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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year ago

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DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick

Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.

Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:

Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.

And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.

Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.

Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”

Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.

There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.

~~~~~~

Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.

The local birds:

~~~~~~

Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.

Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.

~~~~~

Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.

Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.

Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?

Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.

~~~~~

Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.

Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.

Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.

Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.

Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.

Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.

~~~~~

Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.

~~~~~

Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.

Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream

~~~~~

Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #dead on main ship #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc memes

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holdoncallfailed · 6 months ago

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Throughout all this women everywhere tended their children, milked their cattle, tilled their fields, washed, baked, cleaned and sewed, healed the sick, sat by the dying and laid out the dead—just as some women, somewhere are doing at this moment. The extraordinary continuity of women's work, from country to country and age to age, is one of the reasons for its invisibility; the sight of a woman nursing a baby, stirring a cook-pot or cleaning a floor is as natural as the air we breathe, and like the air it attracted no scientific analysis before the modern period. While there was work to be done, women did it, and behind the vivid foreground activities of popes and kings, wars and discoveries, tyranny and defeat, working women wove the real fabric of the kind of history that has yet to receive its due. For the unremarked, taken-for-granted status of women's work applied equally to their lives, and both combined to ensure that what women did went largely absent from the historical record. Official documents might carefully note the annual output of a farmer, for example, his total of milk, meat, eggs or grain, without ever questioning how much of that was produced by his wife's labor. The question itself would not apply—since the wife belonged to her husband by every law of the land and by her own consent too, then her labor and the fruits of it were also his. Consequently the idea of a separate reckoning would have been laughable. By definition, then, the only women whose activities were so recorded were not typical of the working majority—widows, for instance, seeking legal permission to carry on the trade of their late husbands, or deserted or runaway wives forced to fend for themselves. [...] For even the most cursory survey of women's reveals that its range, quantity and significance has been massively underestimated, not least by women themselves. In every era, they have simply got on with the job, whatever it was. Women have never questioned, for instance, the fact that, already burdened with an unequal share of the work of re-creating the race, they have had to work in fields and factories as well—nor that their role as wives, mothers and homemakers entails a disproportionate amount and variety of other kinds of work—domestic, social, medical, education, emotional, and sexual.

— Rosalind Miles, Who Cooked the Last Supper?: The Women's History of the World (emphasis in original)

#q2 #feminism #rosalind miles #who cooked the last supper

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macgyvermedical · 16 days ago

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Moving vs Fleeing (and what you need to flee)

I was on a call last night with a very reputable LGBTQ+ organization in my state that discussed the difference between moving and fleeing.

Essentially, moving is planned. You get an apartment and a job in another city- hopefully you visit that city to scope it out. Then you move your life. It takes, at minimum, months.

Fleeing is unplanned. Something is happening that is so bad in your area that you have to cut and run. It may not be police at your door. But it might be legislation that prevents you from using restrooms without the risk of being killed or arrested. It might be lack of access to medications and something that makes it illegal to get those medications in a different state. It might be the classification of your life (as someone gay or tans) as a sex crime, and sex crimes being punishable by death (a goal of project 2025).

And, they recommended, get things together before it gets to that point, even if you aren't sure that it will happen, so fleeing is as easy as possible if you need to do it.

Here's what you can do:

Pick a location you can get to either by bus, train, or car that has a good track record for your needs and that you think you could live. Do your research- are there jobs there in your field? Housing?

Then get yourself a bag or large backpack.

Get a file folder and put your documents in it. I mean things like your passport, your birth certificate, your social security card, copies of any professional licenses you have, a checkbook, name change documentation, copies of financial documents like mortgages, copies of insurance cards and policies, copies of marriage licenses, and a copy of your driver's license. These are things you might need if you have to prove your identity or get a job or apartment. Then print out maps of several routes to your destination. Put the file folder in the bag.

Add to that: a couple of changes of clothes for each person including a hat and a cloth or disposable face covering (people don't question them as much since the pandemic, and they're convenient to hide your face). Lightweight, caloric foods for at least 3 days that don't require cooking (protein bars work great for this). A month of medications and an emergency script for each medication for each person (get a paper prescription from your doctor that is good for a year or the max allowed for each medication) if you can get it. Pay out of pocket with a coupon card if your insurance won't cover your refill early. 1-2 containers of baby wipes so you don't necessarily need to shower. An empty water bottle for each person. A phone charger.

Buy a gift card that can be used for anything. I won't say how much because I don't know your situation, but make it enough that you can pay for gas or bus/train/airline tickets to your destination and (if you can) temporary lodging/food once you get there. Gift cards are less traceable than debit/credit cards and aren't easy to cancel. An alternative is cash, but that can be an easier target for theft if people see you with it.

Finally, bring something of comfort, like a blanket or memento or stuffed animal.

#transgender #gay #LGBTQ #USA #US politics

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trans-axolotl · 5 months ago

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ID: Intersex activist Max Beck standing in front of the American Academy of Pediatrics with a sign that says Silence=Death.

On October 26th, 1996, the first ever protest for intersex liberation in America took place when activists from Hermaphrodites With Attitude took to the streets to protest the American Academy of Pediatrics. Later memorialized as intersex awareness day, this important action was a milestone for the American intersex movement. Max Beck, one of the intersex activists from HWA, documented the entire protest and later published their recollection in the Intersex Awakening Issue of the Chrysalis Journal. The full piece is pasted under the cut.

"But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred.

I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America. One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience.

We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!"

Hermaphrodites With Attitude Take to the Streets: By Max Beck, 1997

In late October of 1996, Hermaphrodites with Attitude took to the streets, in the first public demonstration by intersexuals in modern history. On a glorious fall day, the like of which you can only find in New England, under a crackling, cloudless sky, twenty-odd protesters joined forces to picket the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians in Boston. Deeply aware of the historical and personal significance of the action, and — correctly — surmising that a notebook diary would not be practical on such a whirlwind, windy week-end, I took a small hand-held tape recorder with me. What follows are excerpts from the resulting transcript.

October 24, 1996 2:45 PM, Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport

The trip has only just begun and I am already exhausted. Hot. Starving. Fifteen minutes until take-off. Every businessman boarding the plane looks like a pediatric endocrinologist, Boston-bound. Silly thought, testimony to what? My anxiety? My fear? My giddy anticipation? If these bespectacled, suit-and-tie sporting men were pediatricians, would they be flying coach on Continental, with a layover in Newark? I’m headed for Boston, for the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians (AAP). Tens of thousands of pediatricians. I’m not a pediatrician, though, nor am I a nurse; in fact, I barely managed to complete my B.A. I’m a manager of a technical laboratory. We don’t work with children, and the AAP certainly didn't invite me, so why am I going?

With the plane taxiing toward take-off, this is a lousy time to reassess. I’m going. I’m going because I am intersexed. I’m going because the doctors and nurses who treated me as an infant and a child and an adolescent, and those who continue to treat intersexed infants and children today, consider me “lost to follow-up.” I was lost— that’s part of the problem. Now, I’m back.

9:02 PM: Boston’s North End

I’m comfortably ensconced in Alice’s warehouse condo in Boston’s North End, a renovated warehouse with a view of the city skyline, ceilings easily twenty feet high, exposed beams and brick, gorgeous tile floor. As I speak, my hostess is preparing an absolutely phenomenal meal. The aroma of roasted peppers permeates the entire space. Tomorrow, the work begins; my project this evening is to unwind and enjoy this wonderful meal. Easier said than done. I’m feeling excited, enervated, I feel very alive, something I don’t feel very often, I feel very present and aware. It could be my exhaustion, it could be the Chardonnay. But I think, rather, that the excitement is anticipation about what we are about to do. Being here, finally being prepared to raise a voice, to be heard, to be seen, a vocal, out, proud hermaphrodite who is standing up to say, “Let’s rethink this, this isn’t working, we’ve been hurt, stop what you’re doing, listen to us!” I’m really looking forward to meeting Morgan at the airport in the morning; it’s always amazing to make eye contact with someone else who has been there.

October 25, 7:38 AM Boston Commons

En route to my encounter with the AAP, walking the approximately two miles from my hostess’ domicile to the Marriott Hotel at Copley Square, I pause in the Boston Commons to enjoy a park bench, to sip my Starbuck’s decaf, and to watch a group of senior citizens performing Japanese swordsmanship on top of the hill beneath a monument to some forgotten general. The city is cool this morning, but clear, and it promises to be a beautiful weekend. That’s good: we won’t be rained out. I’ve got a stack of about ninety ISNA brochures in the bag at my side, crammed in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. If I want these pamphlets to get inside, I’ve got to get to the site of the Nurses’ Panel at the Marriott before they close the doors. Then it’s back out to the airport, to pick up Morgan. My feet are already killing me.

October 26, 9:15 AM: North End

Morgan and I are sitting at our hostess’ breakfast table, pulling our thoughts together. In a few minutes, we’ll have to leave to pick up Riki at the airport. The logistics of pulling together an action are mind-boggling. There’s no describing the thrill, though, of all that work, all those phone calls, all those miles. Riding a clattering subway on a Saturday morning, seated beside another living, breathing, laughing, swearing intersexual, hugging near-strangers at unfamiliar airports, then riding back, together, defiant, determined, organized, to the heart of so much of our pain, so much of our anger, so much of our need. We gathered in front of the huge Hynes Auditorium, pamphlets and leaflets in hand, and met the AAP attendees as they left the convention center for lunch. The next hour-and-a-half was a blur, as we positioned ourselves in strategic locations before the Hynes, held signs and “Hermaphrodites with Attitude” banner aloft, distributed our literature, engaged AAP members and passers-by in conversation and debate, spoke to microphones, to cameras. In all that time, I recorded only one fragment of a breathless sentence.

Saturday, 12:20 PM Outside the Hynes

We’ve got all the exits covered, and it’s an incredible, incredibly empowering experience. I remember the words I spoke to the TV camera, if only because I had scribbled a rough outline on the airplane, pirating mightily from Cheryl’s press release. And because the moment was so salient, so real. Me, Max, bespectacled, with blisters on my feet and chapped lips, speaking out to untold numbers of invisible viewers (and a few bewildered pediatricians behind me.)

"When an intersex child is born, parents and caregivers are faced with what seems to be a terrible dilemma: here is an infant who does not fit what our society deems normal. Immediate medical intervention seems indicated, in order to spare the parents and the child the inevitable stigmatization associated with being different. Yet the infant is not facing a medical emergency; intersexuality is rarely if ever life-threatening. Rather, the psychosocial crisis of the parents and caregivers is medicalized.

Intersexuality is assumed to be a birth defect which can be corrected, outgrown and forgotten. The experiences of members of the intersex support groups indicate that intersexuality cannot be fixed; an intersex infant grows up to be an intersex adult. This hasn’t been explored, because intersex patients are almost invariably “lost to follow-up.” The abstract of a talk that will be given at this very conference by a doctor who treats intersex infants concedes that “the psychological issues surrounding genital reconstruction are inadequately understood.”

Part of the problem is that we were lost to follow-up, and there were reasons for that. But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America.

One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!

7:20 PM: Boston’s North End

Goddess, this is so sweet, so liberating! I was so reluctant a week ago, having my Jesus-in-Gethsemane experience, reluctant to accept — not an onus or responsibility but — to accept who I am. And here’s where the hard work really begins. I’m exhausted when I think of the road before us. But then, it’s nothing like the road behind us.

Max Beck, 1997.

#personal #actuallyintersex #intersex #intersex history #intersex pride #h slur #hwa #isna

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majedgerbawi · 1 month ago

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Dear Friends 👋🏼❤️,

From the depths of my heart, I want to thank you for all your support and patience during this challenging time😔. In recent weeks, we faced a major setback when our campaign on GoFundMe was paused for verification. Those were moments filled with fear and anxiety, but we did not give up. We provided all the necessary documents, including medical records, my children’s university registrations, and our official IDs to prove that we are real people facing real struggles🤍🍉.

Thanks to God and your support, our identities and the authenticity of our campaign have been verified, and hope returned when our campaign was reactivated. Our need has become more urgent now, as we are seeking a safe home for my children—a place that will provide the safety and stability we lost🙏🏻🥺.

Every donation, no matter how small, has a profound impact on our lives. It’s not just a financial contribution, but a support that rekindles hope in our hearts. I kindly ask you to continue supporting us, whether by donating or by sharing our story with others. With you, we can build a better future for my family, filled with safety and hope.🙏🏻😔

🇵🇸🍉🇵🇸🍉🇵🇸🍉🇵🇸🍉🇵🇸

Thank you from the bottom of my heart,

Maged & his family

#free palestine #cats #cute #batman #artists on tumblr #trending #aesthetic #north gaza #gaza genocide #robots #i stand with palestine 🇵🇸#save 🍉#save palestine #jabalia #vetted #thank you #90 ghost #naples

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girlactionfigure · 4 months ago

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Yes, You Are Right, 6 Million Is Not a True Number... It Might Actually Be Higher...

To those who dare question the reality of the Holocaust or minimize its horrors: your denial is an insult to history, truth, and the memory of millions who perished. plus the evidence is overwhelming, the testimonies irrefutable, and the suffering immeasurable. Holocaust denial is not just ignorance—it's an sinister form of antisemitism that seeks to erase the atrocities committed by the Nazis.

As we witness more and more how some try to deny out painful history, here's a detailed account to reaffirm the undeniable truth, we will review some of the death camps, killing techniques, and casualty figures.

1/ Intro: The Holocaust, well recorded.

Orchestrated by Nazi Germany, it resulted in the systematic murder of approximately 6 million Jews. However, recent research suggests this figure might be even higher. The full extent of the atrocities is staggering and still being uncovered. The scope of this genocide went beyond the initial estimates, with ongoing studies revealing more mass graves, hidden documents, and survivor testimonies that paint a grimmer picture of the Holocaust's true scale. The meticulous records kept by the Germans provide detailed insights into the numbers and methods of murder, underscoring the planned and methodical nature of this genocide.

2/ Auschwitz-Birkenau.

The largest and most infamous Nazi concentration and extermination camp, saw the deaths of at least 1.1 million Jews. Located in Poland, it became a symbol of the Holocaust's horror. Victims were subjected to inhumane conditions, forced labor, and medical experiments before being murdered. The camp's infrastructure, designed for maximum extermination efficiency, included gas chambers capable of killing thousands at a time and crematoriums to dispose of the bodies, highlighting the industrial nature of the genocide. Detailed records of transports, prisoner numbers, and deaths were meticulously kept, leaving a chilling account of the atrocities committed.

3/ Treblinka.

Another extermination camp in Poland, witnessed the murder of around 870,000 Jews. The camp operated with a singular purpose: mass murder, primarily through gas chambers. Victims were transported to Treblinka in tightly packed trains that was made to use to transport livestock, often enduring days without food or water, only to be killed upon arrival. The camp's operations were covered in secrecy, with few survivors to testify to the horrors. This near-total annihilation of those sent to Treblinka exemplifies the ruthless efficiency of the Nazi death machine, and here again they detailed and saved all transport lists and death counts and meticulously recorded it.

4/ At Belzec.

Also in Poland, approximately 600,000 Jews were killed. The camp's efficiency in extermination, with most victims murdered upon arrival, underscores the industrial scale of the Holocaust. Belzec's gas chambers, initially primitive and later more sophisticated, were capable of killing thousands daily. The camp's location, chosen for its proximity to major Jewish populations, ensured a steady stream of victims. The methods of murder at Belzec were continuously refined, demonstrating the Nazis' relentless pursuit of their genocidal goals. Detailed records of each transport and extermination were kept, providing a grim accounting of the lives lost.

5/ Sobibor.

Yet another death camp in Poland, saw the deaths of about 250,000 Jews. Sobibor was part of Operation Reinhard, the Nazi plan to exterminate the Jews of occupied Poland. The camp's gas chambers, disguised as showers, were used to deceive and murder. Despite its short operational period, Sobibor's impact was devastating. The camp's destruction by the Nazis in an attempt to hide their crimes could not erase the evidence of the atrocities committed there, which have been painstakingly reconstructed through survivor testimonies and archaeological efforts. The Nazis' meticulous record-keeping included transport lists and death counts, which have been crucial in reconstructing the scale of the atrocities.

6/ Majdanek.

A concentration and extermination camp near Lublin, Poland, resulted in the deaths of around 78,000 Jews. Originally a labor camp, it later incorporated gas chambers to increase the killing efficiency. Unlike other camps, Majdanek was liberated largely intact, providing a grimly detailed picture of the Holocaust's mechanisms. The camp's dual function as a labor and death camp highlights the varied methods the Nazis used to exploit and exterminate Jews. The vast array of personal belongings left behind bears silent witness to the lives lost. Detailed German records, including death certificates and transport logs, provide further evidence of the systematic nature of the genocide.

7/ Chelmno.

The first extermination camp established, killed approximately 152,000 Jews. Located in Poland, Chelmno used gas vans to murder its victims. The victims were deceived into entering these mobile gas chambers, believing they were being transported to new locations. This method of murder, though less well-known, was an early experiment in mass killing that paved the way for the more extensive gas chambers of other camps. Chelmno's role in the Holocaust was crucial, setting a precedent for subsequent extermination efforts. The Germans kept detailed records of each transport and the number of victims, underscoring the methodical planning behind the genocide.

8/ The Einsatzgruppen.

Nazi death squads, were responsible for the mass shootings of over 1 million Jews across Eastern Europe, particularly in the Soviet Union. Mass graves continue to be discovered, revealing the true scale of their operations. These mobile killing units followed the advancing German army, executing Jews and other perceived enemies in mass shootings. The Einsatzgruppen's activities are among the most brutal and direct forms of genocide, often involving local collaborators and leaving behind a legacy of terror and loss in countless communities. The Germans meticulously documented these operations, with reports detailing the number of victims and locations of mass shootings.

9/ Ghettos.

In addition to extermination camps, ghettos played a significant role in the Holocaust. The Warsaw Ghetto, the largest, confined over 400,000 Jews. Starvation, disease, and deportations to death camps decimated the population. The living conditions in the ghetto were inhumane, with overcrowding, insufficient food, and rampant disease. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, a heroic but doomed resistance effort, stands as a testament to the resilience and courage of the Jewish people in the face of systematic annihilation. The ghetto's eventual destruction symbolized the relentless nature of Nazi persecution. German records of ghetto populations and deportations provide detailed accounts of the suffering endured by its inhabitants.

10/ The Lodz Ghetto.

With around 160,000 Jews, suffered similar fates. Ghettos served as holding areas before deportations to extermination camps, with many inhabitants perishing due to inhumane conditions. The Lodz Ghetto, one of the longest-lasting, was marked by forced labor and brutal living conditions. Its eventual liquidation sent tens of thousands to their deaths in Auschwitz. The ghettos' purpose was multifaceted: to isolate Jews, strip them of their possessions, and ultimately, to facilitate their extermination. The Nazis kept detailed records of ghetto inhabitants, work assignments, and deportation lists, all of which contribute to the historical understanding of the genocide's scope.

11/ Theresienstadt.

Presented as a "model ghetto" to deceive the world, was actually a transit camp for Jews sent to extermination camps. Around 33,000 Jews died within its walls, while many more were deported to their deaths. Theresienstadt was used for Nazi propaganda, showcasing it as a "self-governing" Jewish settlement to mislead international observers. In reality, it was a place of suffering and death, where cultural and intellectual life persisted only as a fragile form of resistance against the overwhelming oppression and impending doom.

Too much for 1 thread.

There are dozens of more camps, massacres, events and figures, that it is impossible to include everyone, so in the next chapter we will briefly go over all the other known facts.

Summing up the horrific toll, we have:

- Auschwitz-Birkenau: 1.1 million Jews - Treblinka: 870,000 Jews - Belzec: 600,000 Jews - Sobibor: 250,000 Jews - Majdanek: 78,000 Jews - Chelmno: 152,000 Jews - Einsatzgruppen mass shootings: 1 million Jews - Warsaw Ghetto: over 400,000 Jews - Lodz Ghetto: 160,000 Jews - Theresienstadt: 33,000 Jews - Mauthausen: approximately 38,000 Jews - Bergen-Belsen: around 37,000 Jews - Dachau: about 28,000 Jews - Buchenwald: approximately 56,000 Jews - Ravensbrück: around 20,000 Jews - Sachsenhausen: about 30,000 Jews - Gross-Rosen: around 46,000 Jews - Stutthof: approximately 65,000 Jews - Plaszow: around 8,000 Jews - Westerbork: about 103,000 Jews - Drancy: approximately 70,000 Jews - Natzweiler-Struthof: around 20,000 Jews - Neuengamme: approximately 42,000 Jews - Poniatowa: approximately 14,000 Jews - Janowska: about 40,000 Jews - Kaiserwald: around 25,000 Jews - Malines (Mechelen): approximately 17,000 Jews - Sered: around 12,000 Jews - Jasenovac: around 25,000 Jews - Maly Trostenets: about 65,000 Jews - Babi Yar: over 33,000 Jews killed in just two days - Kovno Ghetto: approximately 30,000 Jews - Vilna Ghetto: about 55,000 Jews - Rumbula: around 25,000 Jews - Riga Ghetto: approximately 30,000 Jews - Minsk Ghetto: around 50,000 Jews - Kaunas Ninth Fort: over 30,000 Jews - Minsk Fort: around 65,000 Jews - Lublin Ghetto: about 40,000 Jews - Lvov Ghetto: approximately 100,000 Jews

Adding these additional figures gives us: 1.1 million (Auschwitz-Birkenau) + 870,000 (Treblinka) + 600,000 (Belzec) + 250,000 (Sobibor) + 78,000 (Majdanek) + 152,000 (Chelmno) + 1 million (Einsatzgruppen mass shootings) + 400,000 (Warsaw Ghetto) + 160,000 (Lodz Ghetto) + 33,000 (Theresienstadt) + 38,000 (Mauthausen) + 37,000 (Bergen-Belsen) + 28,000 (Dachau) + 56,000 (Buchenwald) + 20,000 (Ravensbrück) + 30,000 (Sachsenhausen) + 46,000 (Gross-Rosen) + 65,000 (Stutthof) + 8,000 (Plaszow) + 103,000 (Westerbork) + 70,000 (Drancy) + 20,000 (Natzweiler-Struthof) + 42,000 (Neuengamme) + 14,000 (Poniatowa) + 40,000 (Janowska) + 25,000 (Kaiserwald) + 17,000 (Malines) + 12,000 (Sered) + 25,000 (Jasenovac) + 65,000 (Maly Trostenets) + 33,000 (Babi Yar) + 30,000 (Kovno Ghetto) + 55,000 (Vilna Ghetto) + 25,000 (Rumbula) + 30,000 (Riga Ghetto) + 50,000 (Minsk Ghetto) + 30,000 (Kaunas Ninth Fort) + 65,000 (Minsk Fort) + 40,000 (Lublin Ghetto) + 100,000 (Lvov Ghetto) = 6,706,000 Jews.

This sum, combined with other unrecorded deaths, ghetto liquidations, and hidden or lesser-known massacres, underscores the sheer scale of the tragedy.

So when you feel the need to gain some attention by exploiting our painful history, know that this is one of the most recorded events ever, so beside being an absolute evil person, you also expose yourself as a dumb person as well.

REMEMBER, THAT EACH NUMBER REPRESENTS A LIFE BRUTALLY CUT SHORT!!

NEVER AGAIN!!

@APbrooklyn_NY

#WW2 #Shoah #NeverAgain

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secularprolifeconspectus · 6 days ago

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BREAKING: new records expose that Planned Parenthood will sell body parts from healthy, viable babies to universities for intellectual property.

youtube

In a batch of freshly released FOIA documents, journalist David Daleiden of the Center for Medical Progress has pieced together a horrifying reality: Planned Parenthood harvests organs from viable, nonanomalous fetuses with documented heartbeats from abortions with labor induction for research at the University of California San Diego in exchange for IP rights. In other words, PP dissects healthy premies who are old enough to live outside the womb after making sure they are alive and delivering them intact, per their contract with UCSD, in which PP gets to keep all royalties for patents developed from experiments. And the Spanish-speaking mothers didn't give informed consent to this. In other words, and they prey on vulnerable minorities for their babies.

How do I know this is true? It's because I am the associate reporter in this video, and David emailed me the documents to read for myself.

Evidence includes:

Transfer agreement outlining the exchange of fetal tissue for ownership of research IP

Research plan approved by the UCSD Institutional Review Board requesting organ samples from nonanomalous fetuses up to 23 weeks gestation (that's nearly 6 months old; periviability begins at 21 weeks)

Same research plan calling for verification of a heartbeat immediately before the procedure to ensure the fetuses are living (this keeps their tissues fresh; the fetuses cannot be given a feticide to "euthanize" (poison) them before the procedure, because this would contaminate the tissues; this means the fetuses are either bled out or dismembered alive)

Did I mention this plan calls for up to 2,500 samples from 2,500 fetuses?

Email chain discussing the use of heavy doses of misoprostol before abortions after 12.5 weeks (forces labor contractions to deliver the baby — may result in live birth)

Donation consent forms in English which state the tissue may be used commercially, but in Spanish exclude this info entirely (San Diego has a large immigrant population, so this is racist targeting)

No, I cannot say for certain that PP actually did cut up healthy premies. But I am saying, it is documented that they were willing to do so, and that should be enough to cause alarm.

Protecting premature infants is a nonpartisan human rights issue. Everyone should be outraged about this violation of the vulnerable.

I've had folks suggest to me before that this is just a few "bad actors", but they're missing the bigger picture of how the abortion industrial complex enables these crimes. It is a natural outcome of the system, and it must be dismantled. You cannot permit elective abortion without permiting violence against premature infants. Tell your representatives to divest from Big Abortion NOW.

#pro life #anti abortion #pro choice #pro abortion #abortion #planned parenthood #planned parenthood sells baby parts #prenatal justice #hide

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thesocklesswonder · 11 months ago

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Ohio's mental health authority is trying to ban transgender healthcare - esp for people under 21 years of age, BUT they are asking for public input! Hurry, though, as it's only through 5pm local time (US Eastern Standard Time) on January 19th!

Changes to the Ohio Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services rule, "5122-14-12 | Private Psychiatric Hospital: Program, Specialty Services, and Discharge Planning", are to prohibit any kind of transgender care for those under 21 in a psychiatric hospital. Full document here, but be aware it is to a pdf

The rule includes the text, "Medical services shall not include any of the following: ...the prescribing, administering, or furnishing of any prescription drug or hormone...", which means if someone under 21 enters a private psychiatric hospital and who is already on puberty blockers or hormones, the doctors there would be prohibited from giving them the prescription they already have.

A new proposed rule for the same Ohio department, "5122-26-19 | Gender Transition Care" states the requirements for anyone needing transition care under this department. They are targeting the most vulnerable with these rules: young people who have mental health issues who also need transgender care. Full document here, but be aware it is to a pdf

Included in this rule: A doctor may only provide transgender care after three requirements have been met - a psychiatrist who has experience with the patient's age group must be employed by/contracted with the provider, an endocrinologist who has experience with the age group, and the provider has a comprehensive written plan that includes a detransitioning provision.

It also requires any such patient to have a thorough mental health evaluation and counseling period of at least 6 months prior to any transgender care. It also appears to become part of their medical record.

In addition to a ban on any transition surgeries, even if the patient jumps through all of those hoops, is a curious item that prevents doctors from referring patients out to other doctors that can provide care:

Another thing that made me pause was what seems like a scare tactic:

The terms "orchiectomy" and "penectomy" mean the removal of testicals and penis, respectively. The word "castration" could only be redundant or referring only to chemical castration, which seems to not fit in with gender reassignment surgery (correct me if you know it does fit). "Castration" is a scary word for most people with penises. I think it would likely provoke a knee-jerk response, like, "Oh, no, castration is bad. No castration! Enact these rules to keep people from being castrated!"

⚠️ The time is now to tell the Ohio Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services what you think about this! ⚠️

The option to comment on these needless restrictions can be found at the link in the first paragraph, but it's just an link that takes you to your email app. You can also just email them directly at [email protected] no later than 5 pm EST on Friday, January 19, 2024.

Please reblog to get this message out! We all have a stake in how rules and laws are enacted. They often lead to more in other states/countries. So, even if you don't have a stake in this personally, please make sure others see it.

Why do I care? I don't live in Ohio, but I have friends all over, including Ohio, who need transgender care. You might know someone like that, too.

#transgender #trans healthcare #ohio #ohio law #lgbtq+#comment #comment period #mental health #transition #transitioning #transgender healthcare ban #ban

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afeelgoodblog · 1 year ago

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The Best News of Last Week - 13 November

🦔 - Who knew Attenborough's echidna was just camera-shy?

1. New state law prevents animal abuse offenders from owning pets

The law bans those convicted of animal cruelty, including those involved with dogfighting, from owning any kind of animal for five years after their first criminal offense.

2. A door at a Swedish library was accidentally left open — 446 people came in, borrowed 245 books. Every single one was returned

The library was supposed to be closed for All Saints Day — a celebration sometimes also called All Hallows Day, the precursor of Halloween. But the library staff had forgotten to close a door. So people came in, thinking the library was open. Some visitors realized the library was technically closed and went home, but others did not.

3. Ohio votes to legalize marijuana for adult recreational use, becoming 24th state to do so

Ohio voters approved a measure legalizing recreational marijuana on Tuesday, defying Republican legislative leaders who had failed to pass the proposed law.

Passage of Issue 2 makes Ohio the 24th state to allow adult cannabis use for non-medical purposes.

4. First ever images prove 'lost echidna' not extinct

Scientists have filmed an ancient egg-laying mammal named after Sir David Attenborough for the first time, proving it isn't extinct as was feared.

An expedition to Indonesia led by Oxford University researchers recorded four three-second clips of Attenborough's long-beaked echidna. Spiky, furry and with a beak, echidnas have been called "living fossils".

They are thought to have emerged about 200 million years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

5. Dog leads family to missing cat that fell into 30-metre mineshaft

An incredibly lucky cat has his canine companion to thank for saving his life after the dog led rescuers to a 30 metre-deep mineshaft the cat fell into.

The cat, Mowgli, disappeared on Oct. 20 and had been missing for six days. Owner Michele Rose told the BBC that she had “almost given up hope” of finding her cat.

6. World’s first whole eye and partial face transplant gives Arkansas man new hope

A surgical team at NYU Langone Health in New York has performed the world’s first successful whole-eye transplant in a living person: Aaron James.

After an accident at work led to the loss of his left eye and part of his face, Aaron was given a new window to his soul, as well as a partial face transplant.

7. Obesity drug Wegovy cut risk of serious heart problems by 20%, study finds

The popular weight-loss drug Wegovy reduced the risk of serious heart problems by 20% in a large, international study that experts say could change the way doctors treat certain heart patients.

The research is the first to document that an obesity medication can not only pare pounds, but also safely prevent a heart attack, stroke or a heart-related death in people who already have heart disease — but not diabetes.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

#best news of last week

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kurishiri · 4 months ago

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00 . . . “ the hunter and the cursed ones’ medical records ”

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— this story is told from Roger’s point of view. it’s recommended, but not necessarily required, to read the second prologue before reading this.

— cw: none.

At an unexpected time, a pure white evil had descended upon England.

The castle had since suddenly become more noisy, but the one who had to pay attention especially——was someone like myself.

Alfons: I’m coming in, Roger. Victor entrusted me to hand you this book...

A: I must say, this is quite a sight to behold.

Documents were scattered everywhere in the room, leaving no room to maneuver or step around, and Al, seeing this, furrowed his brows.

Alfons: I can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a sore blunder and just up and left in the middle of the night?

A: All that said, I do hold my doubts on whether it’s even possible to run away with that big body of yours...

Roger: Trying to start up another argument as always, huh.

R: I was just thinking I should sort out all these different types of research documents.

Alfons: And why is that?

Roger: ‘Cause of Vogel.

R: Not like I know if they’ve got some ulterior motive hidden up their sleeve, but in those cases there’s no such thing as exercising too much caution.

Alfons: Seldom comes a time when I do agree with you, but it seems we do see eye to eye in this matter.

Al picked up one of the documents from the floor with his fingers.

Alfons: Well, I’ll be, this is our medical records [1], no?

Roger: That it is, it’s highly confidential too.

Alfons: Height, weight, medical history...

A: Dear me, to have this written as well. It’s as though the notion of privacy is nonexistent!

Roger: Don’t go taking my tenacity so lightly now?

R: Well, all that said, it’s not like I don’t know where you’re coming from. To know everything about someone else is basically the same as grasping their weaknesses.

R: But, on the flip side, you could also say that if I’m the one holding onto such information, I could save you guys’ lives.

Alfons: Hah. I suppose it is a case of the same coin having two sides.

Roger: Pretty interesting stuff, right? See, for example, Jude—

Alfons: .........

A: Just how long do you plan on continuing this?

While playing with the document with his fingers as though having little interest in them,

ashy gray eyes looked my way.

(I’ve never talked about the real reason I’ve joined Crown.)

(That is, aside from this person before me, who’s an old acquaintance of mine, though begrudgingly so.)

Roger: What, you want me to pay more attention to you?

Alfons: Most definitely not. So by all means, do continue your unproductive research.

A: Well then, I’ve done what I needed to do here, so I will take my leave.

Roger: Wait, Al.

Alfons: What is it?

I waved Al’s medical record as I read it aloud.

Roger: Alfons Sylvatica. Bearer of the Mirror Curse.

R: Sound for someone who’s regularly unsystematic. Has a stomach that rivals that of a beast.

R: And...

R: A friend from the old times, whom I’d like to get along better with me.

Alfons: And that is exactly why Jude calls you a ‘quack of a doctor.’

That was all he said before he closed the door, the sound cold and robotic.

Roger: Haha, he’s cold as always.

Now alone in the room, silence fell upon me as I looked out the window.

Rays of sun that penetrated through the leaves of trees came through, giving the medical records a streak of light.

(All I said was that I had an interest in the Cursed ones, so I was doing research on them.)

(But, that)

——was a complete lie.

There was no way I would choose not to succeed my family, instead joining an organization who specialized in assassination just because I was ‘interested.’

The reason I joined Crown, was because it was a place where Cursed ones gathered.

And it was also a place directly under Her Majesty the Queen, so it was a perfect place to gather information.

“The Cursed ones”——it was an absurd fate, bestowed by the whims of God.

(And I——want to rid the world of Curses.)

(That was the reason I turned to Crown,)

(and it was my ambition for a long time now.)

And the medical records of Crown showed that very ambition,

as I’ve made meticulous records on every member.

——No, every member but one.

(The Queen’s Aide, Victor.)

(On his record, and his alone, there is not a single piece of useful information written down.)

As I stared at his medical record, I felt myself returning to a memory from the past.

When I first met Victor, it was at the hideout a serial killer was residing in.

By the time I arrived at the scene, the criminal had already drew his last breath, and only long, jet black hair flowed in the wind.

That man turned around, not uttering a sound.

When our eyes met, the man with eyes like jewels gave me a lax smile.

Victor: Good evening to you. The full moon tonight is quite beautiful, isn’t it.

first. next →

full masterlist 📄

NOTES:

[1] the apparent pronunciation (furigana) for this is [カルテ] (karute). It’s a Japanese loan word from the German word ‘Karte,’ which I believe translates to ‘card.’ In Japanese, though, it means a medical or clinical record for a patient. Anyway, any time you see ‘medical record,’ it is pronounced as karute.

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probablyasocialecologist · 3 months ago

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While maintaining that “for some, the best outcome will be transition,” it nevertheless effectively recommended that the N.H.S. abandon the guidelines embraced by major mainstream medical associations and restrict the use of medications that have been offered for decades to adolescents across the globe with vanishingly few negative side effects or regrets. The reason, the report says, is that these treatments are insufficiently supported by reliable, long-term evidence. Then, remarkably, the report recommends treatments — psychological treatment and medications for depression and anxiety — that have even less proof behind them in helping children (or adults) with gender dysphoria, though they may help with other mental health issues, and many children with dysphoria already get these treatments. And for all its insistence of evidence, the report is peppered with mere speculation about the potential causes of gender dysphoria: pornography and the phenomenon of social contagion are invoked, with zero credible evidence to support them. It is a strange document. Social conservatives welcomed the report. But it has also been heralded in some liberal quarters in Britain, where even the Labour Party has supported its conclusions, and around the world as a model of open-minded rationalism, of well-intentioned — progressive, even — unbiased scientific inquiry attempting to provide information in young people’s best interests. This, they declare, is what following the science and the evidence looks like. But is it? In an effort to evaluate the Cass report’s findings and recommendations, I spent the months since it was released poring over the document, researching the history of transgender medicine and interviewing experts in gender-affirming care as well as epidemiologists and research scientists about the role of scientific evidence in determining care standards. What I have come to realize is that this report, for all its claims of impartiality, is fundamentally a subjective, political document.

[...]

A great deal of the media coverage of gender-affirming care in the West has painted a picture of huge numbers of children, some of them suffering from profound mental illness, rushed into medical transition, practically force-fed puberty blockers and hormones, then fast-tracked to surgery once they turned 18, based on unproven treatment and perhaps bogus science. But the report itself not only fails to show any evidence of significant regret among patients or other forms of harm; its own data also contradicts the notion of rushed transition. Of the more than 3,300 medical records examined as part of the review, about a quarter of children and adolescents were referred to an endocrinologist, which suggests a significant screening process. Indeed, on average, patients had more than a half dozen consultations before being referred. If anything, the evidence suggests a lack of care bordering on neglect, which is not surprising considering that millions of people are on waiting lists for treatment of all kinds by Britain’s crumbling health system. One of the most common pieces of feedback was that young people lingered on waiting lists, sometimes for years. A number of participants in focus groups convened for the purpose of the report said they felt that they had to “prove” to clinicians that they were transgender.

[...]

At one point the report posits that because a child has never had the experience of growing up in their assigned sex, they would have no way to know whether they might regret transition. “They may have had a different outcome without medical intervention and would not have needed to take lifelong hormones,” the report says, referring to children assigned female at birth. It is hard to know what to make of a statement like that. A person gets only one life; waiting to see how it works out isn’t really an option. To a queer woman like me, this is an ominous echo of something many of us have heard many times in our lives: Maybe you just haven’t met the right man yet. The wish — whether expressed by a parent, a teacher, a therapist or a suitor — is a wish for a child not to be queer. It is hard to find a satisfying explanation for these kinds of conjectures and conclusions in the report other than this one: Many people find transgender people at best unsettling and possibly deluded or mentally ill, or at worst immoral and unnatural. They appear to believe it would be better not to be trans. As much as Cass’s report insists that all lives — trans lives, cis lives, nonbinary lives — have equal value, taken in full it seems to have a clear, paramount goal: making living life in the sex you are assigned at birth as attractive and likely as possible. Whether Cass wants to acknowledge it or not, that is a value judgment: It is better to learn to live with your assigned sex than try to change it. If this is what Cass personally believes is right, fair enough. It can charitably be called a cultural, political or religious belief. But it is not a medical or scientific judgment.

13 Aug 2024 | Link

#lgbt #transgender #cass report #cass review #puberty blockers

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star--nymph · 19 days ago

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 months ago

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Emergency Protocols: To Preserve A Legacy

Optimus Prime has fallen, and now everyone must deal with the after effects of his sudden and horrific death. Knockout, unlike the rest of the Decepticons, has taken grim inspiration from the loss.

Part 1 here.

(Warning for robogore)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is an order! Every mech will travel in a group until further notice!” Megatron’s order rang out on the bridge, earning frantic nods of understanding from every single Vehicon present. Starscream in particular seemed keen to obey an order for once and almost instantly grabbed a few Vehicons to stay by his side.

Knockout watched quietly, his optics never once leaving the screen above Megatron’s helm.

“I don’t care what you are doing or what your orders are. If I catch anyone alone, there will be consequences.” Megatron all but growled as he glared down at every one of his soldiers. Knockout’s optics cycled in quiet interest at the sight, but he refused to look away from the screen and the beginnings of grotesque suffering playing on it.

“The Autobots have begun to fall. We cannot risk such a fate ourselves.” The warlord’s words were frighteningly shaky as a video played on screen. It was a recording obviously taken by Soundwave, or perhaps Laserbeak. Whatever the case, it projected a scene of true horror.

Optimus Prime wailed in agony, his frame tearing itself apart as buds began to form all over him. One on each limb, and two great ones on his chassis and jetpack. He tore himself to pieces, ripping off armor and frantically screeching as his frame cannibilized itself to produce six new lives. That was a new record, at least in modern documentation. The largest recorded budding only produced five newbuilds. How very Optimus of him.

“Prime succumbed, and if a mech as mighty as him fell, any one of us is just as likely to suffer a similar end.” The recording zoomed in on Optimus’s expression of sheer agony as he tried to crawl on mutilated limbs. If things were different, Knockout might have gagged as he watched the Prime convulse, wheeze, and then fall still while whatever remained of him was consumed by his unwanted offspring.

As it was, Knockout found himself more intrigued than afraid, especially as the recording showed the six that came from the fallen Prime. Five of them were flight frames, an incredible oddity considering Optimus was, up until his reforging, a grounder. The sixth was the one that really caught his attention. The newbuild had Optimus’s structure, tapered waist, and overall build. But they had an interesting series of differences, a few of which felt vaguely familiar.

“Be wary! And never find yourselves alone! Until we can confirm that none of our number are liable to succumb to this brutality, this ship is on lockdown.” With a final wave of his servo, Megatron marched off, likely to hound Soundwave about something or other. The Vehicons filed off eventually, most huddled in groups of five or more to limit their fear. A few attempted to gather around Knockout, but he waved them off.

He didn’t want companionship. He had other plans.

Making his way back to the medical bay, Knockout quietly shut the door behind him and locked it. He settled at his console, tapping the device thoughtfully as he pulled up the recording of Optimus Prime’s final moments all over again. He really should have been disgusted or upset with what he was going to be seeing, but after so much loss, it was more interesting than anything else. Eventually, the Decepticons would have someone end up budding. After all, one budding meant that the situation was dire. Dire circumstances induced panic, and panic tended to make budding happen in other subjects even if their numbers were acceptable.

Stress was bound to get to them. After all, activation of the protocols needed for budding only required a deep sense of loneliness and isolation. If the crew felt that they were alone, those who were capable of budding were likely going to begin expiring one after another. The Vehicons would be fine, largely since they were the result of budding and cold forging. Empurata victims were incapable of budding since the entire section of their processor devoted to registering emotional distress was deactivated, so Shockwave would be fine. Beastformers tended to take longer to start budding, meaning that Arachnid would be alright on her own for a while. The same went for the Insecticons and the Predacons.

That left high command of both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Optimus had already keeled over, and considering how traumatic and sudden it was, Knockout didn’t doubt that someone else would follow after him. Probably Ratchet or the Prime’s unofficial ward.

One by one, the shock and horror would get to all of them, regardless of faction.

They were well and truly slagged. Sooner or later, all the big players in the war would combust into several smaller and inexperienced idiots who would, inevitably, end the war at some point. Be it through extinction or peace, it wasn’t really important. Knockout personally had no desire to live in a world or on a restored Cybertron with a bunch of framewalkers who looked far too similar to old friends and foes for his liking. It all seemed so pointless.

He was tired. That was the only way he had to describe the sheer apathy burning in his spark. Breakdown, his other half, was gone, taken by enemies who were now long dead and dispersed. There were no more victors to join, not when everyone would quickly be put on even ground once old grudges joined their holders in the grave. There was no point to all of it anymore. What did he have to gain from trudging ever onward? A restored homeworld? Sure, that might be nice for a grand total of five kliks, but it wouldn’t be the same without proper closure or Breakdown.

“If we’re all doomed anyway, we might as well make the most of it.” He grumbled, taking great care to not rub his face and ruin the polish, even though exhaustion weighed on him. They were all going down, so why not try and make it somewhat meaningful? Budding was a process that had not been properly studied since the Quintessons ruled. It either happened in private or it was so sudden that no real documentation could be made. Case point: Optimus’s spontaneous and gruesome death.

If he was going to die, he wanted to leave something behind and perhaps even secure his legacy with something important.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweet rims.” He pressed play on the video, leaning back in his chair as he sighed and observed Optimus’s final moments. He had to watch it three or four times before he became desensitized enough to actually start making note of things of interest, but he got there after a few sessions of wretching into his disposal unit.

Optimus’s early symptoms began with itching and, from the looks of it, twitchyness and emotional turmoil. That seemed about right overall. Then it seemed that as the budding began, tearing off armor was an instinctual response meant to allow the buds to grow without hindrance. The spine tearing out of the back appeared to just be a side effect of one of the buds developing in that location, as bones and other skeletal structures also tore free where buds developed on the Prime’s body.

The malformation didn’t appear to be a necessary part of the process, but one that Optimus unfortunately endured due to the sheer number of buds on him. The buds themselves sucked protomatter right out of their host by liquidizing the host’s internals. A lot was lost, as evidenced by Optimus quite literally being dismeboweled via his innards turning to goo and oozing out of him. Frankly, it seemed that the process was largely streamlined. Optimus was just an unfortunate victim of Primely fertility.

If he were back on Cybertron, he might have broken the record again by producing more due to his increased mass prior to their arrival on the mudball they currently called their battlefield.

“Noted. More buds equals more pain.” He tapped the console methodically, watching again and again as Optimus wailed and endured a fate far worse than most other forms of death. Knockout took notes meticulously, observing with silent interest as he watched the buds develop over and over again. The biggest of the lot caught his attention more than the others. That one was obviously a powerhouse in the making, having Optimus’s overall frame structure. But there was something about the new build—something unique.

Once he recorded everything he could from the video, Knockout turned to the database. His digits flew across the keys until he pulled up Optimus’s record. A few passwords later, and he was looking at sensitive data that was only tenuiously confirmed. The Prime’s history in the archives, embarrassing and noteworthy developmental milestones, but most importantly, his relationships.

Optimus only had one confirmed romantic partner. The depth of their relationship was not recorded, but there were enough indicators of a spark merge having been involved for Knockout to feel fairly confident calling them Conjunxes. With that in mind, he pulled up the video again on his second screen, zooming in on the largest of the newbuilds hovering around Optimus’s battered corpse.

He looked at Elita-One’s picture and then at the newbuild. The similarities were obvious. The frame shape, the kibble placement, even the newbuild’s optics. All of them were similar to Elita. Had the spark merged influenced the budding to produce a newbuild that possessed Optimus and Elita’s traits?

“A spark merge affecting a newbuild... it’s certainly not impossible.” He tapped the console with more frequency as he considered the possibilities. If all of high command was going to keel over, Knockout most likely included, why shouldn’t he research the process? Why shouldn’t he make the most of it? For Optimus and Elita to have produced a bud that carried both their traits after what might have only been a single spark merge...

He stood up sharply, his optics widened as he glanced over at the single piece of Breakdown’s armor he’d taken from the corpse as a keepsake. It sat innocently on his shelf, a reminder of the loss and now a symbol of possible hope.

“One merge. It only took them one merge.” He reached out to collect the piece of armor, a dark plan forming in the back of his processor. He didn’t necessarily want to die, but it was going to happen anyway. Sooner or later, he’d drop dead and spawn something that was but an echo of himself. Why not die on his own terms? He could study the process of budding and, if things worked out, preserve Breakdown’s legacy as well.

He’d keep his reputation as Cybertron’s finest medic through his research, and he’d be able to honor his fallen partner before joining him. It saved him from having to go on endlessly without the mech he loved most, and it meant that all his loose ends would be neatly tied up. He wouldn’t have to live in a world not his own with mecha mimicking the dead.

It would be painful, but he could limit that to a certain extent.

"Well, Breakdown, it seems I’ll be seeing you soon enough.” A grin wormed its way onto Knockout’s features as he laughed and carried the piece of plating over to his workbench. There was much to do, and considering the panic amongst the crew, very little time.

“Lord Megatron, I’ll be performing a little analysis on some sensitive material over the course of the next deca-cycle or so. Don’t worry if I’m unavailable; my research will prove quite useful, I’m certain.” He sent his message to Megatron with quiet glee as he settled at his workbench. He had preparations to see to and he couldn’t afford an interruption. Not now.

“All alone now. It’s just us, Breakie.” Tapping the piece of plating, Knockout laughed again before gathering his determination to drop the piece into a vat. He placed the vat into one of his extractors and stepped back, looking over himself and his medical bay. While CNA was being extracted from Breakdown’s plating, Knockout could begin his real work.

He spent a whole cycle thinking through Optimus’s fate and preparing for every eventuality. He methodically, albeit with much chagrin, removed his outer armor. He would rather not endure the pain of ripping it all off in a frenzied madness and so opted to skip that step altogether. Once that was all removed, he began preparing various painkillers of different doses. Too much at one time might have a negative effect on himself or his spawn, so a gentle ramping up of the solution would be necessary. The finished solutions were left near the medical berth, ready to be used.

For good measure, he adjusted the straps on the medical berth to activate the moment he laid down and to deactivate once his vitals dropped beyond a certain threshold. He couldn’t risk the buds, not when they were going to be so vital to his goals.

“As much as I pride myself on my finish, I do think you’ll forgive me this once for not sporting the red you adored so much.” Knockout found himself laughing more and more in the quiet of his medical bay by just the second cycle of work. He had gone to great pains to continually keep himself from heading out for any reason, and so far it seemed to be working. He could feel a faint tingle underneath his plating.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was nerves getting to him or not, but as he handled a full vial of Breakdown’s CNA, he reassured himself of his goal. He was going to do this and document the whole affair.

This was fine. He was going to be fine. He wanted this. He’d get to see Breakdown again.

Right?

“Breakdown, I hope you aren’t going to be too upset. I’m doing this for both of us.” He spoke into the open air, quietly and with more than a little hesitance. It took all of his mental fortitude to keep it together when Megatron called him.

“Knockout, what in the Unmaker’s name are you doing?” The warlord’s glyphs were harsh and layered with over a dozen vaguely fearful undertones. Knockout would have grinned, but he couldn’t blame Megatron for being afraid. Optimus was dead. The Prime of Cybertron was not only gone, but the first to have perished. In a way, Knockout envied him. To be the first meant Optimus didn’t have to watch everyone crumble around him.

“Lord Megatron, as I stated in my previous message, I am working on something of incredible importance. Don’t worry your pretty little helm about it. The experiment shall conclude in a few cycles, just as planned.” He kept up his usual attitude of cockiness as he stared at scans he’d taken of his frame. According to what his machinery was gathering, his frame was starting to swell in places, small pockets of protomatter less than an inch in side, all forming one by one all over him like organic skin pores.

It was rather disgusting to think about it in that light.

“Do you have assistants with you? I will not risk this vessel’s only medical expert offlining.” Knockout fought back a scoff as he held the vial of Breakdown’s extracted CNA. He fiddled with the container, smiling as he replied.

“Of course. I have my most trusted assistant right by my side.” Megatron made a noise of agreement before shutting down the comm link. Knockout leaned against his console, fondling the vial a while longer as he looked up at his scans.

Soon. Very soon.

The cycles wore on, and as they did, Knockout dutifully documented the changes. His need for fuel had drastically decreased, a sign of his frame preparing for something or other. Additionally, he was recharging more and more often and for longer periods of time. A certain level of lethargy hung in his limbs, making it difficult for him to continually make note of his circumstances and not leave his medical bay despite how much base instinct tried to get him to move and go toward where he knew there were others.

Megatron bothered him every now and then, but Knockout was quite skilled at keeping his tone even. The warlord suspected nothing, just like Knockout wanted. This was meant to be special—just him and Breakdown. He didn’t want his boss to come kicking the door down in an attempt to stop what had already begun and ruin the significance of it all.

“Till all are one... you know, Breakdown, I never really believed in that lovely quote from the Primacy. But I think it makes more sense now that we’re going to make something beautiful together.” He was tired, so very tired. But looking into the faint blue glow of the vial containing all that was left of his other half, Knockout found something akin to peace settling in his spark. His frame ached, but soon everything would be better.

“I miss when you held me in your arms and complimented my features. I don’t think I ever told you that the reason I kept up the red was because you liked it so much.” Leaning back in his chair, Knockout held the vial to his chassis, closing his optics in order to pretend that somehow, through some miracle, Breakdown was with him. He imagined firm servos on his shoulders, massaging tense cables and helping him unwind after a long cycle.

Fond memories supplied him with a cheerful laugh filled with nothing but adoration as he and Breakdown playfully bantered, exchanging gossip like there wouldn’t be consequences if they were caught distracted. He recalled all their frantic couplings, never daring to risk taking too long to be one in mind and spark for fear of punishment. He wished he’d taken more time back then. He wished he’d savored the protective warmth of his companion’s spark brushing up against his own in the most intimate of kisses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.” Coolant gathered in his optics as his frame began to heat up in response to his unsettling emotional state. He felt the drops roll down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He merely held the chilled vial close, desperately longing for a spark signature that was long gone. It was clinical, so very clinical... and there was no warmth to be found.

“I’m sorry, I’m too weak to go on without you. I know… I know you’d want me to live life to the fullest in your absence, but I can’t.” His composure cracked as he looked up at the ceiling, trying not to gaze around his medical bay in the vain hope that his beloved might still be there, gathering supplies or sorting through datapads on his behalf.

He could hardly vent; it hurt so much.

“Not without you.” Primus was cruel to take a mech as good as Breakdown so soon.

The itching started around the fifth cycle of his isolation. It was faint at first, but then it grew more and more difficult to ignore. It felt like he was bloated, almost as if he had a series of microscopic tears in every single one of his fuel lines. He scratched without meaning to more often than not, and more than once he had to set his door to lock automatically to keep himself from running out.

Itching, itching, itching.

He wished Breakdown were there to caress his frame, chasing away the discomfort with loving touches and soothing words. For such a big mech, he was so very kind.

But Breakdown was gone. He’d been gone for months now. All Knockout had left was a vial of his CNA. His forever’s final gift and remnant.

By the sixth cycle, taking decent notes was all but impossible. He settled on setting up a camera just above the medical berth for when he inevitably met his end. He was fidgety, itching, and nervous in a way he’d never been before. Sometimes he found himself pacing, muttering nonsense that he only managed to stop through sheer force of will.

The itch never stopped.

Emotional codes became tangled and out of place. Priority calculations shifted and left him paranoid, leading Knockout to try and perform manual labor more than once before realizing he was out of his designated role. His protocols were blaring all the time, drowning out his vision with demands for him to find a group and to get to safety. He screamed at some point, clutching his helm and whimpering at how overwhelming it all was.

How had Prime dealt with it all before death all but snuck up on him?

On what he assumed was the seventh cycle, the itch turned to an infuriating burn. Clawing at his protoform and base armor wasn’t enough. It hurt, so much so that he could hardly see straight, much less make any logical decisions. All he had the strength to do was jab and IV with his painkillers into his arm and inject himself with Breakdown’s precious CNA before he collapsed onto his medical berth, the straps clamping down on his limbs.

The vial was discarded on the ground, empty, and used. Despite the fact that it no longer had anything of Breakdown left in it, Knockout wished he could hold it, if only to comfort himself as the pain increased.

Panic set in not long after the straps finished tightening. His venting hitched as the burn worsened. For a moment, he regretted every life decision he’d ever made, including his idiotic choice to go down in flames like he was taking one for the team. When had he ever been a team player? What the frag was wrong with him?

“Slag. This is going to hurt.” He winced, biting back a cry as he felt the first tears begin to form along his protoform. Optimus had skipped this part entirely, going straight for bone obliteration and internal shredding. Knockout almost wished he could do the same as cracks began running along his limbs, the angle of the medical berth letting him see how energon and protomatter started to swell in the wounds.

The painkillers were his salvation as he watched in grim fascination, observing as his very protoform bubbled as if an inflamed fuel line was growing and threatening to burst right beneath the surface layer of his very being. He bit his lower derma as his protoform continued to bulge, finally bursting in his legs and in his right arm. He didn’t dare cry out, instead forcefully silencing himself for as long as possible.

Screams would draw attention. Sound would ruin this precious moment between himself and what he was going to make. This was a family matter, his and Breakdown’s last gift to the world. It couldn’t be interrupted.

Cables burst, spurting energon that trickled down the medical berth and pooled on the ground beneath him. Wires and various connectivity tissues pulsed and all but slithered as the buds started to take shape. It hurt like slag, but it wasn’t as bad as it likely would have been without painkillers. The scene itself was still a work of horror, especially as the small mounds began to grow, their mass pushing aside everything else.

“Looks like at least one of these buds is going to turn out just like you, Breakdown! They’ve got your size already!” Knockout laughed, lost in medically induced mania as the bud on his left leg swelled and caused the entire limb to bloat. His pede shifted, deforming before snapping off entirely to allow the bud to consume the stump. Knockout did end up screaming as his bones snapped under the weight of the thing, every pain receptor in the limb activating in hot waves of agony.

The bone stuck out from his leg, jutting at an odd angle and glittering blue as if Primus himself had thrown some sort of polish on it. Knockout could see every single micro-connector within the broken skeletal structure, still pulsing with charge. The medic in him screamed, demanding he heal the wound. But he was well aware of his doom. The metal around his abdomen was already graying, a sign of severe energon loss.

There was no stopping it now.

The chorus of suffering was only added to as the two other buds performed similarly. The smaller one on his right leg bulged and crawled up his limb like mold, eating away at his plating with acidic effects that revealed delicate circitry that sizzled and popped as they were corroded. Knockout couldn’t have possibly predicted that outcome with how the bud on his left leg was acting. The one on his arm hurt the most, surprisingly. Knockout could hardly see through the coolant, causing his vision to become hazy, but he did note his digits doing the same thing that Optimus’s had before his death. They increased in size, the plating oozing with protomatter before cracking and all but exploding to make way for the bud.

The remnants of his digits were nothing more than thin skeletal bones connected only by tender ligaments, which had quickly begun to lose their strength.

He shrieked as the painkillers were overridden by the sheer amount of torment assaulting him. There was no comfort to be found as he started to flail, composure fleeing him as he cried out for anyone to help him. He was sure he screamed for Breakdown most, but at some point he must have cried for someone else as well, because he started to hear murmurs outside his medical bay. A Vehicon must have noted his wails.

“Breakdown-!” He sobbed against his restraints, hardly able to watch as more and more parts of his very frame tore themselves apart. The buds did not climb higher than their sectioned limbs, but they consumed, ripped, and tore. There was so much blue. So much blue...

Crack after crack, cry after cry. It blended into a meaningless babble.

At some point, the agony almost entirely ceased as weight dropped off Knockout like a heavy burden long forgotten. The straps holding him came undone, leaving him to lay there, bleeding out and struggling to keep his fans running. The relief he felt was palpable as he reveled in the lack of pain. Although the chill that crept into what remained of his frame did little to comfort him.

Once he’d cleared the coolant from his optics, he mustered the will to look toward the ground where the three buds floundered. The sticky mounds convulsed, thin stick-like limbs jutting out in almost spider-like fashion before more living metal could wreath the limb in musculature and mass. The things looked horrifying as faces tore themselves from the masses, gaping intakes and lightless optics appearing half melted before they convulsed a few more times and finally booted online.

Knockout’s venting slowed as energon loss began to set in. The painkillers were finally doing their slagging job, giving him a half-decent look at his spawn as they stood up one by one, looking over their frames with the innocence of the newly forged. The newbuilds were so very fascinating, so very... Breakdown, each in their own way.

“You are not supposed to be alive.” The biggest of the bunch, a heavy-set newbuild with a rounded helm structure and bright headlights already in formation, addressed Knockout quietly. There was no mockery, no insults, merely an observation. This was like him. Knockout could see it in the red optics that met his own. They were modeled just like Breakdown’s.

“Just had to make sure... that you lot carried Breakdown... in your CNA as well.” His voice came out as little more than a pitiful wheeze, but Knockout didn’t have the presence of mind of care as the other two stared at him. The smallest of the ground was also quite a bulky thing, another of Breakdown’s traits. They shone with gold optics, so reminiscent of his beloved.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, originator.” The smallest one looked him up and down, likely assessing the horror that was Knockout’s devastated frame. He managed a grim laugh at that, even as his senses started to dull.

“You look just like him.” Knockout coughed up energon, his spark flaring painfully in remembrance as the last of the newbuilds waved to him shyly. The newbuild was blue and orange, looking almost exactly like his other creator in all but accenting paint and digits. He had Knockout’s claws, a fact that brought him no small amount of pride.

“You’ve done well, originator. Return to your Conjunx. We will take over from here.” The biggest of the newbuilds touched Knockout’s helm, caressing his helm crest and audials in a fond manner. His venting hitched again, this time in loss as he looked over all three of his spawn.

Breakdown would have been thrilled to meet them.

“Your… designations?” His vision started to fail him as he stared at the three. They shared a look, and then all of them smiled.

“Flatline of Knockout and Breakdown.” The largest answered first, bringing more tears to Knockout’s optics as he heard both his and his beloved’s designation. They were both honored here.

“Quickmix.” The smallest replied curtly, but they were kind enough to touch Knockout’s shoulder in their form of a silent goodbye. They reminded Knockout of himself when he was young. At least this one would have siblings to help them along.

“Wildbreak... of Knockout and Breakdown.” The last of the bunch uttered their name quietly, but with a hint of awe. Knockout couldn’t help but smile as his vision failed him and the touches of his three creations lingered on his frame.

This... this had been worth it.

“We did it… Breakdown.” His voice was lost as his hearing started to putter out. The last thing he heard was his door crashing down and the booming voice of Megatron echoing in his medical bay.

“KNOCKOUT-!”

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rapeculturerealities · 1 year ago

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(5) Idaho's first 'abortion trafficking' arrest

Last week, an Idaho teenager and his mother were arrested for bringing the teen’s girlfriend out-of-state for an abortion. The pair were charged with multiple felonies, including second degree kidnapping, for taking a minor under 16 years-old “with the intent to keep or conceal [her] from her custodial parent...by transporting the child out of the state for the purpose of obtaining an abortion.”

The 15 year-old, identified in court records as K.B., was living in Pocatello with her 18 year-old boyfriend Kaydn* and his mother, Rachael, when she became pregnant. In May, they brought her to Oregon, where K.B. received abortion medication. Idaho’s ‘abortion trafficking’ law went into effect that same month.

The investigation into the mother and son began shortly after K.B.’s mother reported to police that her daughter had been sexually assaulted. Though K.B. became sexually active when Kaydn was 17 years-old, he turned 18 during the course of their relationship; so in addition to the kidnapping charge, court documents show that he’s also been charged with rape and sexual exploitation of a child.

During this conversation with law enforcement, K.B.’s mother also reported that her daughter had been taken to Oregon for an abortion without parental permission. This sparked a far-reaching investigation that included accessing geolocation data to place the teenager at a Planned Parenthood clinic in Bend, and tracking her movement with Kaydn and Rachael from Idaho to Oregon. (A search warrant, for example, shows that law enforcement accessed the phones of all three, and found that they were pinging cell towers in the area of the clinic.)

#Idaho #Abortion

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echojulietfoxtrot · 19 days ago

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Okay, everyone's had a few days to be sad. But the world didn't end, so there is stuff to be done. Mid terms are in 2 years.

This post isn't going to tell you anything other people haven't done better or in more detail, and I'm not even American, so what the fuck are you listening to me for, but I think it might be useful to somebody as a place to start, and I think it's useful to keep in mind that none of us are helpless - no matter how much it might benefit somebody else to let you think so.

I'll add to it as and when I can.

NOW

Check your ballot. Tell everyone you know to check on their ballots. Spread the word to everyone you can possibly tell to check their ballots. The Presidential election is absolutely not going to be reversed, but local races and initiatives can be decided by twenty, a dozen, two votes. The window's closing on this by now, so check into this immediately if you haven't already. And if there is any possibility for a recount where it might achieve something, make noise for one.

You would be absolutely amazed how much harm can be spared and how much good can be done at the Parks & Rec level, no matter what's happening up top. Do not waste the chance to make friction for bad guys later on, or lay down some tools for the good guys in advance.

Then, if you have a Dem Senator, call their office and urge them to confirm all Biden's judicial nominees now, right now, ASAP. Here's a rough call script.

Btw mid terms are in two years.

Spend the next two months -

Buying a little extra boring ass shelf stable food and water on your grocery runs, and build up as much food security as you can. You're probably not gonna need it, but it's good to have, even only as a hedge against inflation or unreliable weather/disaster relief responses.

Stock up on medication you might need if you can. Organize whatever procedures you might need done if you can, including contraceptive measures. And find a reason to need a Morning After Pill or two in the next few weeks, somebody you care about might be real glad you did.

Consider making any big ticket purchases that will be affected by proposed tariffs (electronics etc), or any... slightly less conventional things you want to buy, now - but otherwise it would be a good time to lay some money aside if you can.

Get in the habit of paying for things in cash, and limiting how much information on your habits are out there. Stash a little cash somewhere, for if you want to buy something less visibly in future, too.

Do your homework about your digital footprint. Accounts, posts, doxxable clues, data, behavioral info, browsers, wifi links, cookies, consumer history, always-on "Smart" speakers and devices, think about all of it. Your phone is telling everyone where you are at all times whether the Location stuff is on or not - get in the habit of leaving it at home, so that suddenly not having it is not, in itself, a sign of anything. Your fitness wearables are mapping your entire lifestyle - it is effectively recording where you work, what time you finish, what routes you take, what stores you go to, where your friends live, where you go for recreation, where your family lives and what your relationship is like with them (where's your fitbit at Thanksgiving, Christmas etc?). Don't use fingerprint or facial recognition for anything, ever, if you can help it - apart from cataloguing your biometrics, it is much easier for a third party, police included, to use these to access your stuff than a password. It probably goes without saying, do not digitally document your menstrual cycle in any way.

Figure out what channels you can use in future to retain access to as much as possible if someone decides you shouldn't have it, or wants to know if you look for it. VPNs are a starting point, but not the end point. Do your homework on this now, before you need to know it.

Look into securing documentation that might be of use in future, this includes property, legal stuff like Power of Attorney, passports etc. (Though that doesn't necessarily mean carrying it at all times to everything, just sayin'.)

What's your ACA status? Are you currently availing of absolutely everything you're currently entitled to? If not, work on it. Government resources are always harder to take away from you once you're getting them than to deny you outright.

If there's any gay shit you like or want preserved, it would be a good time to buy/download/back it up. This includes movies, fics, books. It would also be a good time to seek out and subscribe to independent and non-digital gay media, zines, etc, and get to know your in-person scenes. You might be surprised how much stuff still exists and happens in ways that are invisible to the internet, gay and otherwise.

Don't forget that mid terms are in 2 years.

THEN

The mid terms are in 2 years.

Mid terms are 2 years away. Which means the campaigns for them start in a year, which means the work for them starts now.

All else aside, Democrat flips elsewhere in the government structure at that point would make it way, way harder for them to keep smashing everything, and there is work that you can do towards making that happen. For better and sometimes worse, the American political system is a very big and very awkward machine, and King Dipshit and his cronies cannot wave a magic wand to get their way everywhere all the time as a result. Look into your immediate local political scene, and figure out what you can do for it.

You might be getting sick of everyone talking about "building community". What this usually means in practice is firstly, seeking out local or neighboring orgs and groups that are doing what you want done, and joining them; or else, starting them yourself.

That might sound daunting, but it's not hard to start an interest group, just very annoying early on. You'll have to do a lot more printing than you might expect. You're going to have to deal with some deeply irritating people who are, nonetheless, very good at getting good shit done, and you're going to have to learn that's a You problem to deal with.

I'm involved in a couple of local groups in my country and it is WILD how much even one person can get done purely because nobody else gives enough of a shit about boring small potatoes stuff to notice or oppose it. That can be a blessing and a curse, so make it the first one.

Apart from this stuff being generally good, it will stop you losing your fucking mind. No, you're not going to community garden your way out of this one, sure, but that community garden might stop you letting the bullshit beat you into the ground before you can do something more important down the line. And it might introduce you to the girl who knows somebody with the thing that can do the shit you need around then too; it might teach you a lot of practical and psychological stuff you'll be glad of sometime.

It might even teach you how to get much more important things done in your local political infrastructure, who is on your side, who isn't, how to get the best from either - some of the most valuable shit I've learned about my little universe was picked up in the course of volunteering for a haunted house.

I am as guilty as everyone else as looking at the outlook and saying fuck it, bad guys won, but that is legitimately irrational no matter where you live. They never win, not outside of stories, because real life doesn't end like a story does. There is stuff to be done to make life more bearable than it would be otherwise, more bearable until it's possible to make it even better. There is so much stuff to get doing, instead of just feeling bad.

#election 2024 #2024 presidential election #us politics

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