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toxictrannyfreak · 2 years ago

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hey hey! you should introduce me to your ocs!

I should, shouldn’t I?

Ok, I have WAY too many ocs and stories for one post, so I’ll pick one of my more recent ones.

So this is a sci-fi story I started working on back in May, I think, though there were some earlier versions that were so different they don’t really count.

It takes place 300-400 years in the future or so, I haven’t figured out an exact time frame, but humanity has more or less explored the whole solar system. The protagonist, Kade Serrano, is a 15 year old kid from Earth who joined the United Terran Forces’ space exploration division. He’s a very talented tactical cadet, so for a field exercise, he and two other cadets, Kai Asif, a gunner, and Elan Sep, a pilot (I’m bad with names, don’t @ me) are assigned to a basic patrol mission guarding a military factory out on Kerberos that’s producing an experimental fuel that they think could be the key to interstellar travel (via wormholes or something, it’s not really important). But something goes wrong, the factory blows up, and the kids are transported way out into space. Their ship, not designed for much more than patrolling, is heavily damaged because of the blast, and Elan is severely injured. After about a week of them desperately trying to save him, he dies. Shortly afterwards, a ship picks up their distress call, and they’re saved.

But that’s just the backstory! So, basically the rest of this needs a timeline, so here are the big events (this entire story is told non-linearly, we start at the very end and we slowly figure out what happened from flashing through the timeline)

Kade and co. get blasted into space, Elan dies.

Kade and Kai are rescued by some aliens. The main ones are Exdar, who is basically a giant shapeshifting slime creature, and a very talented hacker. Hu’s honestly one of my favorite characters. Hu and Kai are bros. Another important character is Garitso Ky’dai Vifepo, or just Garitso, who’s kind of a big, strong mole-looking alien, who’s a really good mechanic. Kade and Garitso become pretty close friends. The other one is Ans’hevei’skz, or Ans, who is basically a sentient pile of rocks (well, she’s a parasite that attaches to and can control a specific type of rock, but whatever). She’s the leader of the aliens, and is REALLY important.

The aliens turn out to be part of a rebel group fighting an evil galactic empire, and they’re like, ‘since you guys have no way of getting home, want to help us fight the bad guys’ (earth’s, like, not on any star maps or whatever, so it takes a long time for them to figure out how to get back) and since these kids were practically raised on Star Wars, they’re like, sure sounds legit (I know this sounds like every Star Wars ripoff ever, but I promise it’s not)

So Kade and Kai join up with the rebels, and for about two years, everything goes exactly like ya sci-fi books always go: the rebellion gains ground, becomes a legitimate threat, Kade and Kai start dating, etc., but something’s not right. Kade realizes that they’re winning battles that they shouldn’t be winning, entire warships disappear, they’re becoming very powerful very fast, and a lot of their allies seem shit-their-pants terrified of Ans. Things just aren’t adding up, so he investigates, and it turns out that Ans has gotten her hands on a nasty doomsday weapon capable of destroying planets.

This is where we get some character info on Kai that becomes really important: Kai doesn’t like killing. At all. He believes that sometimes it’s necessary, but he always tries to make sure as few people die as possible. Planet destroying super weapon is, understandably, something he is not cool with. He doesn’t believe Ans can be trusted with it, as she’s been know to be pretty callous and not care about civilian casualties, but he knows that Ans will never give it up willingly, so he decides to steal it.

He meets with Kinj, a young imperial general who’s trying to change the empire for the better (note that Kinj is NOT a good person, he’s just the best out of a lot of bad options, and Kade is pretty morally dubious at this point) Kinj and Kade strike a deal, where Kade helps Kinj stage a coup to take over the empire, and in return, Kinj protects Kade and the super weapon from Ans and the rebels. Note that, at this point, because of the weapon, the empire and the rebels are roughly equal in terms of numbers and how much space they control.

Kade steals the weapon and switches sides, becoming Kinj’s main tactician. (Despite being on Kinj’s side, he absolutely refuses to use the weapon.) Kai is understandably really upset, because Kade deemed it to big a risk to tell him about all of this. Kade also starts going by Leo at this point, because I love it when characters get new names when they become villains and also it creates a really interesting dichotomy between Kade and Leo and I just really like it.

So, for the next six years, Leo and Kai fight on opposite sides of this massive galactic civil war. Leo tries, at first, to find a peaceful/diplomatic solution, but after years with no progress, he eventually just tries to end the war as quickly and decisively as possible. Things aren’t going great for him though, because after a majorly military coup and stuff, the empire is really disorganized and kinda falling apart while the rebels just get stronger. Kai and the rebels eventually find a way to Earth, which joins the rebellion. At this point, Leo can never go home or see his family again, so angst.

Eventually the war comes to a horrible battle over a planet called Galloran. It rages for six days, and costs billions of lives, including Garitso. Eventually Kinj is defeated and Leo is about to be captured with the super weapon, and believing that Ans would kill so many people with it that it’s worth any price to stop her, he uses the super weapon to destroy Galloran, and escape. (Very ‘you have the thing you once swore to destroy’ vibes here)

Leo goes into hiding, trying to rebuild the empire so he can kill Ans and end it once and for all, while Kai chases him throughout the galaxy, trying to capture him and end it once and for all. This has been going on for about two years by the time the story starts.

So, yeah. Basically my idea was that I wanted to explore the idea of a very morally grey villain protagonist who knows he’s a monster, but still believes he’s doing the right thing, and like a non-linear story where we slowly realize how he became what he is. Also, I very much enjoy gay star crossed lovers and tragedy. The whole thing has a very overt anti-war message that I hope came across here. Very ‘war corrupts anyone it touches, no matter what’ and it’s also very anti-government. Yeah! This took a while, and is incredibly long, so I guess we’re done here.

#stfu kor #asks #mutuals #god-of-identity #Kor writes I guess #my writing #writing #my ocs #ocs #original story #sci fi #Kai Asif #Kade/Leo Serrano #Ans’hevei’skz #just tagging this in case I ever post more #thanks for the ask #sorry you probably didn’t want all this #but I can’t stop once I start #I hope it’s not pure shit

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the-girl-in-the-box · 2 years ago

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One Swallow Can Make A Summer IV

A/N: Now that Barris Week is finished, I'm finally back with an update for this fic! Peeling back a few more layers here this time, and I actually mean that I will be posting more frequent chapters now! I can't say necessarily that it'll be weekly, as I'm going to resume writing my other fics as well, but it won't be another multiple month wait. Trigger warnings for this chapter include PTSD induced nightmares, as well as anxiety and panic in the first scene. Bearing that in mind, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: The world is at war, and none will be left unchanged in its wake. Downton Abbey is now a convalescent home where wounded officers are sent to recover, and Sergeant Thomas Barrow couldn’t be more satisfied with his position in running it. But with the arrival of a kind new maid, the downstairs dynamic shifts, and Thomas finds himself in the middle of a strange situation, which only grows stranger as the war goes on. With the answers he seeks hidden in the Abbey’s past, inaccessible to Thomas alone, and danger lurking around any corner, he’ll have to learn to trust his instincts and his allies before it’s too late.

Masterlist

There was nothing that put Thomas in a foul mood quite as quickly as being woken in the middle of the night- not these days at least. He’d been woken too often by screaming and yelling in the trenches, by gunshots and cannonfire and all, to wake now to loud sounds without his heart pounding violently in his chest, breaths coming shakily and all too fast. His hands shook, although he wasn’t aware of that, really, and there was a fine line of sweat across his brow. Panic had gripped him, and it held onto him a little while longer before he finally realised he was safe in the attic of Downton Abbey, and whoever was screaming was not a wounded soldier he needed to tend to. That said, he could hear doors opening and closing as others went to see what was happening. So, he figured he’d better get out there, too.

There was already a crowd gathering outside Lord Grantham’s valet’s room, and Thomas could hear the man shouting that he, “wouldn’t go back, no matter what!”

As he wormed his way into the room, he heard Carson assuring him, “No one’s asking you to go back, Mr. Lang.”

Unfortunately, Thomas was still quite shaken and very well irritated, so he snarked, “No, just to put a sock in it.” He turned his head when he heard a quiet chuckle from somewhere beside him, and found the source of the sound to be Sylvia, who was now standing beside him and looking a touch disoriented herself. Still, she’d somehow managed to chuckle at his comment, so he didn’t think it could be too bad.

It occurred to him then that this was the first time he’d ever seen her with her hair loose, all bright red curls that fell down around her shoulders. The candle she held cast a warm glow across her face, softening her features and nearly making her appear asif she were on fire. He began to wonder if any of the officers had tried to make a pass at her- he knew many in the trenches who would have done.

Vaguely, Thomas was aware of O’Brien trying to talk to Lang, and of the others soon beginning to leave, but his attention was still caught by how dazed Sylvia actually did seem, and no, he was right- she was paler than she usually was, almost looking unwell. As the staff disbursed, he quietly pulled her into his room before anyone could notice anything amiss.

“Something’s bothering you,” he said, always quick to the point. “What is it?”

She blinked a few times as she seemed to force herself to focus on his face. “I was just startled awake is all,” she answered. “But I’m fine. Are you? You’re shaking.” Thomas frowned and looked down at his hands, finding it was true.

“So I am,” he replied. “But you are, too.” When she lifted a hand to check, it was perfectly still. “Or… you were.”

Sylvia shook her head and shrugged. “I wake up shaky if I’m startled into it,” she explained. “It can take me a bit to get settled again. So, all that shouting…” She tilted her head as if to encourage him to connect the dots for himself. “I’m alright now though, I think.” When he didn’t say anything just yet, she gently asked him, “What about you, though? Are you alright?”

Thomas looked up at her and swallowed hard. “There’s been too many nights now I’ve woken up to men screaming,” he confessed. “I know in my head I’m back here at Downton Abbey, that there’s no enemy outside that door to shoot me down the moment I open it, but waking up the way I did tonight…”

“You suddenly weren’t so sure?” Sylvia surmised with a sad smile, and he nodded his head.

“Took me a minute to remember, yeah,” he confirmed.

Sylvia slowly crossed the room to him, and she laid her hands on his arms in order to try and comfort him. “You’re safe,” she promised him, her voice soft. “There’s no threat to you here, Thomas. You are safe, and you’re home, and you won’t ever be asked to go back. You’re going to be alright now.”

Thomas nodded a little, and then took in a deep, shaky breath, which he in turn let out slowly. “I know,” he said. “I just got so used to…”

“Oh, Thomas, I know…” she whispered, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I know.”

He was once again confronted by the rather ugly truth that he liked this, and yet hated it all at once. Letting someone see him like this was so far out of his realm of comfort that his first instinct was to pull away, toss her out into the hall and get back to managing by himself. But then she’d go and do something like this, something to make him feel she understood him, and cared for him, and suddenly he didn’t want her to leave anymore. He didn’t want to be alone, anymore.

It was pathetic, wasn’t it? He’d only known this woman for a few weeks, and yet how much had he told her about himself? Not the big things, the things she could do real damage with, sure, but how long would it be before he wanted to tell her those things, too?

Even though he didn’t really want to, Thomas pulled away slightly, and offered her a tight smile. “You should get back to your room before someone realises you’re still over here,” he said. “Carson and Mrs. Hughes won’t like knowing we were in here alone.” He was pretty sure they suspected the truth about him, but the only reason they had to think that in the first place was the fact they’d never heard of him being interested in a girl. Who was to say they wouldn’t change their minds upon finding him alone with Sylvia in his bedroom? Any evidence they thought they had would be made meaningless next to that.

She sighed and returned his smile, though hers was more genuine even if also more sad. “You’re probably right, I’m afraid,” she said. “You’ll be alright if I go?”

Thomas nodded, hiding his uncertainty as best he could. “I’ll be fine,” he lied. For a very brief moment, she seemed about to question, but then she nodded and let it go.

“Alright,” she said. “Try to get some rest, then, and I’ll see you in the morning?”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he confirmed.

She surprised him by leaning up to kiss his cheek before stepping past him to go to the door, and he blinked a few times before turning to watch her. However, he found her behavior a bit strange when he did.

Sylvia had paused at the door to press her ear against it, her eyes closed as she concentrated intently. He watched her lips move, not making a sound, until she suddenly slipped out, and shut the door so silently behind her that it was as if it hadn’t moved at all. Hearing nothing from the hall, Thomas opened his door to be sure she’d gotten away alright, only to find that she had disappeared entirely as though she’d been no more than a ghost.

Thomas returned to his room and his door shut with a soft click.

Now, Thomas might have felt better the next day if they hadn’t been hosting General Strutt, an important military officer who wanted to see the convalescent home being run at Downton Abbey. It was quite a big deal that he was coming, and he was well aware that the running of the medical staff was going to reflect back on himself, and on Dr. Clarkson. But O’Brien had been right about Mrs. Crawley, and she was overstepping quite drastically into his territory- he couldn’t imagine what she must have been doing to Her Ladyship. It was time he did something about it.

Alright, so maybe he was already supposed to be doing something about it on O’Brien’s request, but he’d only really wanted to come back for the chance to order Carson around. (He had thought it would be cathartic, and he was right.) He had underestimated how stubborn and hardheaded Mrs. Crawley would be, though, and that was before this visit. She was now practically pushing him right out of his job. Thomas had tried to remind her that he was the manager, thank you very much, as she had, “just had some ideas,” that she thought, “might have been helpful.” But he either needed to be in charge, or he needed to not be. Thomas couldn’t put up with this back and forth for very long.

Apparently, he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his frustration, as he saw Sylvia perking up a bit as she walked by him. She paused and frowned once she noticed the look on his face. “Sergeant Barrow?” she asked, getting his attention. “Goodness, you look quite put out. Is everything alright?”

Thomas shifted his mouth, almost as if chewing on all the words he was tempted to say, before he nodded toward a quiet corner of the hall where they would be able to talk. He led her over to it, and she leaned against the wall in a way that sort of mirrored him. It certainly made them look like quite the pair. “Mrs. Crawley’s up on her high horse,” he said. “She’s getting grander than the Queen herself, pushing in on my business and on Her Ladyship’s business, and O’Brien and I have had it. This house isn’t hers to run, and neither’s the hospital- it’s ours.”

Sylvia’s eyes widened a little, and when she turned to glance around the room, chuckled at the sight of Mrs. Crawley standing and giving orders to one of the nurses. “Case in point, I see,” she quipped. “What’s got you bothered, then? Her behavior in general? Or is there something else?”

“I want her nose out of our business,” he said casually. This would certainly test her loyalty, he figured. If she didn’t report him for what would have looked like quite the mutiny, then that would say quite a bit about her.

“You have a plan, then?” she questioned him, and he gave a small shrug.

“I’ll probably just talk to Dr. Clarkson, see if I can make a point of how she’s overstepping and interfering in my ability to do my job right,” he replied, and Sylvia made a face that told him she wasn’t very sure about that idea, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips. “What? You don’t think I should?”

She hummed and leaned back against the wall, looking quite relaxed, even if thoughtful, as she worked through the issue. Then, she said, “No, I think you need a quieter approach. Work her out, don’t shove her out. If Dr. Clarkson just moves her into a different position, she could end up with more power, still able to interfere, and you’ve lost your chance to get rid of her because now you’re subject to her decisions officially.”

Thomas grimaced. “I see your point,” he said. “Unless I can get Dr. Clarkson to get her working elsewhere. I left an empty post at the hospital, surely she could work there instead?”

Sylvia tilted her head briefly. “Suppose so,” she said. “It’s your call ultimately, but I’d still go for making her quit herself.”

“I don’t think we need to overcomplicate things,” he countered, and she lifted her hands in mock surrender.

“Well, as I said, it’s your call. That’s just what I would do.”

Thomas watched her go thoughtfully, wondering if perhaps there was something to her idea. He’d have to revisit it if things didn’t go as planned with Dr. Clarkson.

Things did not go as planned with Dr. Clarkson.

Thomas was scowling a bit as he walked away from the dining room, off in search of Sylvia. He and O’Brien had made a point of listening in, and so they’d heard the news that Mrs. Crawley was to work with Her Ladyship to run Downton in Dr. Clarkson’s stead, which O’Brien had taken as a step in the right direction as it would hopefully force her to have to listen to Her Ladyship. But Thomas knew she’d likely keep on making decisions on her own, that he was now obligated to subject himself to, so he wasn’t satisfied.

Sylvia had been right after all, and this just meant Mrs. Crawley now outranked him- quite literally his superior when Dr. Clarkson wasn’t around. He didn’t mind working under Her Ladyship, she was happy enough to let Thomas do what he needed to do, but Mrs. Crawley… no, she still had to go.

When he got downstairs, the servants’ hall was empty what with the kitchen staff still cleaning up, but he could hear a very tense conversation being had in the butler’s pantry. One voice, distinctly that of an Irishman, clearly belonged to Tom Branson, but he was surprised to hear that it was Sylvia who was arguing with him.

“Do you not realise what you could have done tonight?” Thomas could hear her snap, and he paused at the door to listen in. “You’d have gone to prison, which I don’t pretend is my concern- though you clearly believed it was Lady Sybil’s- and I’m also acutely aware of how your plans would have reflected on all those who worked toward the General’s visit today.”

“Well my apologies, but that’s not exactly any of my concern either,” Tom shot back.”I don’t care how this parade affects any of you here. Where was that care when my country was taken over by your lot?”

“My lot?” Sylvia repeated indignantly. “My apologies, oh great and mighty chauffeur, I forgot that I, a humble maid, was personally responsible for the invasion of Ireland!” She laughed again, cold and derisive, and Thomas could just imagine the way she’d shake her head incredulously. “You know, I might agree with you about the invasion of Ireland, but what you tried to do tonight? What good would that have done for your people?”

Oh, they were really going at it, weren’t they? Thomas had heard Tom get worked up like this before, sure, but Sylvia? He didn’t think he’d so much as heard her raise her voice, and certainly not in anger like this. What had Tom done to get her so furious?

Thomas heard Tom let out an angry huff, and he snarked, “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never had to bow and scrape before people who demand your loyalty, unless you’re willing to fight back and risk everything.”

There was a heavy silence, where Thomas got the feeling a game of high stakes was being played, until Sylvia hissed out, “How do you know what I’ve lived?” Further silence. “Exactly, you can’t know. And anyway, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t fight this with some dramatic spectacle that would land me in jail and ultimately do nothing, making my grievance be left behind as little more than a blip in history. I wouldn’t be playing games, Branson, and you’d better quit while you have the chance.”

Before Tom could say anything, Thomas realised Sylvia was about to walk out, so he quickly moved to walk into the room before she could catch him eavesdropping on them. “What’s going on in here?” he questioned sharply. Sylvia seemed to bristle as she turned and glared back at Tom.

“You may not have see anything, but Mr. Branson here almost took a pot of slop and dumped it all over General Strutt, throwing all your hard work to the wayside in the process because he has a self-destructive and can’t control his anger,” she said quickly. It was about then that Thomas realised she was angry on his behalf, and his eyes widened.

“Wait, that’s what this is about?” Thomas asked, blinking. “The way you two were carrying on, you’d think he tried to kill someone.”

“If you’d seen the note he left for Lady Sybil, you’d have thought he was going to kill someone,” Sylvia said. “Carson has it now or I’d show it to you- but believe me, she wouldn’t have thanked him for this if he’d gotten away with it.”

Thomas sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “So you’ve been having it out with him?” he asked her, and she huffed.

“After everything we talked about this morning? He risked all of it,” she pointed out. “Yes, I was having it out with him.”

Tom tried to say something, but Thomas quickly interrupted to keep them from starting up again. “Speaking of all that, I’ve got news,” he told her, and gestured with his head to request that she follow him so they could talk somewhere privately.

“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath and nodding as she made herself calm down. “Alright. Let’s go ahead and talk.” Sylvia did still turn back to Tom, though, and left him with one final threat. “If they let you stay on after that little stunt you pulled? Watch yourself, because I certainly will be.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving Thomas to shoot Tom a smirk. He couldn’t argue with that- nor would he ever try to.

Thomas led Sylvia out back to the servants’ courtyard, where he and O’Brien always went whenever they needed to discuss something privately. He waited until he was sure they were alone to pull out a cigarette, which he lit before then offering one to her.

Sylvia declined it, and instead asked him, “What’s the news?” She leaned up against a post and looked up at him while she waited on his answer.

He took a long hit from the cigarette, and then blew it out slowly before he finally did respond. “He’s put Mrs. Crawley and Her Ladyship both in charge of running the house when he’s gone,” he explained. From the way she grimaced, he could tell she’d quickly arrived at the same conclusion he’d already gotten to.

“He gave her something to do that was away from your work, but inadvertently gave her more power to meddle in your work either way,” she surmised, and he confirmed this with a frown and a nod. “Plan B it is, then. We need to make her quit.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” he asked. “She’s going to be happy running Downton, it’s what she wanted to start with.”

“Exactly, so what would it take to make her miserable?” Sylvia countered. “You said she’s quite nosey, right? Butts in on business that’s not hers and makes it hers?” Thomas nodded. “Then we close that door every chance we get, starting with Her Ladyship. Have O’Brien put a bug in her ear that she’s already been pushing in on you, and have her express she’s worried it’ll get worse on her now. Her Ladyship will already be ready for it, and Mrs. Crawley will simply hit a brick wall.”

Thomas let out a small, incredulous sort of laugh. “And you think that’ll do it?” he asked. “No more Mrs. Crawley?”

“Not around here, at least,” she answered.

He smirked, and nodded. “Perfect. I’ll see what I can do.” Sylvia mirrored him with a nod and a smirk of her own, and then started back toward the house. But Thomas wasn’t quite through with her just yet, so he caught her by the arm to stop her for a moment. “Were you really that upset that Branson almost mucked things up for me?” he asked her.

Sylvia’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “Of course I was,” she replied. “Thomas, you’ve been working so hard to make today a success. For all that to go up in smoke just because of a revolutionary chauffeur? Regardless of if I agree with him or not, you don’t deserve to suffer for what’s happening in Ireland. If a revolution’s to be built on the backs of the innocent, then it’s not a revolution I can support.” She chuckled and gave a small shrug. “That, and you’re my friend. It’s my job to yell at people who threaten your happiness.”

Thomas watched her for a moment, considering her words and thinking over what he’d thought about the night before. “Is there anyone threatening your happiness I should yell at for you?” he asked, only halfway joking.

“No, I’m alright,” she answered with a chuckle. “But thank you, I appreciate you for asking.”

Sylvia again began to walk off, but this time was stopped by Thomas questioning her a little further. “The officers are treating you well, then? They’re being respectful?”

She turned back and replied, “Most have. Those who aren’t, I can handle. They’re not significant enough to pose a threat to my happiness. But still, thank you again. I really do appreciate you asking.”

Thomas found himself watching her again as she offered him a sweet, sincere smile- which he answered with a tight one of his one- before finally going. He wasn’t sure when he’d last had a friend who got upset for him just because something might have happened that would have upset him, nor who he would get upset for in the same way- if he ever had, but it was a nice thought either way.

That combined with the plans she’d so quickly and easily tossed together just to help him pointed to the fact that she clearly had brains and a heart. There weren’t many girls he’d met like that aside from Lady Sybil that he found tolerable- but thanks to the mischievous streak they both seemed to share, they were. He decided then he’d keep her around Downton for as long as he could. After all, Thomas wasn’t stupid enough to think a friend like that came around very often, and he wasn’t about to make the mistake of letting her go.

Taglist: @butwhyhavethey, @marxin-grilli

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

#thomas barrow #thomas barrow & oc #downton abbey #one swallow can make a summer #chapter four #robert james collier #tw: nightmares #tw: ptsd #tw: anxiety / panic

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transsolar · 3 years ago

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Five shortlisted teams for Barbican Centre Renewal

The City of London Corporation has announced the five shortlisted teams for the Barbican Renewal project, the five teams will compete to renovate London's brutalist icon, a leading global arts and learning institution. The selected shortlisted teams area:

Adjaye Associates, Benedetti Architects and PUP Architects alongside Charcoalblue, David Bonnett, DP9, Nigel Dunnett, OneDotZero, Peter Stewart, The Place Bureau, Transsolar, WSP.

Allies and Morrison and Asif Khan Studio alongside Alan Baxter Ltd, Buro Happold, Charcoalblue, Hood Design Studio, Isaac Julien Studio, les éclaireurs.

BIG – Bjarke Ingels Group, Avanti Architects, and POoR Collective alongside Applied, Atelier Ten, Barker Langham, Buro Happold, Charcoalblue, People Friendly Design, Speirs + Major.

Diller Scofidio + Renfro, McCloy + Muchemwa, and Purcell alongside Buro Happold, Charcoalblue, David Bonnett, GROSS. MAX., L’Observatoire, Nagata Acoustics, Nigel Dunnett, North Design, Patrick Burnham OBE, The Young Foundation, Transsolar.

FCBStudios (Feilden Clegg Bradley), Bureau de Change, Schulze+Grassov, and Thinc alongside AKT II, James Hitchmough, JWE, Max Fordham, Momentum, Nigel Dunnett, Ramboll.

read worldarchitecture.org article >

Image © Max Colson Courtesy of Barbican Centre

#home #blog #transsolar #Transsolar KlimaEngineering #Adjaye Associates #Diller Scofidio + Renfro

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creepingsharia · 4 years ago

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“The Priest Died Like a Dog!” Muslim Persecution of Christians, September 2020

The following are among the abuses Muslims inflicted on Christians throughout the month of September, 2020:

by Raymond Ibrahim

The Slaughter of Christians

Italy: On September 15, an illegal Muslim migrant repeatedly stabbed a Catholic priest with a butcher’s knife, finally killing him with a stab to the neck. “The priest died like a dog, that was right,” Tunisian citizen Mahmoudi Ridha, 53, later boasted after slaughtering Fr. Roberto Malgesini, 51. According to the Church Militant report, the priest “knew his murderer and had helped him out on a number of occasions … but the Muslim still considered the priest his enemy,” and may have killed him due to suspicions that the clergyman was “part of a plot to deport him.” Although the diocese of Como, where the crime occurred, and the nation’s mainstream media initially reported that the murderer had a long history of mental illness, a series of tests later confirmed that no “certified psychological problems” were evident. Responding to this, Silvana De Mari, an outspoken pro-life doctor, openly condemned Pope Francis’s “exhortation to build bridges, not walls” as “absolute idiocy,” adding, “If a European kills a non-European he’s a murderous pig, a Nazi and above all, always responsible for his actions. If the opposite happens, he’s just a bit touched in the head.” The murder sparked tension between locals and migrants—including a fistfight between an Italian woman and a young African male. Discussing the North African homeland of the murderer, an independent consultant on the global persecution of Christians said: “Despite Tunisia being a resort visited by many Western tourists, under the surface there is a darker side where Christians are often despised and abused by Muslims. It can take a considerable amount of Christian love and compassion to dislodge such attitudes that have often become deeply ingrained.” This incident is not singular. According to the report,

In 2016, 65-year-old Belgian priest Fr. Jos Vanderlee was stabbed by a Muslim asylum-seeker in his vicarage after he offered a shower and hospitality to the migrant. The incident took place six days after elderly Fr. Jacques Hamel had his throat cut by Islamic terrorists in the rural French town of St-Étienne-du-Rouvray, near Rouen, in Normandy. In 1999, a North African Muslim immigrant killed Fr. Renzo Beretta, parish priest of Ponte Chiasso, after turning to him for help.

Uganda: A Muslim “witch doctor” ritually slaughtered the 11-year-old son and sexually enslaved the 13-year-old daughter of a convert to Christianity. The story came out on September 16, when the slain boy’s sister was found and rescued by police. Both children were abducted and sold to the shamanist by a Muslim woman opposed to their father’s conversion to Christianity. “We are mourning for our son who is alleged to have been sacrificed,” Sulaiman Pulisi, a former imam who embraced Christ three years ago, said. “We are mourning with my daughter, who has been used as a sex object by the Muslim shaman.” Joseph Sodo, a Christian shopkeeper instrumental in the girl’s rescue, offered more details:

A radical Muslim woman called Sania Muhammad who had connections with Muslim men used to look for children of converts from Islam and sell them to this particular Muslim witchdoctor … named Isifu Abdullah, who makes use of amulets and charms inscribed with verses of the Koran in warding off evil forces.

Democratic Republic of Congo: A total of at least 58 people were slaughtered and 17 kidnapped during a suspected Islamic terror attack on two Christian majority villages, one on September 8, another on September 10. Countless others were displaced into the heavily forested area. “People were killed with every sort of weapon, knives, guns,” a local explained, adding that the army and volunteers were “still looking for victims in the forest.” According to another report,

Members of the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF), an Islamist militant group active in the region for more than two decades, are thought to have carried out the atrocity…. In May, at least 57 people from two villages in Ituri were murdered by the jihadists in attacks on consecutive days. More than 700 people have been killed in Ituri province since 2017…

Nigeria: Minutes before another Fulani Muslim herdsmen raid was launched on a Christian village, Alubara Audu, a pastor who was earlier wounded in a similar attack, sacrificed his life to save those of his community. On Sunday, September 6, around 2 a.m., he heard the jihadists creeping towards his village and instantly raised the alarm, prompting several Christians to escape. He, however, was shot by the angered terrorists. While wounded and bleeding on the floor he continued sounding the alarm for more villagers to flee, prompting the Muslims to shoot him multiple times, till he was permanently silenced. The pastor leaves behind a wife and four children. Two other Christians were killed during the raid, and two more abducted.

Among the dozens of other Christians to be killed by Muslim Fulani herdsmen in September were two young Christian girls and a 6-year-old boy (September 28); a 64-year-old Christian community leader and seven other Christians (September 21); a Christian woman and her son as they were working on their farm (September 23); and five other Christians (September 24).

Discussing the plight of Nigerian Christians in a September 16 statement, the Catholic bishops of Kaduna Province said that “dark clouds of violence have enveloped our land. Our country is in the firm grip of the grim reaper.” For over a decade, Nigeria’s main challenge was the Islamic terrorist group Boko Haram, the statement said, though the military had largely degraded two years ago:

But our joy was short lived as the story has progressively gotten far worse. Today, almost the entire northern states are in the grip of these purveyors of violence and death. In the last three years, we have witnessed the relentless attacks and ransacking of entire communities… Thousands of lives have been lost to these bandits who have operated with relentless abandon…. The ravages of Boko Haram, the [Muslim Fulani] herdsmen, kidnappers and the bandits have turned everyone into a victim.

Fr. Sam Ebute, who serves one of the persecuted communities, gave a more personalized take:

For four years, since I became a priest in 2016, I have been burying my parishioners. In 2017, I had to bury a woman who had been killed along with her four children at night, in Tachira. In 2018, in Tsonje, the parish had to also bury four people who were killed. In 2019, in Zunruk, seven youths were killed in broad day light while playing soccer.

More recently, in late July of this year, Fr. Sam buried 21 other Christians from his flock, most of them young girls:

So, for the past seven weeks, we have been burying our parishioners with no end in sight. These last attacks have left us all in fear and especially the fear of the unknown because we do not know when the next round of attacks will happen and what will trigger it. We cannot worship in peace…. Our movements are limited, our faithful cannot freely go about their activities. It is farming season now, but they dare not go to their farms for fear of being attacked there. They have left their crops to perish. It is like we have been left to perish because of our faith.

Pakistan: A Lahore court sentenced a Christian man who had already served seven years in prison to death on a “blasphemy” conviction. Asif Pervaiz, a 37-year-old father of four, was originally arrested in 2013, when his Muslim supervisor at the garment factory he worked for first accused Pervaiz of sending offensive remarks about Islam’s prophet, Muhammad, in a text message. During his September 8 hearing, the judge ruled that Pervaiz must pay an additional fine of 50,000 Pakistani rupees (USD $305) and serve a three-year prison term for “misusing” his phone. Afterwards, and according to the ruling, the Christian blasphemer “shall be hanged by his neck till his death.” The condemned, however, denies all charges. “In his statement to the court, Pervaiz had categorically said that the complainant used to pressure him to renounce his Christian faith and convert to Islam,” Saiful Malook, the Christian’s lawyer, explained: “Pervaiz said that due to the complainant’s constant harassment, he was forced to leave his job at the factory, but the latter continued to hound him at his new workplace.” The lawyer, who is appealing the verdict in the Lahore High Court also cited a number of irregularities that should have rendered evidence against his client inadmissible:

This case should have been thrown out by the judge…. Although I’m greatly disappointed by the ruling in this case, one cannot ignore the fact that it has become a norm of trial court judges hearing blasphemy cases to convict the accused no matter how weak the prosecution’s case is…. It’s tragic that Pervaiz has already spent seven years in prison during the trial, and God knows how many more years he will have to remain incarcerated till the high court takes up his appeal. The worst thing in blasphemy cases is that the accused are left to rot in jail for years till their innocence is finally proved.

According to a separate report discussing Pervaiz’s case,

Human rights groups say blasphemy laws are often misused to persecute minorities… Such accusations can end up in lynchings or street vigilantism. Up to 80 people are known to be imprisoned in the country on such charges — half of whom face life in prison or the death penalty… In July, a US citizen of Pakistani origin on trial over blasphemy allegations in Peshawar was shot dead in a courtroom by a teenager who told bystanders he killed him for insulting the Prophet Muhammad. Since his arrest, the alleged shooter has been glorified as a “holy warrior” by supporters and thousands of people have rallied to demand his release.

Attacks on Churches

Turkey: On September 2, Turkish authorities razed to the ground the St. Georgios Christian church, a historic and iconic structure built in 1896 and known as the “Hagia Sophia of Bursa.” In 2006, after the municipality had spent two million Turkish liras (USD 252,000) on renovations, the dilapidated building was restored and transformed into a cultural center. But then, in 2013, an Islamic foundation filed a lawsuit against and eventually appropriated the church. Then, according to the report,

The historical building, whose door was locked after passing to the [Islamic] foundation, was not maintained for years, and cracks began to appear in the building. Noting the situation … and drawing attention to the danger of demolition, Nilüfer Municipality attempted again in 2016 to control the church and demanded that the building be allocated to the municipality for renovation. However, it was stated that the building cannot be used for any purpose other than a place of worship and that this place was a mosque.

The building continued to deteriorate until September 2, when it was demolished as a public hazard. Commenting on this development, Nilüfer Mayor Turgay Erdem said:

We have done our part to pass on a cultural heritage to future generations. However, the [Islamic] Foundations have taken away the historical structure in a meaningless way. And left [it] to rot. For 7 years, nobody claimed this structure. Public money was wasted because of this negligence. Who will account for this?

In a separate incident, a wall sealing off both entrances of a Greek Orthodox Church in Tralleis was illegally erected by unknown persons, although there are suspicions that the Didima Municipality erected it as a way to justify issuing alcohol licenses to local restaurants. The current law states that alcohol cannot be sold within 328 feet of a religious building. As this law was made with mosques in mind, some resent that a mere church is preventing their sales of alcohol.

Attacks on Crosses

Sweden: A little Swedish boy was called a “pig bastard” and beaten by a Muslim migrant gang for wearing a crucifix. The incident occurred in Malmö, which has a large Muslim population and is known as the “rape capital” of Sweden. According to the September 1 report, an “unknown number of boys” approached the 11-year-old child, who was playing soccer during lunch break, and asked if he was wearing the cross “due to his religion.” After he responded in the affirmative, the gang asked if he also “ate pig”—before immediately calling him a “pig bastard” and knocking him over, injuring the boy’s arm. He managed to run away but not before they stole his ball and shoes. “Police had not yet arrested any perpetrator. Hate crime motives are suspected,” the report adds.

Greece/Turkey: Because it is visible in Turkey’s city of Edirne, a 50-foot high cross recently erected at Greece’s Holy Monastery of Agia Skepivis provoked President Erdoğan enough to complain about it to German Chancellor Angela Merkel, whom he was scheduled to meet later that week, according to a September 21 report. Discussing this same incident, a separate report states that,

Erdoğan’s reaction to the establishment of a cross within Greek territory sets the foundation for increased religious persecution within Turkey. He is growing hostility towards Christian symbols. Christianity is already greatly struggling to exist within Turkey, and this kind of hostility reinforces the idea that Christianity is not welcome within its borders.

Pakistan: Muslims ransacked a Christian barbershop for displaying a cross and other Christian symbols. According to a September 2 report, a group of Muslims entered the store and began to abuse the owners for hanging a cross on the front wall as well as having the biblical verse “My grace is sufficient for you” (2 Cor. 12:19). The Muslims “told us to remove the Christian symbols from the shop because Muslim customers did not feel comfortable,” the owners explained. “However, we ignored this demand.” On the next day, more than a dozen men wielding iron rods pulverized the store, damaging its glass door, mirrors, shelves, cupboards, and other equipment. “They also beat staff and looted cash and other expensive stuff from the shop,” the owners said. Then, before they could report the incident to police, police arrested one of the owners on the accusation that he was evangelizing to Muslims. Although he was released on the following day, “Our business is stopped and we are worried for our daily bread,” the owners said. “This is a very intolerant society. Christians are not accepted when running successful businesses and enjoying leading positions. This discrimination has to be ended.”

General Discrimination against Christians

Iran: On September 22, a Christian couple, both former Muslims who were earlier persecuted and imprisoned by authorities of the Islamic Republic, lost their appeal to retain custody of their one-year-old adopted daughter—“and for one reason” only, says the report: “they are Christian converts, and Lydia, though her parentage is not known, is considered a Muslim, and as such by law ought only to be cared for by Muslim parents.” The ruling was made despite the fact that the judge himself acknowledged the child’s “intense emotional attachment” to her adoptive parents and that there was “zero chance” another adoptive family would be found for her, including because the 1-year-old suffers from heart disease.

Pakistan: In an interview, a Christian man who was rounded up with dozens of other Christians and imprisoned after two Muslim men were killed in riots surrounding the suicide bombing of two churches and killing of 20 Christians in 2015, explained the deciding factor over who was imprisoned and who was not. According to Amjar Arif,

Police said, if we didn’t convert to Islam we’d face prison…. At the police station, officers abused, slapped and tortured us with batons, charging us with burning Muslims…. They snatched rosaries from three of us and threw them on the floor. We were forced to accept either Islam or guilt in the murder of two men…. A 25-year-old Christian, also arrested for alleged lynching, converted to Islam and was released three hours later. We kept our faith in the living God… we used to pray in a circle for an hour. In the evening we had dedicated 8pm personal prayers…Two of us died in that prison.

Amjar Arif was released five years later.

Sexual and Psychological Abuse of Christian Women

Egypt: Once again, a court involved in the case of the unconscionable abuse of an elderly Christian woman recused itself. “The case had been postponed several times and was closed in 2017 due to insufficient evidence,” says the September 3, 2020 report. “However, the woman’s legal representatives filed a grievance reopening it again. Then, in March 2019, the Minya felony court decided to withdraw from hearing the case due to embarrassment.” After that, in October 2019, the case was postponed again, because a court member was reportedly absent; and now this. The case concerns Soa‘d Thabet, a Christian grandmother in her 70s. On May 20, 2016, a mob of some 300 Muslim men, accusing her son of dating a Muslim woman, descended on her home, stripped her completely naked, beat, spit on, and paraded her in the streets of al-Karm village (in Minya governorate) to jeers, whistles, and triumphant shouts of “Allahu Akbar.” Commenting on these ongoing delays, Adel Guindy, founding president of Coptic Solidarity, told Gatestone,

The judiciary system in Egypt, as well as the rest of the pillars of the state (often referred to as the “deep state”) have become impregnated with fundamentalist Islamic ideology, and are thus decidedly biased against Copts. The political leadership of the country takes no concrete corrective measures and, worse still, lets this ideology shape and dominate the society, through education and media.

Separately, according to a September 10 Coptic Solidarity report, the kidnapping, sexual abuse, and forced conversion of Christian women and girls in Egypt—a “particularly vulnerable group to exploitation” that is quietly living an “unimaginable nightmare”—is rampant with no signs of abatement. The 15-page report documents “the widespread practice of abduction and trafficking” and estimates that there have been “about 500 cases within the last decade, where elements of coercion were used that amount to trafficking.” It adds that:

The capture and disappearance of Coptic women and minor girls is a bane of the Coptic community in Egypt, yet little has been done to address this scourge by the Egyptian or foreign governments, NGOs, or international bodies. According to a priest in the Minya Governorate, at least 15 girls go missing every year in his area alone. His own daughter was nearly kidnapped had he not been able to intervene in time…. The large majority of these women are never reunited with their families or friends because police response in Egypt is dismissive and corrupt. There are countless families who report that police have either been complicit in the kidnapping or at the very least bribed into silence. If there is any hope for Coptic women in Egypt to have a merely ‘primitive’ level of equality, these incidents of trafficking must cease, and the perpetrators must be held accountable by the judiciary.

Pakistan: A 6-year-old Christian girl was “beaten and raped after being forcibly taken to the home of a Muslim rapist in broad daylight,” says a September 16 report. Moreover, and “in a sickening twist,”

the local Muslim community are threatening the Christian parents with violence, the rape of their other daughters and financial ruin if they proceed with a legal case against paedophile Muhammad Waqas (18 yrs)… Tabitha [the raped child] had been verbally abused, shouted at, slapped and beaten and forced to do a number of sex acts with Waqas. She had been stripped of her clothes and had described her terror that she would be killed by Waqas…

Although various societal elements pressured her family to drop the case against the Muslim rapist and accept a financial settlement, her parents refused, demanding justice. As a result, two imams from local mosques warned Munir Masih, the girl’s father, that “we shall burn your house and take away your other daughters too, if you fail to comply.” He responded by gathering his family and fleeing to an undisclosed location in the middle of the night. Although evidence for the case “was strong with eye witnesses” and included “a medical examiner who found evidence of rape and brutality and a positive match on DNA tracing with that of Waqas” — and despite the family’s perseverance for justice — the court granted the rapist bail. “Tears rolled from the eyes of Munir while I hugged him in the yard of Lahore High Courts,” a legal representative of the family explained. “The paedophile rapist who had sexually assaulted his daughter on many counts was granted bail and it caused him intense pain. It was excruciating for him to see the rapist of his tender-aged daughter released—I felt broken myself.”

In a separate incident, on September 8, Mehwish Hidayat, a 22-year-old Christian girl, managed to escape from her Muslim abductor/rapist, Khurram Shehzad, and reach her parents’ home. According to the girl, she was kidnapped on June 3:

It was around 7:30 in the morning when I left for the garment factory. I was waiting for my bus along with six to eight girls. Suddenly, two armed men appeared from a white car. They showed their guns and warned everyone not to interfere. The kidnappers then dragged me into the car. All the other girls started shouting, but none of them was in a position to save me as the kidnappers threatened them with their guns… For three months Shehzad [her “owner”] kept shifting from one city to another and sexually assaulted me. He often tortured me for refusing to sign the conversion and marriage certificate. He forced me to recite Islamic proclamations and verses. However, I remained committed to my Christian faith.

Although she has rejoined her family, “our lives will always be in danger,” she said. “My family is continuously receiving threats from Shehzad.”

Raymond Ibrahim, author of Crucified Again and Sword and Scimitar, is a Distinguished Senior Fellow at the Gatestone Institute, a Shillman Fellow at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and a Judith Rosen Friedman Fellow at the Middle East Forum.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic. Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1) To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2) To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

Accordingly, whatever the anecdote of persecution, it typically fits under a specific theme, including hatred for churches and other Christian symbols; apostasy, blasphemy, and proselytism laws that criminalize and sometimes punish with death those who “offend” Islam; sexual abuse of Christian women; forced conversions to Islam; theft and plunder in lieu of jizya (financial tribute expected from non-Muslims); overall expectations for Christians to behave like cowed dhimmis, or second-class, “tolerated” citizens; and simple violence and murder. Sometimes it is a combination thereof.

Because these accounts of persecution span different ethnicities, languages, and locales—from Morocco in the West, to Indonesia in the East—it should be clear that one thing alone binds them: Islam—whether the strict application of Islamic Sharia law, or the supremacist culture born of it.

Previous Reports: at link below

#Islam #Muslim #Jihad #Sharia #Legal #Law #Terror #Immigration #Mosque #News #Media #Politics #Travel #Religion #Persecution

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chickensarentcheap · 5 years ago

Text

I Found (chapter 14)

Warnings: fluffy but angsty Tyler

Tagging: @alievans007 (even though she asked where her chapter was and knew this was coming ;) ) @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy

He watches her as she sits on a bench in the hotel courtyard, the hood of the sweater pulled over her head, eyes riveted on the cellphone in her hand as her fingers composed a text message. Tyler has his work cut out for him; recognizing his own faults and his own mistakes has always been a struggle, never mind actually apologizing for them. He had learned a lot over the past year. Specifically the last eight months; having to get used to domestic bliss and worrying about someone other than himself. It had been a long time since he'd had to take someone else's feelings into consideration, and even now he struggled with. Easily reverting back to old adults and an old life where he only had himself, a dog, and a chicken to take care of.

In his mind, he had made the right decision for his family. The most feasible and logical option. The safest. Lure the bad guys away from Ovi and effectively Esme and the baby. He hadn't stopped to take into consideration that she needed him. That he was the only who who has ever made her feel safe. Secure. Protected.

He moves towards the door, only to have Jason step through it and effectively block his way. There's something he doesn't like about the kid. Something he just can't quite put a finger on. Normally he could read others feel; able to easily see through their bullshit, identify their weakness, exploit them if he had to. But this kid remains an enigma. A puzzle to crack. Something more sinister and untrustworthy hiding under those boy next door looks and his polite, almost naive down south persona.

“Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?” Tyler asks. He isn't a man that plays games. And this kid was well on his way to playing a very dangerous one.

“She said she needed some fresh air. A chance to be alone. Think.”

“Are you honestly trying to stop me from going to see my own wife? You need to take about two steps back. Before I drop you on your ass.”

The younger man moves to block his way once again. Using those wide shoulders to effectively bar Tyler's entrance into the courtyard.

“I just think it's best if you leave her alone,” he suggests. “Let her catch her breath. Clear her head a little.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Tyler's mouth and his eyes narrow and his voice drops. The way it always did when the bad guys tried to play their mind games and pull their bullshit. When they didn't know just exactly who he was, what he did, and how dangerous he could be. Like that day back in Dhaka, when he gone into that squalid apartment, surrounded by hostiles, and laid eyes on Ovi Mahajan Junior for the first time.

“You've been here for what? Two days? Forty eight hours and suddenly you're an expert on what is best for her? For my wife?”

“Well someone has to think what's best for her,” he bravely retorts.

Tyler gives a derisive snort. Fists clenching. Jaw tightening. “I think you better take those steps back, mate. I've dealt with bigger and better than you. I won't hesitate when it comes to putting a foot up your ass.”

“I just think that everyone needs to calm down. Look at this all rationally. Take a breath and...”

Before he can finish, Tyler has his forearm in a vice like grip; twisting it painfully behind his back and then propelling him forward, slamming him face first into the plate glass window.

“I don't know exactly who you are or who the hell you think you are or what games you're playing. But if you ever get in my way again. I will fuck you up so badly your own mother won't be able to recognize you. If you so as much look at me the wrong way, if you so as much even think of trying to get between me and my wife, if you so as much as even go near my daughter, I promise you that I will make what guys like Asif to do people look tame. You understand me?”

A brisk tap on the glass next to them captures Tyler's attention. Nik stands behind it, watching the altercation through the window. And when she and Tyler make eye contact, her gaze hardens and her brow furrows and she shakes her head with the utmost disdain.

He relents. Giving the kid one last shove before stepping backwards, hands held up in surrender.

The kid shows no emotion. Not a hint of fear playing on his face or glittering in his eyes. Whether it was an act or he truly was cold as ice, Tyler didn't know, but it was unsettling. Troubling. Like the moments before an ally turns out to be an enemy and they strike. The only outward sign of uneasiness is the sweat that beads across his forehead and the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows noisily. His eyes never leaving Tyler's as he simply straightens his suit jacket and his tie.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe it's you that needs to worry?” he speaks, no shakiness or trepidation in his voice. “That maybe you're the one that needs to step back and watch yourself?”

It's a threat. Tyler knows it is. And now he is the one that's feeling uneasy. Uncharacteristically frazzled by the tone in the younger man's voice and that icy cool demeanour. “I don't want to see you around her again,” he warns. “Unless I'm the one that tells you to be. You hear me? Now walk away.”

Jason takes a step forward, then hesitates when he notices the fiery in Tyler's eyes and the way his arms are tense as they hang by his side, hands clenched tightly into fists. He'd heard the stories. He'd seen the numbers. The aftermath of what one single man...this man...could do. Tyler Rake was fearless. Savage. Merciless.

“Walk...away...” Tyler's voice is low, menacing. Nostrils flaring as he fights to control his temper. He had promised he wouldn't be that man again. The one that could smile at someone one minute and rip them apart the next. But old habits do truly die hard.

Jason finally cracks. With nothing more than a simple nod as he turns on his heel. His gait slow. Unhurried. Purposeful. The message he is sending loud and clear.

****

Esme looks up briefly as he approaches. She's been crying; eyes rimmed with red, swollen and puffy. That sad, heartbreaking glitter that he hates seeing. And hates himself for causing.

“Very smooth, Tyler,” she looks back down at her phone “Beating up the help.”

“Nothing's more hurt than his pride. You know, there's something about that kid I don't like. He's too eager. Too willing. Especially when it comes to you.”

“That's called jealousy, Tyler. I know you're usually incapable of feeling other emotions outside of intense anger and astonishing self loathing, but I'm actually quite flattered that you feel that strongly about something. About someone. All over little old me.”

“I deserved that,” he says in response, and she gives a little snort, refusing to make eye contact with him.

For what seems like an eternity, neither of them speak. The kind of silence that hangs so thick in the air, you can hear the rushing of the blood through your body or a pin drop in a room on the other side of the house, on an entirely different level. One that is so deafening that you would do anything to quell the agony.

He stands in front of her, hands on his hips, watching her. The gun seeming impossibly heavy as it sits in its holster, clipped to the waist band of his pants. It's a weight that he had hoped to never bear again. A life that he had hoped was well and truly behind him. Naive, he supposed. As once you were in the game, you never were truly out of it.

Unless you were dead.

He's the first to break. “What are you doing?”

“Texting.”

The one word answer aggravates him. “Who?”

“My other husband,” she huffs, and heaves a sigh of exasperation. “My mother. I've been trying to get a hold of her since last night. I don't know if my texts aren't going through or if there might be something wrong or if she's just given up on me and is just completely ignoring me...”

“I'm sure she's just busy. I doubt she's given up on you. She's your mom. Moms don't give up on their kids.” He'd only had a short time with his own mother. But in the time that they had had together, he discovered that it was true. No matter the distance or the issues between them, a mothers love for their child never stops. Nor does their desire to nurture them. Or protect them at all costs.

“I just wanted to let her know that we had to go away for a while. Not to bother calling the apartment because we wouldn't be there. And not to panic or worry if she can't get a hold for me for a little bit. I just wanted to...I don't know...” another sigh. This one shaky and sad. “...I just wanted her to know that I love her. That I miss her. She needs to hear that.”

He nods. “I think she deserves to hear that.”

“Just in case,” Esme says, and flips the phone case closed. “Just in case.”

He drops to his knees in front of her, grimacing at the pain that shoots through his right leg. Gently pushing the hood off of her head. His hands rest on her thighs. The weight of them heavy. Familiar. The familiarity that comes with the things that you love the most. The smell that lingers on the belongings of the person you love, the sound of their voice over the phone when it's the dead of the night and they can't sleep and need to call you, the feeling of their body alongside of you. The little things that you take for granted but would miss if one day you woke up and they were no longer there.

“Everything's going to be okay,” he assures her. “We're going to be okay.”

She shakes her head. Wanting to believe him. Needing to believe him. But not knowing where to start. “What if all goes wrong? What if shit just hits the fan and things end up worse than before. What if...”

“Stop,” he implores. “Just stop. This isn't like before. This is nothing like that. What happened in Dhaka was almost a year ago. Almost twelve whole months. You need to let it go. You need to put it behind you. Leave it in the past.”

The tears that escape are hot, unrelenting. Huge droplets that linger on the tips of her eyelashes before rolling down her cheeks. He hates seeing her like this. Struggling with her own demons and the things she'd seen and heard. While his life had nearly ended on that bridge, her new one had just begun. A life that only two short weeks before hadn't involved him. Neither of them had even known that the other existed. Two people on the same planet, at the same time, oblivious to the wheels that were already turning. Completely unaware that fate would soon drop them in one anothers paths.

And he wonders...not for the first time...just what would have happened if he had have just walked away. If he hadn't let her rile him up and get the best of them that day in their motel room. If he'd just fought that unbridled lust and the overwhelming need and want to feel alive again. The desperate hunger of needing to feel as if he mattered to someone and had something to live for.

“I can't,” she whispers. “I don't know why. I just can't. I was the one that was there, Tyler. With you. Not just on that bridge. But in all those moments afterwards. In that hospital. In a country on the other side of the world, thousands of miles from my home. In a life that I never asked for. That I definitely wasn't prepared for. A person that I didn't even recognize any more. I gave up everything for you, only to have you completely betray me. To turn on me the very second you got a chance.”

He feels like an asshole. A complete and utter fucking asshole. And he thinks of how he should have just walked away. That he never should have given into that temptation. No matter how hard she tested him. And he can see her. Standing there in front of him in that dark, filthy motel room. Looking up at him with those huge dark eyes full of desperation.

The ghost of a lost little girl lingering under the shell of a grown woman.

She had needed to feel something. Anything. And she had wanted him to be the one that helped her feel it. Two people damaged beyond all repair. Finding a way to escape from their pasts. Needing to silence the tortured voices inside of their heads. Needing to feel something other than emptiness and the bitter sting of loss and bad decisions.

“That wasn't my intention. I didn't betray you. I didn't do it to hurt you. I did it because I thought it was for the best. I did it to protect you. To protect our daughter. Not to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I told you that a year ago. When you said that you were scared. Not of me but what you were feeling towards me. And I asked you what you were scared of. Do you remember?”

She nods. And she finally touches him. Those small hands resting atop of his.

“You told me that you were afraid of being hurt. That I'd hurt you. And do you remember what I told you? Do you?”

Another nod.

“I said I would never hurt you. And I meant that. I meant that right to my very soul. Even then.”

“But you did. Hurt me. Whether you meant to or not. Why would you do that? Why would you make all those promises to me about never leaving unless you had to? Unless you had no other choice? You have a choice, Tyler. And you decide to just leave me there. Why? Why would you do that? We're stronger together than we are apart. We always have been. I've put everything I have into you. Right from day one. All my love and all my trust and you turn around and make a decision like that.”

“I didn't do it to hurt you. Or betray you. I did it to keep you safe. To protect you.”

“The only time I've ever felt safe and protected is when I'm with you. I didn't even know that was something I wanted. Or a hole that needed to be filled. Until you came along and did it.”

He reaches up to take her face in his hands. Thumbs gentle as they brush away her tears.

“Don't leave me,” she begs. A far cry from the girl she was a year ago. The one that took no shit, who never let her guard down, who refused to let anyone past the walls that she'd built around her heart. Years of being let down by the men that she had let into her life. Trusting them and giving them her all, only to be left broken and battered when it all fell apart. She's a shell of that former woman. And he blames himself.

“Please. Don't leave me there. Don't run off on some goddamn suicide mission. Promise me. Promise me you won't do that.”

“Esme...”

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me that I won't wake up one morning and find you gone. You don't have to fight this battle alone. This isn't just yours to fight.”

“But it should be.”

“But it doesn't have to be. Please don't do this. Don't drop me there and then just disappear. Don't walk away from me. From our daughter. From us.”

“I'm not walking away from anything. Not from you Not from us. Not from our baby. I made the decision that I thought was best for both of you. To protect my family.”

“I'm scared,” she admits. “I'm scared that you're going to just disappear on us in the middle of the night. That you'll just take off and that I'll never see you again. Promise me you'll stay. Promise me you won't do that.”

She cradles his face in her hands. Thumbs brushing against his beard, the pads grazing over his lips. Those tortured and desperate eyes never leaving his.

“I promise,” he says. “No running off in the middle of the night. No walking away.”

“Tell me we're in this together. That you're all in.”

“We're in this together, I'm all in. I've been all in from the start. Wasn't that obvious? When I let you seduce me in that hotel room?”

She manages a laugh, sniffling through the remnants of her break down. “You and I remember that day very differently.”

“I remember what you what you were wearing. A black tank top and jean shorts. The ones with the hole in the left leg and a tear in the ass. I remember that your hair was damp and you had it had it up in a ponytail. And I remember that I could taste strawberries when I kissed you.”

There was more. So much more. The little things from that day. From that moment. The sound of the traffic on the street outside; the clamouring of cars and the blaring of horns and the chattering and shouting of pedestrians. Loud music coming from the room upstairs. The sickly heat and humidity that hung in that little room and coated their bodies in a thin a sheen of sweat. The way his blood rushed through his veins and his heart hammered in his chest and his throat tightened. The way she stood there looking up at him, challenging him to do something. Anything. Looking impossibly small; desperation, want, need, all visible in those eyes. There was no fear in them. Even with his hand wrapped tightly around her throat.

And when she'd touched him, the brief brush of her chest against him, every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Things that he'd hadn't felt in a long time. Things he'd never felt that intensely.

And he could remember...clear as day...how they lay in that in that mess of rumpled sheets and sweaty, tangled limbs, utterly spent from the intensity of the sex. How his hand was in her hair as she rested with her face against his chest, her breath warm and soft against his chest. And that he'd thought how he didn't want it to end. That he didn't want her to walk away when the job ended. That he'd hoped she saw him as more than just some conquest and a way of filling an empty bed and an empty heart. And how he'd worried he wouldn't be the man that she needed.

That she deserved.

No. He wasn't brave. Regardless of what she thought. Or what Ovi said. He wasn't immortal. He was just a man that tried very hard not to show the world that he was human.

“I remember being scared,” she confesses.

“Of me?”

“No. Not of you. I was scared of what was happening. How quick it was happening. The things I was feeling. How screwed up it seemed that it was happening where it was happening. I mean, it wasn't exactly the ideal place. Or the time.”

He agreed with that. But even when his brain had been telling him how just how wrong it was, his heart had been telling him the exact opposite. And for once he'd followed the latter.

“But no. I wasn't scared of you. Never of you.”

He smiles, turning his face into her hand as it rests on his cheek, pressing his lips to her palm.

“I can't lose you, Tyler. I already came close. Way too close. I don't want it crossing that line this time.”

“It won't,” he promises, and places a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I have something for you,” he says, and digs a hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “I found it. In that little box you keep in the table by your side of the bed.”

By traditional standards, it isn't much. A simple leather bracelet. Intricately braided, with one small lapis stone in the middle. She'd spied it at the market that fateful day in Dhaka; when they allowed themselves to cross over that line. And it had been what driven him to loose his temper in the the first place: the fact that she had wandered off alone when he had distinctly told her to stay by his side at all times. And when suddenly she wasn't beside him any longer and he couldn't spy here in the sea of people, he'd become frantic. The first time in his life that he'd felt genuine panic. Nik had entrusted him with the job of keeping Esme safe. And he'd failed.

He'd lost it on her. Practically dragging her back to the hotel and then just unloading on her once the door closed behind them. The next day...while she was still sleeping and recovering from a late night of numerous rounds of incredible sex...he'd went back to the market. Searching for that same vendor so he could find out just what had captured her attention. It was the first thing he'd ever given. Aside from a baby in her belly. And she'd looked at that inexpensive and simple bracelet as it if were the most priceless piece of jewellery in the entire world.

It had broken on that bridge. Where he'd nearly lost his life. And she'd still hung on to it; cleaning it the best she could and tucking it away into that little box that held various other mementos of her life that she'd squirrelled away. He didn't have much to give her. And that had never mattered to her. But that bracelet held more value than anything else in the world.

She smiles as she sees it. Resting there in the palm of his hand.

“I fixed it for you. And I cleaned it. The best I could.” There are still remnants of blood. His blood. Clinging to leather, discolouring it in places. But she still doing it. Sidelong glances he'd give when she was feeding or cuddling their daughter. Or when she'd be sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her, top teeth resting on her bottom lip as she immersed herself in a novel. Or when she'd laugh at one of his stupid jokes or she played along with his teasing, the way her eyes sparkled and the corners crinkled.

His fingers are gentle against the inside of her inside of her wrist as he secures the newly repaired clasp, and she places that hand on the side of his face and leans into him. Covering his mouth with hers in a kiss that ,while soft and so sweet, still manages to take his breath away.

#Tyler Rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #I Found #extraction

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doeeyeddyke · 5 years ago

Text

Some ‘I Am Malala’ Cheat Notes

Characters:

Malala The author of this memoir, a young Pashtun woman who grew up in Swat Valley, Pakistan. She went to school throughout her entire childhood, and because of her father's example, she became famous for speaking out in favor of girls' education. When she was fifteen years old, the Taliban shot Malala in response to her activism.

Ziauddin Malala's father, whose dream growing up was to start a school. He founded the Kushal School, which Malala attended throughout her childhood, and he was a constant advocate for education. Though daughters are typically less prized than sons, Ziauddin loved Malala from the moment she was born.

Tor Pekai Malala's mother, who follows the Muslim code of purdah for women. She loves Malala fiercely and serves as a role model for her. Tor Pekai did not go to school, having sold her books for candy after the first day because she was jealous of her friends who got to stay home.

Kushal Malala's middle brother, who is two years younger than her.

Atal Malala's youngest brother, who is five years younger than Kushal.

Malalai of Maiwand The Pashtun heroine who was Malala's namesake. She is famous for using her courage to inspire her people to fight against the British army and win the battle.

Rohul Amin Malala's grandfather, whom she calls Baba. He studied in India and became a great speaker, and Malala's father spent his childhood attempting to impress him.

General Zia A military general who took power in Pakistan in 1977. He is famous for encouraging the Islamization of Pakistan, and under him Pakistan became an ally of the United States.

Mohammad Naeem Khan Malala's father's friend, and the man who originally set out to start a school with him.

Hidayatullah Another of Malala's father's friends, who played a much larger role in co-founding the Kushal School after Naeem left.

Benazir Bhutto The first female head-of-state in the Islamic world, who took power in Pakistan after General Zia died. She was a profound role model for Malala.

Moniba Malala's best friend throughout her childhood, who attends school with her and provides competition for best in the class. Moniba and Malala continue to keep in touch after Malala leaves Pakistan.

General Musharraf Musharraf took power in Pakistan a few years after Malala's birth, becoming Pakistan's fourth military leader.

The Mufti An Islamic scholar who attempted to close the Kushal School because it educated girls.

Jinnah The founder of Pakistan, who set out to make it a land of religious tolerance. He was laid to rest in a mausoleum in Karachi.

Fazlullah The leader of the branch of the Taliban that took over Swat Valley.

Nawab Ali An Urdu teacher at Malala's school who refused to teach them anymore after the Taliban began to take over.

Madam Maryam The principal at Malala's school, who is like a second mother figure to Malala and the other girls at the Kushal School.

Malka-e-Noor The girl who repeatedly challenges Malala for the top spot in the class.

Safina The neighbor girl who steals Malala's favorite toy. Malala steals from her as payback, but gets caught, thereby realizing that it is better to be honest.

Abdul Hai Kakar The BBC correspondent who seeks out Malala to write the diary of Gul Makai about life living under the Taliban.

Irfan Ashraf The Pakistani journalist who assists in filming a documentary about Malala's family life under the Taliban.

Adam Ellick An American video journalist who assists in filming a documentary about Malala's family life under the Taliban.

Shiza Shahid An Islamabad native who went to study at Stanford University. She contacts the Yousafzai family after seeing the documentary about them and becomes one of their supporters, along with a role model for Malala.

Dr. Afzal Malala's father's friend, who transports them out of Swat when they escape and become IDPs for three months.

General Abbas The chief spokesman for the Pakistani army, who sends Malala's father money to pay his teachers' salaries after three months as IDPs.

Zahid Khan A friend of Malala's father who was shot in the face by the Taliban shortly before Malala was shot.

Usman Bhai Jan The bus driver, who is driving when the Taliban pulls the bus over and shoots Malala.

Dr. Javid Kayani One of the British doctors who come to Peshawar to assess Malala.

Dr. Fiona Reynolds The other of the British doctors who assesses Malala in Peshawar. She works at a children's hospital in Birmingham, and stays at Malala's side as she is airlifted to the UK from Pakistan.

Rehenna The hospital's Muslim chaplain, who helps to ease Malala's transition into this new culture.

Atuallah Khan The man who shot Malala.

Asif Zardari The President of Pakistan, who comes to visit Malala while she is in the hospital in Birmingham.

Quotes:

"Who is Malala? I am Malala, and this is my story."

Malala ends the memoir's short prologue by echoing the question that the Taliban militant asked before shooting her in the face. In these pages she finally gets the chance to answer the question, which she did not have when it happened. She claims her name and her identity, in spite of the Taliban attempting to silence her.

"I am Malala. My world has changed but I have not."

Malala ends her memoir almost the same way that she started it, answering the question that came to define her life when the Taliban asked for her in the back of the bus. She once again lays claim to her identity, and acknowledges that even though she leads an entirely different life now, she still maintains the values, principles, and goals that she has nurtured throughout her entire life.

Symbols:

Malala's Schoolbooks When Malala and her family leave Swat and become IDPs, Malala repeatedly wonders whether or not her schoolbooks will be safe and when she will be able to study them. For Malala, her schoolbooks represent the education she has received and the education she hopes to receive in the future. They are a source of hope that she will be able to accomplish her goal of promoting schooling for all girls, not only those as lucky as she is.

The Almonds After Malala gets in trouble for stealing a neighbor girl's toys, she relays a story about a time when she was younger and ate some almonds in the bazaar that her mother could not pay for. When her father found out, he went and bought all of the almonds. She says they became a reminder of guilt, but they are also a reminder to remain honest. The memory of these almonds is one of the things that keep Malala believing that honesty is the best policy.

The Burqa The burqa, which is a full-body garment covering even the face, is a symbol of the Taliban's oppression of women. Though Muslim women cover their heads for many reasons, a face covering obscures the identity of a woman, which is part of what the Taliban seeks to do. Over the course of Taliban occupation of Pakistan, women in burqas become a prominent symbol of the Taliban.

The Schoolbus The school bus on which Malala and two other girls were shot becomes a symbol of the tragedy later on. Malala includes a picture of the bus among the photos of her life that she adds in at the end of the memoir; the picture shows the bloodstains that still remain. This bus was meant to be a safe space, but, as with many other safe spaces in Swat, the Taliban corrupted it.

The Buddhas Swat Valley's ancient Buddha statues, left from when Buddhism moved through the valley, are prominent symbols of Swat's rich history and, most importantly, the region's tolerance of faiths other than Islam. When the Taliban destroy these Buddha statues, they send the message that they will not tolerate any beliefs other than Islam, and that they are eager to erase the past.

Similes and Metaphors:

"It seemed to us that the Taliban had arrived in the night just like vampires." (Chapter 9, Simile)

Malala and Moniba both read Twilight, a famous book series by Stephenie Meyer about vampires. They compare the approaching Taliban to vampires, slinking through the night and arriving unexpectedly. This is an important simile because it emphasizes the degree to which the people of Swat were caught off-guard when the Taliban began to occupy their formerly peaceful valley.

"For us girls that doorway was like a magical entrance to our own special world." (Prologue, Simile)

In this simile, Malala speaks about the entrance to the Kushal School, and how magical it felt growing up and spending every day going through these doors. For Malala, school was a sanctuary, a place where she and her friends could be themselves and focus solely on receiving an education. Even during their occupation of Swat, the Taliban could not take away their indescribable love for attending school.

Irony:

Malala vs. her father (Dramatic Irony) Malala's family constantly fears that Ziauddin, Malala's father, will be the one targeted by the Taliban because of they way he speaks out against them. No one thinks for a second that even the Taliban is cruel enough to target Malala. It is thus ironic it is Malala whom they try to kill.

Malala's Father's Stutter (Situational Irony) Despite the stutter that has impaired his speech throughout his life, Malala's father ironically devotes his life to public speaking, voicing his thoughts and rallying people to his side to stand against the Taliban. It is ironic that a man who loves poetry, words, and speaking would be cursed with such an impediment.

The Taliban and Islam (Situational Irony) Malala and many other Muslims believe that Islam is a peaceful religion, one that respects and values women and encourages tolerance and acceptance. It is ironic, then, that the Taliban claims to be fighting in the name of Islam, and yet goes against all of these accepted Islamic values.

Literary Elements:

Genre Memoir

Setting and Context Swat Valley, Pakistan, from 1997 to 2013

Narrator and Point of View Malala Yousafzai, a girl growing up in Pakistan under the Taliban’s control, narrates the memoir in first-person past tense.

Tone and Mood The first part of the memoir, when Malala is living happily in Swat, attending school and remaining at the top of her class, has a much more lighthearted tone. The tone and mood darken once the Taliban arrive to Swat Valley in 2007, and becomes much more urgent as Malala and her father step up as activists.

Protagonist and Antagonist Malala is the protagonist, while the Taliban—an oppressive Islamic fundamentalist organization that occupied Swat Valley during her adolescence—is the antagonist.

Major Conflict Though there are many struggles that accompany daily life in Swat, the primary conflict is over the Taliban's occupation of Swat. The Taliban have banned girls' education, something Malala believes is invaluable. Not only does Malala want to continue going to school, but she wants all other girls to receive an education as well, and throughout the memoir she stands up against the Taliban to promote this.

Climax The climax of the memoir occurs when a Taliban officer boards Malala's school bus, asks for her by name, and then shoots her in the face.

Foreshadowing Malala narrates this memoir in retrospect, so there are many instances where she hints at what is going to happen. A notable instance of foreshadowing occurs at the end of Chapter 23, when Malala finishes the chapter about her hospitalization in Birmingham by saying, "I didn't realize then I wouldn't be going home" (pg. 143).

Allusions Malala repeatedly alludes to Twilight, the famous book series about vampires by Stephenie Meyer. When the Taliban comes to Swat Valley, she says, "It seemed to us that the Taliban arrived in the night just like vampires" (pg. 60).

#i am malala #malala #malala yousafzai #books #memoir #notes #cheat sheet #studying #english #literature #studyblr

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