

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Stop Bombing Villages In Biafra Land: Nigerian Authorities.

We appeal to Nigerian Government and it’s Armed Forces, to stop bombing and attacking our villages in Biafra land. What they’re doing now, amounts to another round of genocide against our people; after the atrocities they committed before, during, and after the civil war in 1967/1970.

People are being killed daily and silently in the remote villages. Why turn the bushes to centres of decomposing bodies, which are never buried? We call on International Community, to carry out thorough investigation into the unannounced war, and bloodshed going on in the South Eastern states especially. All the media houses in Nigeria, have been barred from reporting, or announcing events associated with the war against our people going on there. They include: radio, television, and print media. We thank God for the social media, and other avenues of information dissemination.

Nigerian Government authorized the use of fighter jets, against our people in the communities. When you throw bombs, or use war planes to attack the place, you engage in wanton destruction of lives and property. People are killed in their homes, in the bush farms; residential buildings and shops, are destroyed. Our oppressors claim to be bombing hideouts of Eastern Security Network (ESN). They’re out to destroy our land, and make it Fulani Colony. They’re meeting stiff resistance from our people, who have the right to defend themselves.

Let the world bodies like United Nations, place arms embargo on Nigeria, including the use of war planes against Biafrans. United State Government, barred Nigeria from using its acquired Tulcano war planes, in Southern Nigeria, especially in the South East. The aircraft are meant to be used to fight terrorists in the North. That was the condition under which the war planes were sold to them. At one time the US President, warned they would be deactivated if used in against the South. The instruction has been disregarded longtime ago by Nigerian Authorities. They use the Tulcano and other war planes to devastate Biafra land. Let the deactivation take place. Let severe sanctions be imposed on our oppressors.

Any individual or country,’ who provides or sells war planes, and other weapons to fight our people, is making blood money. God will surely judge that person or nation. The war against us is unwarranted. They should withdraw the Fulani Terrorist Herdsmen, and other Fulani Jihadists ravaging our territory. Also, let them remove the mercenaries, and pipeline vandals from River State, recruited to fight us. All the terrorists in uniforms, and other criminally minded people, they hurriedly absorbed into the Military and Police, should be sent back to the North, to fight terrorists and bandits there. Charity begins at home.

Then, they will discover there is no need of the bloodletting going on in our land. Recently, there was this strong allegation that some jet fighters dropped some chemical substances in the air. When they settled on the ground, they burned like fire. Mazi Simon Ekpa confirmed it, and warned of severe consequences of their barbaric actions. This young generation of Biafrans, are highly determined to protect and defend themselves against the oppressors. They’re far ahead of our fathers in the 1960s, as far as fighting spirit is concerned. They have capabilities to take actions against the invaders and those sending them. It can be more devastating than bombs and chemical substances being thrown on the land.

They have been acting with much restraint, and sending warnings. People are calling for the release of Mazi Nnamdi Kanu from detention. This will ease the already charged atmosphere. You mobilize thousands of combat troops, and other security agents armed to the teeth, against our people. You send hundreds of armoured cars, hilluxs, military trucks, heavy weapons, etc., to fight in our area. You place total embargo on news reporting there, with the threat to close down the news media that disobeys order..Give a name to what you are doing. You have declared unannounced war against us.

Our people are under serious pressure not to take the fight into enemies’ homes. They have the capacity to strike at any part of the country. Stop bombing our land. You are pushing our people to the wall. You denied Peter Obi the Presidential ticket he clearly won. Now, you have almost excluded Igbos from the scheme of things. Yet, you don’t want them to go. Your Military adventure in our land won’t survive the test of time.

The truth remains, the struggle for Biafra independence has reached irreversible stage. We have crossed the Rubicon. No devil or human being can stop it from coming to pass. There is no enchantment or divination against Biafra. If you consult any juju man for incantation against the restoration of Biafra, you are spending your money for nothing. Go to any false prophet, or other agents of Satan to see visions against Biafra, you are wasting your money and time.

The God of heaven who delivered Israel from bondage in Egypt, will surely deliver us from oppressive Nigeria. No amount of force, bribery or intimidation, will stop it. Their hatred against us, is more severe than that of the Egyptian rulers against Israelis. They want us dead. If not for God’s mercies, and the defensive positions of ESN, Biafran land would have turned to Fulani territory, refugee camps, and burial grounds. We beg you in the name of God, withdraw your war planes and forces from our God-given land.

“Rejoice, O ye nations, with his people: for he will avenge the blood of his servants, and will render vengeance to his adversaries, and will be merciful unto his land, and to his people” –Deuteronomy 32:43... https://powertrumpeter.org/blog3/?p=167.Stop Bombing Villages In Biafra Land: Nigerian Authorities.

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ipscindia · 1 year

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Stem cell therapy for Osteoarthritis knee

Among the chronic Joint pains, hip and knee osteoarthritis (OA) is the most prevalent and is a leading cause of pain and disability in most countries worldwide.

The prevalence of arthritis increases with age and is associated with heavy occupational activities.

242 million people worldwide have symptomatic and activity-limiting arthritis of knee.

Knee Osteoarthritis affects sleep, mood, and quality of life. Pain- both chronic pain and episodic- can result in depression and other mood disturbances, functional disabilities, and work limitations.

OA significantly limits a person’s ability to self-manage other chronic diseases like diabetes and hypertension.

Osteoarthritis knee also, increases the risk of developing heart disease by 50%.

Traditional nonsurgical Osteoarthritis therapies have limited utility and the the treatment effect on disease is very low. Most of the therapies are aimed at controlling the symptoms but have minimal or no effect on disease progression or repair. On the other hand, surgeries such as Total knee replacement and partial knee replacement is unwarranted until the disease progresses to moderate or end-stage.

Stem cell therapy by the Interventional Pain specialist has shown some promising results and has shown disease modification to prevent knee joint destruction. Stem cell therapy for knee arthritis has shown reduction of pain and stiffness, improvement in physical function, maintains cartilage quality with minimal side effects. Cost of the procedure and affordability is a matter of concern and may not be suitable for the masses.

What is the best treatment for early arthritis of knee?

Exercises to strengthen the muscles, regular walks to maintain the flexibility, weight reduction to off load the knee joint and exercises to improve the general physical fitness. These interventions not only will reduce the symptoms but also helps in slowing the process of degeneration.

What are the stages of Osteoarthritis knee?

Stage 1: Minor. Pain on increased physical activities is the main symptom. Modification of the lifestyle, usually controls the symptoms and may even disease progression.

Stage 2 is Mild Osteoarthritis and Stage 3 is moderate arthritis: Disease modifying interventions by Interventional Pain specialist, can only prevent further progression at these stages. The earlier we intervene, the better are the results. Stem cell therapy is best at these stages.

Stage 4: Severe. At this stage, either Knee joint replacement or in patients who are not willing for knee replacement surgery or not medically fit for surgery, pain reduction can be achieved with cooled RF ablation technology.

Is walking good for osteoarthritis?

Walking is a fantastic option for many patients with knee arthritis because it is a low-impact activity that does not put undue stress on the joints. Furthermore, walking can increase the knee's range of motion and keep it from becoming overly stiff.

What exercises should we not do with osteoarthritis knee?

You may need to avoid activities that put too much strain on the joints, such as running and sports that involve jumping, quick turns, or sudden stops.

What blood tests can detect early arthritis?

Osteoarthritis is a degenerative condition and can not be detected with blood tests. Some blood tests are required to rule out other types of arthritis.

Does stem cell therapy work on knee arthritis?

Stem cell therapy has shown some promising results and has shown disease modification to prevent knee joint destruction. Stem cell therapy for knee arthritis has shown reduction of pain and stiffness, improvement in physical function, maintains cartilage quality with minimal side effects.

Is stem cell treatment better than knee replacement surgery?

Stem cell is used in the early stages only to prevent the disease progression but if the osteoarthritis is already in advanced stages, knee replacement is a better option. When knee replacement is not possible, pain specialist may advise you for Cooled RFA of knee joints to reduce the pain.

How painful is the stem cell injection in the knee joints?

Not painful at all. The pain specialist do these procedures under local anaesthesia and under Ultrasound or Fluoroscopy Guidance.

How many stem cell injections are required for OA knee joint?

With the current advanced technology, only one single stem cell injection is required.

How long does it take for knee stem cells to work?

Some patients report feeling better in as little as a couple of days. Stem cells takes some time to act and repair the damaged cartilage and may have full effect in 4-6 weeks time. During this period, your pain specialist will prescribe some medications to control your pain.

Do I need to take rest after the stem cell procedure? Just one to two days of restricted physical activity is sufficient. From the 3rd day, you may start your routine activities. Avoid jogging, running, and strengthening exercises for at least 7-10 days. Avoid overloading (excess force on the affected joint), shearing (pivoting and twisting), or compression on the injected joint.

#knee osteoarthritis #prevalence of arthritis #chronic pain #chronic diseases #nonsurgical Osteoarthritis therapies #Total knee replacement #partial knee replacement #Stem cell therapy #Interventional Pain specialist #cartilage #stages of Osteoarthritis knee #degenerative condition #local anaesthesia #Ultrasound #Fluoroscopy

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crushblue4 · 1 year

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Paranoia

Types of Paranoia

Paranoia is a condition where one fears someone else is spying on them. It can be caused by many factors such as stress, lack of sleep, and use of drugs or alcohol. However, it only becomes a problem when it continues for long periods of time and affects a person's quality of life and their ability to interact with others. There are many types of paranoia, and not all are serious.

Drug-induced paranoia

Drug-induced paranoia is one of the common side effects of recreational drug use. These drugs cause an altered state of awareness and euphoria and can make people feel aggressive or hostile. If you are suffering from drug-induced paranoia, you should seek help. Treatment for drug paranoia can include stopping drug use and working with a mental health professional to restore cognitive function. For some, drug paranoia is a permanent problem, and waiting too long could cause it to worsen.

Symptoms of drug-induced paranoia are similar to those of schizophrenia, and they may also occur in individuals who have underlying mental disorders. Methamphetamine abuse, for instance, may cause psychotic symptoms. People who have recovered from schizophrenia are also at risk for drug-induced paranoia.

Erotic or jealousy paranoia

Erotic or jealous paranoia is a condition in which a person has unwarranted convictions about a particular person's sexual preferences or intentions. https://www.clearviewcounselingcenter.org/services/ can be triggered by a variety of factors including environmental conditions, relationships, and sexual history. The emotional and cognitive consequences of this disorder can range from mild to severe. Here are some common causes of this disorder.

Erotic or jealousy paranoia is also referred to as Othello syndrome, a mental disorder in which the sufferer experiences intense, unreasonable, and unreasonable feelings of jealousy or infidelity in his or her partner. The condition manifests itself in the form of delusions and obsessions, most often regarding sexual relationships.

Persecutory ideas

A new study has identified a link between attachment avoidance and persecutory ideas. Both positive and negative PLEs were associated with PLEs, indicating that attachment avoidance might be a significant factor in persecutory ideas. Further, the association between attachment avoidance and persecution remained significant even after adjusting for the effect of PLEs.

Persecutory delusions are a type of paranoia often found in post-traumatic stress disorder, schizoaffective disorder, and schizophrenia. The delusions are based on unrealistic reasoning and affect the person's behavior. The symptoms of persecutory delusions include distorted perceptions of reality and the inability to recognize reality.

Drug-induced paranoid schizophrenia

Treatment for drug-induced psychosis depends on the substance involved. Some cases can be treated with cessation of drug use, while others may need an intensive drug rehab program. A mental health professional will help you decide the best course of action for your situation. If you think you are experiencing symptoms related to drug-induced paranoia or schizophrenia, contact your doctor.

People with schizophrenia experience delusions and hallucinations, which are false impressions of reality. These symptoms affect all five senses and cause sufferers to perceive things that are not there. These people are misunderstood by society and often considered to be "crazy". Their condition makes it difficult to build healthy relationships, hold down a steady job, and perform daily tasks.

Treatments for paranoia

If you have been experiencing symptoms of paranoia, it may be time to seek treatment. The first step is to visit your GP. Tell him or her about your thoughts and worries. Most doctors offer talking therapy for paranoia, including cognitive behavioral therapy. These treatments help people with paranoia to learn how to control their thoughts and avoid self-destructive behavior.

In some severe cases, paranoia may require involuntary hospitalization. This is necessary when the sufferer cannot care for himself and poses an immediate danger to others. In more manageable cases, patients can be stabilized through day hospital programs, outpatient care, or a residential program. Without treatment, paranoia patients can continue to be a danger to themselves and their loved ones.

#Marriage Counseling #Psychologist in El Paso TX #Addiction Counselor #Family Therapy

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bballinspiration · 4 years

Video

J.R Smith has been seen beating up a man who smashed his car window amid the protests in Los Angeles

#J.R. Smith #Black Lives Matter #But This Unwarranted Destruction Needs To Stop #via. TMZ Sports #JR Swish #JR #Ball is Life

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instantn00ds · 3 years

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Love Never Dies (OLD)

I thought I’d post my stuff on tumblr for...convenience? Actually, idk why, I just thought it’d be fun lol. So, here’s a preview of chapter one! (even tho like.. six..? are already up)

“And here! Lot 666—a chandelier in pieces. Many of you might remember the events leading up to its destruction, and tales of Chat Noir, the so-called Phantom of the Opera. We have recently fitted the fixture to use modern day electricity: by doing so you can all see what was once the glory of this Opera House, and maybe scare away the ghost of nights past.”

Marinette had always been a chorus girl.

She had since her first day walking into the Agreste Opera House, and though it was a reality many would have been content to live in, something inside the girl pushed her to be better. Call it wasted optimism, as many did in the past, but the need to go beyond what everyone expected of her drove Marinette to the position she was in today.

Today would be her first ever audition for the lead role.

“Dearest, you must stop shaking!” a voice cooed in her right ear. Leave it to Alya to call her out on her apparent nervousness. Of course, Marinette was thankful for her friend, someone more akin to a sister, but a small part of her wished she had done a better job concealing the shaking.

“You’re ready for this—I know you are! You’ve practiced harder than anyone else up for the role, and definitely more so than Chloe”

“Thanks, Alya,” the nervous girl replied, “but I can’t help myself!” Though she hated to admit it, somewhere in the back of her mind Marinette knew Chloé would effortlessly receive the role: so far, she had every year. Whether it was because of her talent and capability as a performer or because of her father’s pull in the opera house, the noirette had yet to make up her mind— after all, Chloé could not sell out full houses if the people did not like her voice. Still, it bothered her: for years Marinette had practiced and practiced role after role, only to be denied a chance in the limelight in preference to the Prima Donna.

“Don’t be” Alya firmly stated, “your voice has come a long way from the start of the season, and it is only a matter of time before Queen Bee is overthrown.” Both girls giggled before promptly being shushed by Madame Bustier, the woman leading the auditions.

“And up next is Mademoiselle Chloé Bourgeois auditioning for... the lead” she called, ignoring the groans heard throughout the room, “Perform well my dear, and may Lady Luck be on your side” Madame Bustier concluded, leaving Chloé to begin her audition.

As she had every year, the blonde performed her rendition of Hannibal , belting loudly during each verse

“Is it just me, or did she get worse” Marinette could hear Alya say under her breath. Chloe Bourgeois wasn't an especially bad singer by any means, though what she had could hardly be called a gift. With help from some of the most formidable teachers in Paris, the girl's voice was shaped into something bearable, but desire was found naturally— no amount of lessons could teach Chloe to have a want so desperate

“As you know,” Madame Bustier scolded, “Mademoiselle Bourgeois deserves our complete attention— and that cannot happen when there is chatter on the main floor” Marinette sank into her seat as Chloé scoffed

“In all honesty, I don’t know why you let her in here at all Madame B— as if she’s going to get the part” The way Chloe spoke to Marinette was always so demeaning, but in all fairness she spoke to everyone that way. Still, the comment felt unwarranted; leave it to Chloe to attack Marinette’s greatest insecurity.

Noticing the harshness of the comment, Madame Bustier frowned, “that will be all Mademoiselle Bourgeois— you may continue where you left off” Even though there was little Madame Bustier could do to put the blonde in her place, Marinette felt content with her quick response. At least the staff was on her side, so she wasn’t so alone

…

Bourgeois auditions were notoriously long for all the wrong reasons. It primarily depended on the length of the piece the girl went with every year: Hannibal . The added notes, repeats, runs, and fermatas did nothing to stop the music from staying past its welcome, and with help from Sabrina, it was nearly impossible for the song to finish on time. Knowing this, it was easy for anyone in the crowd to get lost in their thoughts: afterall, they did have a solid 15 minutes before

Mademoiselle Bourgeois would finally step down, and having heard it countless times before, Hannibal was getting duller by the second. Needless to say, Marinette had been a casualty in this war many of times

“Marinette? MARINETTE!” The ditzy girl eventually snapped away from her daydreams: Chloé’s audition must have finally ended. “Madame Bustier has been trying to get your attention! You remember—for your audition?” Alya poked

“Don’t even try: it’s no use Césaire. Dupain-Cheng would never get the role regardless of whether she were here or not!” Chloé added, looking away from both girls, “Madame Bustier already knows the role belongs to me.”

“She only knows as your father paid for the production” Alya scoffed, trying to defend her best friend.

“I’m sorry, did you say something, Césaire?”

“Why, yes Chloé. I said your father is a—”

“That will be enough” a firm voice cracked through. It was Madame Mendeleiev— head of the production.

“Ladies, I would expect you both to understand the importance of working together, and I assure you would not like the consequences should you not” She gave a large frown before continuing, “But luckily for you that is not why I am here today”

Alya and Chloe glared at each other as a crowd gathered around the stage. When Madame Mendeleiev opened her mouth, the room hushed, “Before we conclude auditions”, she said, glancing at Marinette, “I have an announcement for the troop”

Now that everyone’s attention was on the teachers in the front, she continued, “As you may have heard, the great Gabriel Agreste has recently passed. Therefore, the ownership of the Opera House will be passed down to his youngest son, Adrien.” The room burst in outcry, most protesting the new change in management.

“The young Agreste belongs in an office, not the opera!”

“What about our wages— will they cut our wages?”

“Is he even old enough to manage the House?”

“Please everyone! Settle down!” Madame Mendeleiev impatiently demanded, “The young Agreste will have time to prove to everyone he is more than capable in running our opera house— his opera house.” Though it didn’t seem to convince the crowd, Madame Mendeleiev carried on

“He is to arrive any minute, to check on our production— to make sure we are up to his standards.” All of a sudden, Marinette tensed, “Madame Bustier, the auditions— my audition—does this mean it’s canceled?” After how hard she’d worked, after everything she had done— it couldn’t end like this! Even if Chloe was destined to get the lead role this year, was it too much to ask for a fighting chance? All she wanted was a moment to be able to prove herself, but quickly her prospects had seemed to be shifting. Suddenly, a voice was heard by the door.

“Fear not for your audition Mademoiselle” a strange, new voice called, “It will continue as planned if I have anything to say about it.” Upon hearing this, Marinette turned around. A tall man stood in front of her; he had bronze colored skin and wore thin bifocals which suited the color of his dark hair. His eyes were a strong amber— yet his demeanor was calm and collected. The mysterious man gazed around the room, landing his eyes on Alya, before quickly looking away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Monsieur Nino Lahiffe”

#felinette #felix agreste #phantom of the opera #love never dies #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #adreinette #techicallymarichatbutnotreally #au #adrienisnotchat #marinette dupain cheng #ao3

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octoberheights · 3 years

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Monday:

She’s started baking again. The other members of the Syndicate drop by sometimes to taste-test her recipes, and she shows them the progress she’s made in the construction of her underground city. They compliment the flower paths outside the city, the bridges and floating lanterns and the gorgeous high ceilings and furnishings within, the little subterranean forest and the waterfall, the decorations and details that make the cavernous space cozy. They see what she’s built and they praise her for it and it is exhilarating. She’s grown stronger day by day with the Syndicate in her corner; they pull her up to stand on equal footing with them, and when she expresses her concerns, they listen.

There are days, however, when she can’t bring herself to bake; on those days the heat of the furnace crawls uncomfortably against her skin and the knife block rattles in the corner with each item she sets down on the countertop. On those days she’ll climb. Buildings, mountains, trees—anything that’ll get her to a height where her lungs strain from lack of oxygen and the ringing in her head eases. She jumps, sometimes. They don’t know she does this. They don’t need to know; she’s strong enough to deal with that herself.

Yesterday was their leader’s birthday, and she’d left the party with leftover cake and cookies and brioche. Today is a good day; maybe she’ll share the cookies with Jack.

—

Tuesday:

He’s called the harbinger, the omen, the angel of death. Crows perform at his bidding and the great, lumbering bears of the north shake the ground as he directs them. He emerges from impossible battles with nary a scratch on his body. People across the earth have speculated that he’s a demon, or contracted with a demon, or one of the acolytes of the Blood God like the Blade. He likes to collect these epithets and rumors; when his crows perch on his shoulder to recount the news of the land or messages from his allies they update him on the tales they tell of the angel. They’re all wrong, in the end. Death herself graced him with her favor long ago to act as her representative on the mortal plane.

She’s been dormant recently; her absences had never affected him so strongly before, but ever since he’s entered this land, he’s felt weaker, more fragile. He watched his son destroy the country he founded with a haze across his vision, and then he killed his own son, and the act of it didn’t register until days later. Months fly by in a blur and the only person who can enforce any sort of focus is the Blade and so that simmering anger became his own and it fed into his own pain. There was something rotting in the land and it killed his son and he felt it his duty to purge it with the same TNT that destroyed his wings. He doesn’t regret it.

Today, he finds some measure of peace in building his training room. His son is back and everything is not-quite-broken and his body still aches.

—

Wednesday:

There are too many variables, too many uncertainties. He’s placed his fingerprints on too many projects and lives, and the guilt of his cooperation and his associations claws at his lungs. Dream, neutrality in the midst of war, Dream and his prison and the damned prison rules, Quackity, Las Nevadas. He doesn’t know what he considers his worst fuck-up: Tommy’s death, the torture he’d permitted in his collaboration with Las Nevadas, his betrayal of Ponk’s love and trust, or his inability to save anyone during the banquet.

The hotel stands as a testament to his failure to protect the youngest resident of the land. He plans detours around that plot whenever he travels between the bank and the prison; the little robot stationed by the hotel tells him the boy doesn’t come by anymore, and he knows automatons don’t feel emotions, but he grieves for it anyway. He sees his valentine walking along the wooden pathways and his heart aches to see the damage he had caused. He checks the prison’s security footage and he tells himself guilt has no place in his heart for what happened. He’s surprised the captain and the god and all the rest of the banquet victims still talk to him. But they do, and it gives him hope. His friends are back and free and even though one of them is trying to start a little scuffle with a god, today he’s having fun throwing weednip around and sliding down the pyramid with his closest friends.

The present’s a gift, and he intends on cherishing this moment.

—

Thursday:

He’s building a pub because Wilbur owes him a pint. He knows that man can’t be completely trusted, not now. Not since he died by his crossbow. But it feels good to be acknowledged as someone worth an apology, someone important. He has been abandoned and pushed aside and pushed into lava pits and into hell all within the span of a few months. No one cared. He hates it, he hates the way he’s been made irrelevant and a shadow of his friends’ stories. Even his plans for revenge had been inconsequential, unfruitful: the boy had lived and his accomplice had left him to brood in his own anger.

He’s held his grudges close to his heart and he’s let them fester and he won’t admit he’s tired of it all. If he lets go, then it all disappears and he’s really, truly dead, and if this is his afterlife, if all he can do is lag after the people he cares for, then it’s a fucking shit deal. So today, he’s continuing his work on the pub because he burned down his own home and because the hotel feels too sterile and empty, because he wants to have a space built with his own two hands where he can speak and someone will finally, finally listen. It’s not quite moving on. He’ll take it anyway.

—

Friday:

She tries to live by the code of kindness and reciprocity; that’s how she lived on the high seas of her youth, or so she suspects, based on the journal she found at the site of the shipwreck. Since the day she joined this land, she has made friends and found love and taken the young residents under her wing and vowed to fight against evil. She gives stacks of items to those who need them and she fixes up the holes in the road and offers therapy on difficult days.

The world isn’t as kind as she is. A country was erased from the map for grudges she still doesn’t understand, and no one will tell her the why discs, of all things, are so important. Two boys would have lost their lives to a monster she housed, had it not been for the money Tommy paid a mercenary for his aid. She mourned the loss of Tommy’s life as she fought to keep the hotel in his name, and when he requested therapy upon his resurrection, she was horrified at the effects of trauma he’d exhibited. The friends she’d tried to pull out of the Egg’s influence celebrated a young boy’s death and killed her son. And now this man has taken her friend’s turtle hostage for no reason she can comprehend.

She’s tired. She’s breaking; they’d presumed her kindness was a weakness and maybe it is. Today, she plans on destroying the red menace on the edge of her son’s land. It’s her turn.

—

Saturday:

He’s not sure how many sandstone blocks he’s carved out of the desert at this point, nor how many quartz chips and gold nuggets he’s pulled out of the Netherworld. The villagers know him by name and chat with him when he stops by to trade for emeralds and other goods. His hands bleed gold ichor from the opened blisters dotting his hands, and burns line the edges of his fingertips. Lately, his whole world is rushing by in colors of beige and yellow, green and white and blue. The color red started it, the scramble to build more and more—and it stopped it too, if only for a little while. Ponk asked him for permission to build on his land, told him it was a gift: a peace offering and an apology and a new beginning. It’s a silly build and it doesn’t match the aesthetic of the rest of his summer home, but it warmed his heart, to see the giant red refrigerator rising up from the top of the sand dunes for the first time. Ponk built it just for him. Quackity told him he was alone, and that he didn’t matter if he didn’t assert his powers like he did in the past, and he was wrong. Ponk stays, loves him for who he is now and not for the destruction he wrought.

He doesn’t know what to do now; his father destroyed the build for some grudge she holds against his friend, and he’s exhausted. He’s tired of being pulled into conflict. A vacation from all the tension occurring on his land would not be unwarranted, at this point—a few days, a week. It sounds relaxing—and he’ll do it, he’ll take a vacation, and he’ll tell Ponk that he’s in charge of the summer home later today. He has some packing to do.

—

Sunday:

He likes to splash around the pools and fountains in Las Nevadas when he has to visit. Sometimes he’ll climb up the needle and lean on the bannisters to feel the fresh air ruffling his hair and he thinks about jumping—the air turns hot and stale and the ground burbles up in orange and red—but his brother pulls him out of it, usually. Otherwise the place is boring. He’s not allowed in the gambling den or the club, so he hovers around the forests away from Las Nevadas when Wilbur and Quackity want to speak alone.

Today is one of those days. It’s fine by him; dealing with the two of them together makes him uncomfortable, with the way they push and pull him to their sides. The cigarette smoke lingering on their breaths remind him of the ravine, the explosions from the first war-second -Logstedshire-doomsday-nukes-prison. He’s escaped, for now. The air of the forest is crisp; he can spot flowers in the meadow ahead and he plucks them to form a careless bouquet. Alliums, lilies-of-the-valley, daisies; poppies and cornflowers and dandelions. He threads them together to form crowns and rings, places one on his head and cradles the rest to his chest to stash at home. It’s been a while since he’s made them; before he moved to this land he’d make them for his brother and his brother’s father, the dogs and cows and sheep around the farm. He feels like a child again and his lips twist at the bittersweetness. He’s found himself a bubble and soon Wilbur will barge his way in to speak of his loyalties and Dream and whatever the fuck he’s stormed up with Quackity, but for now, he’ll pick flowers and make chains and chains and chains that, for once, won’t drag him down.

—

Monday’s child is fair of face.

Tuesday’s child is full of grace.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe.

Thursday’s child has far to go.

Fridays’ child is loving and giving.

Saturday’s child works hard for a living.

And the child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, good and gay.

#again not accurate to the cc's story i just wanted to write something #based on the nursery rhyme but with twists #dsmp #nihachu #philza #awesamdude #jack manifold #captain puffy #foolish gamers #tommyinnit

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cmyknoise · 3 years

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fun AU idea:

Tommy is the Blood God.

An ancient god of war, conflict, and chaos- a god of victory and fighting, of revenge and vengeance A god, who like most, grew bored and lonely and so came down to the humans to live amongst them There he found a family- a loving father, a warrior and bard brother, a best friend.

He goes off with his bard of a brother to start a nation- a nation meant to represent freedom and peace, something new to him. The child, a being of war, loses for the first time and learns what it means to give up something for victory. From his brother, he learns violence isn't always the first step, and learns to fight with his words. From his friend and brother, he learns that to fight a war you need something worth fighting for.

He loses his prize for a second time, and wants to fight, and he's taught patience. He wants blood, but he wants the blood from the right people, those who have hurt him and those he's grown fond of, he wants blood of justice. He never gives up, he never falls or falters, always right back on his feet. He wants blood when his brother kills his best friend, but his best friend taught him restraint. He notices that the power and want of victory corrupts his once-bard brother, and he knows he can not stop it.

He gets victory for a second time, at the sacrifice of his brother who'd gone mad, and he wants blood from his other brother who'd caused it. He wants the blood of the god amongst him who'd started conflict in the first place. He'd praise war in the past, but with war peace should follow- it's not yet come, and with his friend he starts the process to rebuild. Growth, peace, and construction should follow the wounds of war. His ghostly brother sows the seeds of peace, creating a new nation once again, to house and hold everyone. The blood of the blood god spills on a lonely island to another god- it's said that the substance ichor, a god's blood, can only be drawn by another god. The blood god wants the blood of the man who caused conflict and took his best friend from his side, and once again he practices restraint. His ghostly brother keeps him company and speaks longingly of peace. The god practices patience, restraint, and forgiveness as he speaks to his warrior brother. He wants the peace after war, peace he hasn't felt since he'd first met his family. The warrior wants vengeance, and who is the god to deny a follower of such? He helps, he helps until he realizes that they'd start a war unwarranted, a needless war with innocent blood spilled. The blood god doesn't want innocent blood.

He defends his country again, and once again loses, fighting alongside humans he now swears to protect. No one loses a life that night, the blood god doesn't want that, but innocent blood is spilt. The tears of his ghost brother fall. His father had helped to cause ruin and destruction. Innocent people fighting to defend their home, fighting a battle which started for no good reason other than a supposed lesson, but no words of education were spoken, only punishment.

For the first time in awhile, his ghost of a brother feels pain and sorrow, feels anger. Who is the Blood God to deny his brother of life again, when it was ripped from him? When, as a god of revenge, he should allow his brother to seek it.

The Blood God wants blood, he wants the blood of those who deserve to have it spilt. He wants a battle, a battle with the prize of peace, a battle which shouldn’t need to be fought again but he’ll fight it. He’ll fight it until it kills him. Wars shouldn’t come without peace. Wars shouldn’t be fought without a reason to fight. Blood shouldn’t be spilt when who it comes from is innocent.

It’s time the Blood God teaches a lesson of his own, a lesson to those who forget why wars are fought and why blood is spilt, and a lesson to those who have failed to listen.

#dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #au #alternate universe #blood god tommy #lemon's stuff

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH130

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

----

Chapter 130: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XX)

"Because it hurts too much," Qi Leren replied seriously. "But it doesn't hurt now. It doesn't hurt after drinking the antidote."

"Really, that's good." Su He sighed softly and took the antidote to give to Dr. Lu.

"Please look after Dr. Lu, I’ll go back to find Ning Zhou," Qi Leren said.

Su He shook his head: "Well, you should send Dr. Lu back to the Lord's castle first and I will go to the old site of the Vatican first. If Ning Zhou is in trouble, I’m always more experienced than you."

The ground was still shaking slightly. With the death of Witch of Nightmares, the demon energy she had accumulated for so many years seemed to be going out of control. Qi Leren was very worried that her former companion would be in the former site of the Vatican and regretted that he hadn’t bring insisted on Ning Zhou coming back with him - although he knew that Ning Zhou would definitely choose to stay there just in case - but if Ningzhou met any danger…

"Okay, you go first, I'll be right there," Qi Leren agreed.

Su He smiled at him and said, "Don't worry, it will be over soon."

Qi Leren helped Dr. Lu, who was still unconscious: "Yeah, it will be."

Su He nodded to him with a smile, then turned and walked into the darkness.　

　　&&&

The night wind blew quietly through the branches and leaves and the site of the Vatican, which had been closed for more than 20 years, was as quiet as sleeping in a grave.

Ning Zhou went up the stairs, walking the same steps Maria had taken so many times, and headed for the church at the highest point.

Along the way the earth continued to shake, and it became more and more frequent. The scattered demon energy rampaged under the earth's surface, awakening the sleeping birds.

A gust of wind blew and a large number of dead leaves and fallen flowers swept past Ning Zhou. The eagle's voice came from overhead and it circled and landed, throwing a small piece of blue and white petals in Ningzhou's hair. Ning Zhou picked off the petals. The blue and white petals should have been blown from the Garden of the Holy Tomb. He deeply remembered that the petals had fallen on Qi Leren’s lips as he slept, and the memory soaked in the afternoon sunshine was as gentle as a dream... He touched the eagle's head and moved on.

He had never been here before, but when he walked here, his heart was filled with an unwarranted kindness… and a strange fear, as if this was both his holy land and his hell.

The Witch of Nightmares had died not far away and the memento brooch had fallen to the ground. Ning Zhou picked it up. The one-time trap attached to it had been used up, and the debris and ashes on the ground proved it all.

It was just a simple trick, but sometimes winning is as simple as that.

Ning Zhou touched the ward in front of him. This ward set by his mother still dutifully protected the deepest secrets of the Vatican even after she’d left more than 20 years ago. Although it had begun to become fragile because of the erosion of demon energy over so many years, it had still blocked the footsteps of the Witch of Nightmares.

The field memento was once again raised in front of the enchantment of the Holy Nun. Golden ripples flowed away from the brooch and slowly spread out. The enchantment of the highest church of the Holy See began to blur and finally disappeared.

Further down was the cathedral that has been isolated for more than twenty years.

Ning Zhou looked up at the half of the churches that had been turned to ruins, where Maria had killed the Devil.

The black bird on his shoulder let out a cry and NingZhou turned around. From the distant stairs came the sound of high heels on the stone steps, getting closer and closer.

Someone was coming.

The blade rubbed the scabbard as he pulled it out. Ning Zhou stood on the steps and waited quietly for the person to come. The demon's energy, which was left unchecked by the other, came flooding in from the deep night, full of evil thoughts from hell.

A woman wearing a black veiled hat and a black evening dress walked at an elegant pace, and the evening dress inlaid with pearls and precious stones shone brightly in the night. She pushed back the brim of her hat and behind the black veil was a face with delicate makeup and her eyes flashed with demonic brilliance, which was quite different from the ordinary village girl from that year.

"Long time no see," Isabel nodded slightly to Ning Zhou.

Ning Zhou looked at her with a complicated mood.

Deep in the underground palace, Isabel had volunteered to become a witch of the Devil of Fraud and walked onto the altar. However, after more than half a month, she appeared in front of him again but was no longer the ordinary human girl.

The raging demon energy was fueled by numerous killings. She had become a witch completely.

The most terrible thing was, how had she crossed this closed field and come to him? She couldn't have a field memento, so she couldn't enter Maria's field by herself unless…

"To introduce myself again, I am Isabel, the Witch of Jealousy. At the order of my Lord, I came to compete with you." Isabel, wearing black silk gloves, lifted her skirt and graciously bowed to him.

A holy light shone on the knife and Ning Zhou looked expressionlessly at the Witch of Jealousy: "Ning Zhou, the exorcist of the Holy See, is the one who will kill you."

In the dark and silent site of the Vatican, the power of faith and the power of evil suddenly collided in the void and a raging billow of air broke out, where the trees fell and the stone steps broke.

The witch smiled lightly: "I won't let you pass."

　　&&&

After settling Dr. Lu in, Qi Leren immediately left the Lord's castle and hurried towards the former site of the Vatican.

Residents who had been transformed into demons had been restored to their original state. After dawn, these demons would end forever. The night watchmen had also restored their human identities. From now on, they wouldn't have to struggle on every night of the new moon - they had been freed, forever.

As long as they got Maria's memento of destruction, they could reopen this field and let the people who had been trapped here for more than 20 years ago leave.

In the quiet night, Qi Leren's footsteps went faster and faster, and at last he started to trot all the way and soon came to the former site of the Vatican, but Ning Zhou had disappeared and Su He was not here.

Shining his flashlight on the road ahead, Qi Leren walked along the steps to the higher buildings.

The ground was still shaking intermittently, so Qi Leren had to be careful with his steps so as not to fall.

The mountain stone path had broken in front of him into a pit with a shocking width of more than ten meters, and the surrounding trees had fallen down. It looked like there had been a fierce battle here and Qi Leren’s heart went into his throat. Judging from the trees, this was not a remnant left by the demon invasion more than twenty years ago, but was fresh. Although it wasn’t clear whether Su He or Ning Zhou had a conflict with people here, there must be danger ahead.

The space seemed to be distorted ahead, and the deep darkness could not be illuminated by the flashlight. There were no figures, no sound, only pure darkness, frightening and disturbing.

The road was also broken and the Qi Leren hesitated, circling another stone staircase, and soon he came to the cathedral at the top of the hill.

Under the starry sky, this broken church was still majestic. The round stone terraces and all the stone pillars along the road have been broken, but even so as he passed through, he found that these broken walls still exuded holy and solemn beauty.

Along the way, there were all kinds of angel sculptures, some having lost their heads, some having had their wings cut off, and some even having only their legs. They surround the center of the square where there was a disk with a diameter of four or five meters, which seemed to be the base of some giant sculpture. However, there was no statue that should exist on this base, and there was no statue wreckage around it. It was like it had disappeared into thin air, making this group of angels around it extremely lonely in the night.

Going further, half of the church had been destroyed. The front hall was almost completely destroyed. Even the dome had disappeared. After the wind and rain, it had become covered with weeds and shrubs. Qi Leren walked carefully on the weeds, passed through the rows of stone pillars, and came to the stone door of the main hall.

These were two doors that could be pushed away from the center, almost ten meters high. The exquisite reliefs on the doors had been covered with moss, but it was still faintly clear that the reliefs were about the magnificent scenes of wars between angels and devils in heaven.

Behind this door, what could be there?

Qi Leren's hand had been placed on the door. His heart beat faster and his breath was short. He retracted his hand and adjusted himself.

[S/L Data], [Rain-Day Clothes] and [Primary Fighting Skills] have been equipped.

If there was a battle later and S/L skill entered cooldown, he also had the [Countercurrent Sand] item. This exquisite hourglass item could reset the cooling time of one skill card at will. If he still couldn't defeat the enemy by then... He also had the Easter Egg.

There was no need to be afraid, the Witch of Nightmares who was polluting this field was dead. If she still had allies, they should have stopped him on the road.

The ground shook again and this time it felt stronger than before, as if the church was the source of vibrations. What had happened inside, and what would happen if the earthquake continued like this? He couldn't wait any longer…

Once again, Qi Leren put his hands on the cold stone door and pushed forward hard.

Save completed.

To his surprise, this giant door was not as heavy as he imagined. Under his touch it opened almost automatically, fresh air swept forward, his flashlight lit up the marble floor, and Qi Leren looked at the starry sky exposed by the huge collapsed wall of the church. He took a step toward the darkness ahead with his dagger.

A light suddenly lit up in the deep shadows, as if lit by the hand of God.

The darkness was dispelled and the light in front of him became more and more bright until finally it was as bright as day.

Qi Leren looked at the temple in front of him for a while in wait, just in the deepest part of the hall. A huge Maria held a sword high, piercing the flesh of a ferocious roaring black dragon, crucifying it in front of a giant cross.

This shocking scene showed the tragic battle that had occured here many years ago, but this was not the reason why Qi Leren was stunned. After a moment of shock, he looked at the throne belonging to the Pope under the huge cross.

On the throne decorated with reliefs and gems, Su He leaned on one hand and looked on at him with a smile.

His expression is still peaceful and gentle.

Except for those red, evil eyes.

-----

Editor’s Notes: You didn’t think it would end that easily, did you?

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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gear-project · 2 years

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Depression, Anxiety, and Social Gaming

It's not a topic I bring up very often, given how very important positivity is in this world of ours.

But, in matter of fact, it is something that concerns not only myself, but those around me who struggle with their own self esteem and how they value themselves.

I haven't exactly talked about it at length, but years ago now I was in fact diagnosed with Depression and Anxiety.

This actually has a major impact (a double whammy effect), on the way I perceive people around me: it causes unwarranted fear, distrust, mood swings, lack of motivation, self-depreciation, hesitation, helplessness, and above everything else... anger and frustration and a pervading sadness both towards myself and others.

These days I try my best to work through my emotions and do something productive to counteract the feelings and destructive impulses, and because of my experience with emotional therapy, I am able to value myself and others more highly.

I don't think I need to tell you that Social Gaming has necessarily been a good experience for someone with my issues. Especially in the realm of Fighting Games.

The biggest issue I encountered was immaturity, both in myself, and in others.

I have met people who pin their very existence on their win records and campaigns in gaming.

If the world were more honest, and earnestly seeking self-improvement, that might actually bear some value, but there's people who stop at nothing and even cheat to attain their own sense of value.

Some might call that pitiable, but I call it desperation.

In gaming, sometimes, rather than a "fun experience" or "goals to achieve"... some people merely see a "long line of hurdles" to overcome.

The question of how this experience will "add value" to your life.

Does your life "need this experience" in order to be worthwhile?

We live in a society that is unforgiving towards those who "don't appear to be productive". Whether that is games, work, or even social standing (Do you have a significant other in your life? What about when you don't?)

I lived under parents who treated videogames like they were an invasive concept: that they were some brainwashing drug that could destroy my life.

Rather than games "destroying" my life... the opposite happened: my parents were the ones who damaged my identity and did not acknowledge me as a gamer.

It wasn't just them, of course, and that would've been fine if it was just in reaction to excessive gaming (i.e. not having a 'balanced lifestyle')... but social gaming is a tier higher than normal gaming.

It is more complex. Interacting with others with different values. Interacting with people who are quick to treat you like an enemy or rival, especially towards someone who desperately needed friendship.

If said experience was rewarding in the sense that I could actually MAKE more friends, that does not change my ongoing "internal struggle".

Even among friends, it is sometimes difficult to voice my own feelings, frustrations, annoyances, struggles, concerns, without feeling a sense of guilt, that I am burdening them with unnecessary pain and suffering (i.e. by sharing what bothers me, I am also bothering them).

Even just voicing my "opinion" on something is like treading a vast minefield. And these days, people would rather you suffer in silence than unleash what pains you, if only so they have less to be bothered with.

It's hard to tell if that's survival instinct, or mere selfishness...

And especially in realms where people reject my thoughts, opinions, facts I present, or even my own presence... how am I supposed to interpret things? Am I to live in suffering for their sake? Do I deserve it?

Even if I did "deserve" certain experiences (good or bad)... Is it their purpose to determine such a thing?

Part of the problem with Depression is that few see the "upside" to their "current state".

There are those who wallow in self-depreciation, wallow in hatred for others, wallow in fear, distrust, and negativity.

As a Gamer... I have to remind myself that I too have a life... and that life is "allowed" certain freedoms.

Even just taking a break from the darkness of Social Media just to read some Manga or watch Anime is a FREEDOM.

To disconnect oneself from one's own concerns: to remove the "me" in the conversation.

In Debates and Civil Court, it is often the case that the Judge will determine when to create a "RECESS" or "break" between Testimony presentations.

Even in Fighting Games and Blood Sports... Seconds come in to wash the blood and sweat off their fighters between ROUNDS. A moment to breathe, introspect, reflect, react, or just to LIVE.

There is a point when one must sever that which one is conflicted with, whether justified, reasonable, logical, or otherwise.

It's not a matter of simply telling someone to "shut up" or to "stop thinking".

If everyone was civil, we wouldn't resort to dirty tactics.

But sometimes even those "dirty tactics" are standardized, made available for everyone. Just to be "fair".

Depression is one thing, but Anxiety is a whole new problem.

Anxiety makes you "worry".

Worry about yourself, worry about others, worry about what works and what doesn't.

Anxiety makes you "rehearse" what you're going to say to people. Because you're too nervous to just say what's on your mind.

Anxiety makes you "hyper aware" of a situation, looking for enemies in a crowd of faces, looking for problems to pop up, listening in for "what others think" or "what's really on their minds".

Anxiety also "stresses you out", and "exhausts" you. It makes you focus on things that aren't necessary, or it distracts you from what you should really concern yourself with (in gaming or otherwise).

Anxiety produces fear, fatigue, and a negative outlook on people and events.

Even to this day, Anxiety is the wall that keeps me from competing with other players in earnest. I don't have it in me to face a crowd of fellow gamers and tell them I'm going to win (with absolute confidence).

Even if "experience" and "skill" can eat away at that Anxiety to an extent (building character, building confidence), it is still the case that I struggle to socially interact with other people.

Fear of rejection, hatred, fear of being bullied, fear of aggression, fear of encounters with certain kinds of people.

Calling someone a "phobe" seems to be a common thing, but, it's not something to be trifled with.

Fear is irrational, and it drives people to extremes. It's not something you can easily mock and insult.

Calling someone a "coward".

If what they fear is something they have a basis in fearing, is that not something that needs to be addressed and dispelled?

Even if what someone fears has no logical basis, by no means should ANYONE mock them for being afraid.

Being afraid just means you're willing to protect yourself against a potential threat. A survival instinct.

Is your Fear a threat? Perhaps, perhaps not.

But most people are too quick to reject the notion that what "others fear" is something worth "putting value" in.

In other words, even if there is no "immediate threat", just the mere fact people are willing to make "fun" of you for being afraid, is STILL A VALID THREAT.

At least, in the realm of someone suffering from Anxiety and Depression.

Fighting Games are often the realm of "Pride" and "Dominance", no room for doubts, no room for fear, just raw aggression and confidence.

But if it were up to such people, a person such as myself would be ostracized from the realm of Fighting Games...

"A coward and a downer playing fighting games? Absurd! UNTHINKABLE!"

Right out of the gate, someone like me would be rejected by such people.

But... videogames have a unique "stigma" of their own: "Delinquency".

In essence, what is the real truth here?

"What is the whole point of this diatribe?!" I hear you ask.

If gaming was simply about improving one's own self-confidence, I'm afraid it would've been abandoned as a concept long ago, in the same vein as educational music videos and school "edu-tainment" materials.

Gaming is, "fortunately" also about expression, it is about the experiences, yes, but it is also a moment for the gamer to gain freedom that they don't necessarily have in other circumstances.

Gaming saved me.

In an era when I was dealing with the fallout of my parents' messy divorce and custody battles over my person as a mere child...

Gaming saved me.

I was able to disconnect from the pain and suffering and stress that I had dealt with among my irresponsible family members.

I even made friends in the process.

Gaming saved me.

In moments of sadness, in moments of fear and loneliness, in moments of concern and doubt, indecision.

Gaming saved me.

When I lacked in confidence, when I was fighting with people I'd rather get along with, when I struggled to be myself, to acknowledge myself.

So "what is gaming?" to someone with Depression and Anxiety?

To me it has been the "first step" to better things... better experiences, better people, better self... better feelings, better thoughts.

There are still "some days" when I fall back in to the quagmire of my past, and of people I struggled with... still struggle with.

But there is also a moment when I can "cut away" from that past, and regain who I am once more... and "who I will become" who is even better than the "present me".

Whether you are good at games, or not, makes no difference...

You are a valuable person. "Having fun" and "being yourself" is your FREEDOM and God-Given right!

No matter who rejects you, no matter what stigmas you have, no matter your sins or past, or struggles... there is still a moment when you can Continue or even Start Over from a Game Over.

For as long as you live... you can pick up from where you left off!

No matter what anyone says!

#My motivational Speech of the Month!#Long Post #The Nature of the Beast #GP confronts himself #My Origin Story!

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stitchieau-the-actual-one · 3 years

Text

Fuck what or where can I vent about this...

WARNING: IF YOU DON’T LIKE OTHER PEOPLES OPINIONS OR HAVING A THOUGHTFUL DISCUSSION, THEN THIS POST AIN’T FOR YOU! MOVE ON!

we good?

Are the Radicals gone?

yes?

good.

Honestly, America has gone to shit since Biden came into office. Actually no... It’s been shit since Obama’s administration. just a constant shit show, an awful comedy of errors.

I legit no longer feel safe or comfortable in my own country.

I feel like I am not being heard as a US citizen, and how I vote or what I say no longer matters because some rich Democrat or rich Republican decided it just doesn’t. I feel like nothing I say or do matters anymore and that if I speak at all, people are either going to label me as a “Bigot.” or “TERF.” on one end or “Snowflake.” “SJW.” on the other. Or just flat out be told to “pick a side.” when both are shit.

One is spray painted gold.

The other is covered in literal gold.

And I hate it, I hate every single second of it. the fact I have to constantly pick the lesser of two evils and that if I vote “wrong” or “Wrong think” people are just going to silence me. In a country of free speech. It’s ass backwards but its true.

so here’s some stuff that may or may not ruffle your jimmies:

1) The Riots are and ALWAYS will be unwarranted and should DEFINITELY be stopped:

I feel like it should go without saying, but apparently this is a controversial statement... which it shouldn’t be. Look, you were taught as a kid that stealing, breaking, arson, assault, battery, destruction of private and public property is bad and unacceptable. So why do you think that suddenly changes when you’re an adult? You still got spanked and/or sent into timeout didn’t you? You got disciplined (not punished there IS a difference) for it right? Well as an adult, news flash! It’s the government instead of your parents who discipline your shitty behavior. (Also furthermore: ACAB just helps the rich since their the only people who can AFFORD personal protection, so Defunding police would just help criminals find victims and get away with a variety of crimes. Since there’s no longer any scruples to prevent this.)

Do I believe that the national guard and riot police should’ve been called in:

Yes.

Do I believe that EVERYONE involved was being shitty?

No.

Do I believe that in cases like these Potentially fatal force is nessecary to control a growingly restless and violent crowd?

AbsoFUCKINlutely!

Do I believe children should be at large protests?

No.

Do I believe the entire situation could’ve been avoided if people ignored Social Media?

Fuck, Yes.

But sadly I and the rest of us do not live in a perfect vacuum of morale and decency, which brings me to another point.

Can we please stop the whole Marxism/Communism trend? Please?

Tldr of my opinion on this issue: If it doesn’t work the first time it won’t work for the *insert whatever number it is* time either. just let this fantasy die already PLEASE!

my actual explanation on how I feel about it:

So Marxism is a type of Communism. Which if you didn’t know, Communism is the extreme of Socialism... and the Extreme/Radicalized version of literal ANYTHING! ISN’T GOOD! FULL STOP!

I honestly feel like the current education system fails to teach kids the issue as to WHY Communism and more accurately Marxism just... doesn’t work. Like at all, not even a little bit. But in order to talk about Marxism and why it just fails in a spectacular way we need to take a Rrrrreally old piece of text into consideration.

Plato’s utopia.

Plato based his utopian world off of a fantasy, a morale void, a perfect vacuum that was the foundation to a squeaky clean world. Of rainbows, gumdrops and candy cane frogs. where everyone was a productive and virtuous citizen that strived to better mankind.

however it suffers a major flaw.

that’s just not how Humanity let alone how the universe works in general. We don’t live in that perfect virtuous vacuum Plato so desperately wanted us too.

Humans are by default, infallible, selfish, self centered, bratty, judgmental pricks who no matter how virtuous have dark and destructive tendencies. Whether it’s aimed towards ones self or their community, it doesn’t matter. Humans are just naturally assholes and if you don’t believe me go sit down, pick any point in history and just listen. History is filled to the brim with examples of why we don’t live in a perfect vacuum of virtue. Even with the best of intentions people still make one another miserable whether they know it or not. People are greedy, selfish, self serving and otherwise shitty one way or another. so ultimately even if its intent if founded in the purest, kindest, sweetest whatever have yous. It won’t work.

Similar to how Plato’s utopian society doesn’t work, neither does Marxism nor Communism. it realize to heavily on that Vacuum that just doesn’t exist.

if you don’t believe me, just ask anyone from a Communist/Marxist country or if you’d rather read instead. Go read “Animal Farm” and come back, its okay I’ll wait.

On the other hand this absolutely DOES NOT mean I am okay or fine with Facism or really ANY radicalism in general. if it isn’t clear already.

not that brings me to the most controversial opinion I have and one not a lot of people (yourselves included) won’t like me for (most likely)

My stance on BLM:

Don’t

Like.

Supremacy.

Of.

ANY.

Kind.

And you know what, that’s just how I feel. If your movement involves challenging something by doing more of the same thing by design but just a different coat of paint. then no. I don’t like your thoughts or your movement because that’s just toxic and literally detrimental to everyone around you.

if you feel like the only way to fight “White supremacy” is with “Black supremacy” then expect me to think your a horrible (closeted) racist. The people who bang the table the loudest about an issue, are usually the people causing it in the first place. So how do we solve the issue of racism, the same way you deal with terrorists actually. By making fun of them and mocking their awful opinions.

Everyone is special and one of a kind, and even considering the notion of it not and taking it seriously is beyond the scope of any sane logic one should have. Treating racism with even a monikerum, a snibblie of seriousness is only feeding into and perpetuating the said issue.

if you make fun of it, like how we make fun of outdated ideals like Sexism and Terrorism. laugh at the people who do toxic shit, they fucking HATE being mocked or laughed at since they honestly want you to be a misreble as they are. So don’t let them. Also education is good, ignorance bad.

anyways may write a part 2 later, my second dose of the covid shot (moderna) kicked in and I am suffering...

#chill political chat #politics #rant #chill rant #tired #ow

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powertrumpeter · 5 months

Text

Simon Ekpa PM is S@bot@g!ng Our efforts in Southeast as Many N!g Army Se...

youtube

Stop Bombing Villages In Biafra Land: Nigerian Authorities.

#Youtube

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