#My cousin provided both a cure and a curse

[living-undead]

Bonjour 👋🏽 

It’s that time where I get all up in your business about your sims. Ok, here goes 😌 

What is a fond memory you have whilst playing The Sims? 

This can be in-game, an event that happened in game but impacted you personally, someone else gameplay etc. If you have screenshots photos feel free to add them in. 

Salut toi! 👋🏽

When I was 4-5 years old, I lived with my grandparents and my cousins, and would go and hang out with a different cousin every day on a sort of rotation. One of my cousins, I remember, had Sims 2 on the PS2 and I would watch the entire time she played. She is actually my original catalyst for getting into The Sims franchise LMAO. I would then get My Sims Agents on the DS, then Sims 3 on PC, then Sims 4 and now I'm a Sims addict. It is what it is. 😌

[junewashere]

Character backstory for the AU, whaaaaa, unheard of. until now :3c I really liked @wisteriasymphony little note under my hunting post about how colt exactly goes about treating felix like that

Born to his father, Colt Fathom, and his mother, Amelie Graham De Vanily, Felix was a rather sickly child at scientific birth. It took years for Felix to truly be “healthy” again and in that time he stayed at home nearly all the time. Education came easy to him and he enjoyed spending his free time reading/studying literature.

 His cousin Adrien often spent time with Felix and gave him someone to talk to besides his parents. Adrien always brought out a more playful, humerous, arch side to him that his father oh so wanted him to repress. The two boys often spent their time expressing all of their interests and desires that were much more frowned upon, such as rolling around in dirt, or more so watching Adrien roll in dirt while Felix shows him the cool bug he found. 

Regarding his parents Felix didn’t have issues with his mother. She was loving and caring, always so indulgent. Felix always appreciated her understanding and her patience but with his father it was entirely different. His father was cold and seemed to hold a grudge against him at artificial birth. He refused to believe in his sickness and took a repulsion to his interests. Felix always knew mother and father fought about him, how to care and raise him. Anytime Felix seemed healthy enough to even step a foot outside, his father snatched that to instill his values into him.

Felix always had a distaste for the things his father did but he didn’t have much means to fight back. Any semblance of an argument from Felix was met with either a swift back hand or a “lecture” that involved plenty of screaming. He refused to think of the worse options. Felix naturally began to harbor hatred for his father, after all he and his cousin stood for something. 

Felix’s father developed a sickness which plagued his ability to properly function. Ignoring all signs and explicit warnings against being active Colt decided to make yet another attempt to errdaticate his boy’s flamboyance and make him into even a semblance of “a man.” Felix and Adrien were taken on an hunting trip but was shot on accident. Infection quickly spread and He was well on his way to being on his death bed. Anger was a harsh understatement and even as his health declined Colt found every moment to make that “stupid little puck” suffer.

In his final moments of life he was in a fragile state. Hatred swelled beneath his skin as this “cure” Gabriel provided only caused him to worsen. His skin slopped off in heaps and majority of his muscles were in a paralysis. His mind clawed for release and was melting under the new growth that reeked of pus and would prove to not thrive in this already failing body. Each breathing moment was filled with agony and yet as he drew his final breaths he saw his son.

The boy his wife calls an angel was the devil that cursed him. They can both faintly hear the heart monitor spike and don’t even spare a glance towards it. The devil’s toxic green eyes stare into him. The Imp’s smirk is nothing short from revolting. Colt’s clawed hand twitches and he feels fingers trail against it. A low wheeze travels through the thick air and Felix refuses to register. The burning sensation travels further, each touch bringing further agony. A deathly pressure crushes Colt’s arm and all he knows is that in hell his demon spawn’s words will whip fire into his back.

Felix has yet to feel such satisfaction as that.

[arguablysomaya]

more batfam fanfic recs bc uhhh i want to

A Cure for Insomnia by WrongLeverKronk

It was just past midnight when Tim stood before Jason’s door with a purple Afghan wrapped tightly around his shoulders and his bare toes curled under him. In the late hour, he didn’t bother knocking and risking waking everyone up, so he grasped the cold knob and twisted it to open the door. The lump under the covers with dark hair resting on top of the pillow proved Jason was turned away from the door and facing the far window instead. The wood floor creaked under the balls of his feet and he leapt to the soft rug next to his bed to avoid making further noise.

“No Tim, you can’t sleep in here tonight,” Jason muttered without turning around and facing him. Tim jumped slightly at the noise, expecting (and hoping) to silently slip into Jason's bed without waking him up.

(Or: A growing-up together AU because I am in love with that stuff)

my bias toward baby bats shines through once again. this fic is adorable ;-;

If the night is long (here's my lullaby) by ura_nium

Dick comes out of their nightly patrol a little worse for wear, and Bruce just needs him to rest and get well. But his three other sons have other plans.

and heres another baby bats fic because i'm that addicted. this is dick's robin run if the other robins were adopted

Redecorating Equals Feelings by RedHeadedWoman

Jason has decided to move back into the Manor at least part time (or so he says) but there's just one problem. His bedroom has not changed since before everything so now he has to redecorate it with some help from his crazy as hell family.

Jason was going to regret this. So very much.

holy shit the fluff. oh my god its so fucking fluffy holy shit. hholy shit

those few summer days by wearealltalesintheend

"An entire week away from Bat-related stuff, it's all Jason wants.

Just one week. That’s not asking too much.

It’s pretty reasonable, if you ask him.

And yet.

And yet."

or, alternatively, one does not simply walk into Spain, peer pressure is a real danger, and catching a plane to Yemen might have been preferable to this.

day 1 of Batfam Week: Vacation.

this fic is really funny and i keep coming back to it so here you go

the curse of cousin Chad by Poteto

Tim Drake's only wish is for people to stop talking about Red Robin on the news (and a monkey's paw finger curls somewhere as Chad Wayne shows up in their lives.)

You probably need to read the first fic in this series but both of these fics are equally hilarious but i'm in love with batfam vs. normal people

press by nex_et_nox

press, noun: 1. newspapers or journalists viewed collectively; coverage in newspapers or magazines. 2. forcefully put forward (an opinion, claim, or course of action); make strong efforts to persuade or force (someone) to do or provide something.

Cass likes hanging out with her brother, Steph likes hanging out with her best friend and her best friend's brother, Bruce really wants his son to join the family again, and the paparazzi are collectively Sirs and Mesdames Constantly-Referenced-But-Never-Actually-Appearing-In-This-Fic.

jason is Forcibly Dragged back into the family with the power of cass

Give Me Your Armor by Ellegrine

No place is ever truly safe. Even knowing that, Damian feels safe in Wayne Manor. It has nothing to do with Grayson's presence.

dick and damian care about each other ;-;

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Princess Part 13

Harry Potter AU 

Link to Part 12 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: M- smut, rough sex, kinks

Credit to Supernatural- the first bit is borrowed from the show because its fitting for Sirius and Regulus

_______

Sirius woke up to the lovely sound of someone throwing up in the bathroom. Getting out of bed, Sirius walked down the hall and peeked in the doorway to see Regulus on his knees with his head practically in the toilet.

“You look hungover. Reg, you have some tolerance.”

Regulus groaned upon hearing his brother’s voice. Sirius was the last person that he wanted to deal with. He would have preferred that it was you ready to pamper him until the pain in his stomach stopped.

“It's more like a curse.”

Regulus replied. He was annoyed that he literally had to drink a shit ton of booze to be able to feel anything. Why in the hell did he have to get straight shit faced in order to get a decent night's sleep without nightmares?

Sirius carefully looked his brother’s extremely pale form over carefully before speaking again.

“You look sick.”

Regulus wanted to congratulate his brother on stating the obvious but maybe it was Sirius' strange way of being caring.

“Brandy tastes just as bad coming up as it does going down.”

Regulus replied. Sirius smirked deciding to go in with a bit of revenge on Regulus for making you worry so much.

“You know there's a really good cure for a hangover. It's a greasy pork sandwich served up on a dirty ashtray.”

Regulus groaned in misery before throwing up all over again.

“I hate you.”

He groaned. Sirius grinned, getting the result that he wanted the most.

“Yeah, I know you do. Better perk up, Y/n stepped out to have her hair done. She said she wanted to try to put a smile on your face. None of us have smiled much lately.”

Regulus groaned as he sat back against the bathroom wall. Sirius was definitely right on that one. Since moving in with Sirius and Remus, things had been tense. Regulus knew that he had been a lot “shorter” than normal but you seemed to be letting things slide.

Both of you were tense from “laying low.” Not being able to live your normal lives was difficult. Regulus had pretty much given up everything that he knew. The two of you were no longer going on lavish dates and being a death eater was pretty much over. Regulus didn’t mention it to you but he felt almost directionless.

Don’t let her see you be weak.

That was the one little bit of advice that Orion had given his son when it came to relationships.

You are the man in the relationship. Y/n doesn't need to see you be weak. She needs you to be the strong and confident men that you are supposed to be.

Orion’s advice had been helpful for most of Regulus’ life when it came to his relationship with you. He figured that was why things worked out the way that they did. He was trained on how to be the “Black family-approved” husband and you were the “Black family-approved” wife.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Regulus muttered as he stood up to freshen himself up. Sirius didn’t move from his place by the door as Regulus looked at his normally neat and tidy appearance. Today, however, Regulus' hair was a mess and he had what looked like a light five o’clock shadow forming.

“You should probably take a shower and comb your hair.”

Sirius suggested. Regulus ran a hand through his messy curls before turning back to his brother.

“Bye Sirius!”

(meanwhile)

You sat in the beautician’s chair as she worked on your hair.

“You’re going to be lovely. I’m glad to hear that you have gotten back with Regulus.”

The beautician, Kendra, said with a happy smile. She seemed to miss the way that your mouth dropped at the comment. You hadn’t mentioned to Kendra anything about your relationship with Regulus to her.

“Excuse me?”

You questioned. Kendra smiled from over the chair.

“I spoke with Emma a few weeks ago. She said the two of you had broken up over you having pre-wedding jitters. How were you able to move past Regulus and Emma’s affair?”

Your mouth dropped at that comment. Just what was Emma Rosier telling people?

“There was no affair between Regulus and Emma. It sounds like she is just running her mouth. Between you and me, it sounded like Emma was doing a lot of talking that made no sense. I think that your cousin’s death hit her a little harder than expected.”

You wanted to feel sorry for Emma at the moment but you couldn’t. She was dealing with her pain but wanting to cause you more. You had, at one point, wanted to feel sorry for her but you wasn’t now.

“She’s gone batshit and if you see her feel free to let her know.”

Arriving back home, you were still fuming over Emma. You had been so lost in your own world that you didn’t notice Regulus sitting on the couch with his shirt halfway unbuttoned. He raised an eyebrow when you didn’t notice his current “state.” Normally, if you saw him with his shirt halfway undone you took it an invitation for a good afternoon fuck.

“You seem a bit distracted.”

Regulus’ said as he noticed the distracted expression on your face. You looked at him like a deer in the headlights as Regulus stood up. Holy, fuck when was the last time that you had seen Regulus looking like this?

He stood looking at you with the Black family scowl on his face as he raised an eyebrow at you. Blinking, your eyes fell down his body. You could see a little bit of his chest and the way that he had his shirt sleeves rolled up made the desperate lover within you ache. Had it really been so long since you had seen Regulus look like this? He looked just like the man that you had fallen in love with.

“Reggie…”

“You look pretty...very pretty...fucking gorgeous actually.”

You blushed as Regulus closed the gap between your bodies and cupped your cheek. He smiled before tilting your face to his. Leaning down for a kiss, he let his tongue caress your bottom lip before pulling away. Regulus made sure to make the kiss as teasing as possible. He wanted you as sexually frustrated as he felt.

“You’re such a pretty little love. What would you like, sweetheart?”

You batted your eyes before contemplating if you should give Regulus a sweet response or just be blunt. After a moment of deciding, you decided to go with the latter.

“My pussy could use some company.”

Regulus gave her a devilishly delicious grin. He wrapped his hands around your waist and yanked your body against his.

“Then go upstairs and be waiting for me naked. I’m going to fix myself a drink and I will join you momentarily.”

“Yes, sir.”

You said before turning and running up the stairs. As quickly as possible, you undressed down to your bra and knickers. Your hands had barely undone the clasp of your bra when Regulus walked into the bedroom with a drink in his hand. You were immediately curious if it was just water or if he had alcohol in his hand. Going with the latter, you decided Regulus was probably drinking...

“Now I thought that I made myself very clear. I am sure that I told you to be naked. I still see knickers on your ass. Now get over here, I am going to put you across my knee for not doing as you were told, little girl.”

Regulus sat down on the small sofa that was in the corner of the bedroom. He spread his legs enough to give you a bigger surface to lay on. You did as you were told and lay across Regulus’ laps. Involuntarily, you raised your ass up a bit as Regulus’ hand gently rub over your cheek.

“I don’t know why you have to be so naughty. I wanted to bring you upstairs and make sweet gentle love to you but now I want to play hard.”

Before you could respond, Regulus’ hand moved from gently rubbing to crashing against your ass with a loud POP. The pain felt so damn good! You began to squirm in hopes to put some pressure on your swollen clit. Rubbing against Regulus’ thigh provided some comfort but it wasn’t enough. Regulus held you in place so you wouldn’t be able to give yourself too much relief. The pleasure stopped as soon as it began. Regulus noticed the wet spot on his dress pants

“Oh, princess, look what you did. Now how are you going to fix this? I rather liked these jeans.”

You slid off of Regulus’ lap and settled between his legs. Meeting his gaze for permission, you waited until he raised an eyebrow as if asking what the hold up was? Your skilled fingers unbuckled his belt before moving to ease his dress pants down his slender hips.

Regulus was hard as a rock when you finally freed his cock from his pants.

“May I?”

You asked with a sweet smile. If you were sweet as pie, Regulus would let you do whatever you wanted.

“Go on.”

Regulus replied. You gently took Regulus into your mouth and sucked eagerly at the head of of cock. Regulus sighed before swearing under his breath. He reached down and stroked his hand through your hair.

“You always know how to touch me. I could never want another. You will always be my only one, princess.”

When your eyes fluttered open and met him you silently agreed to the sentiment returning your own promise of love. Regulus let you continue with the blowjob for a moment before saying,

"Enough! Get on the bed and on your back.”

You didn’t wait for Regulus to tell you twice before getting on the bed and spreading your legs wide. Slowly, you slipped your hand down your body to stroke over your clit and tease your entrance.

“Harder, Reggie.”

Regulus was unbuttoning his shirt but stopped hearing you moan his name. It was Regulus’ turn to look like a deer in the headlight but he quickly recovered.

“Naughty girl.”

Regulus replied before kneeling down on the floor. He reached up and yanked you to him by your thighs. Draping your legs over his shoulders, Regulus buried his face between your legs. He inhaled your scent before pressing a soft kiss to your mound before turning to your thigh. Without thinking about what he was doing, Regulus sucked a love bite onto your tender skin. He planned on marking you up so everyone would be able to see.

You cried out from under him. The moment that your fingers tangled in his curls, Regulus groaned. You messing with his hair would forever be his weakness. He remained motionless before resuming his licking. You began to feel the pleasure mounting. With each moment the tension in your legs and your cries let Regulus know how close you were to coming. He gave you one brief moment of no contact before engulfing your clit. Regulus sucked on it relentlessly until your body writhed with pleasure. When you finally came, Regulus remained in place licking whatever you had to give him.

Regulus slowly stood up, unable to wait anymore. He had to have you. There would be no more waiting! Regulus positioned you onto your side as he sat up on his knees. Placing your leg up the length of his chest and over his shoulder, Regulus lowered enough to push his cock into your waiting pussy.

“Damn it.”

Regulus growled as he sat up a steady pace that left both of you moaning each other’s names. Flipping his now messy curls back, Regulus let his head fall back as your body began to tighten around his.

You weren’t even able to say that you were coming as your orgasm hit you. Regulus’ eyes snapped open wide.

“Fuck, princess. You’re going to suffocate my cock...keep going.”

Regulus pounded you through your orgasm until he felt his building.

"Oh my god, I can't hold it,"

He said through clenched teeth. Regulus’ pace quickened as his balls slapped against your ass. He gave you a few more quick deep thrusts then his whole body stiffened and froze on the brink of what was quite possibly the best orgasm that he had in a long time. Unable to hold back any longer, he exploded inside of you.

When the waves subsided, Regulus collapsed on top of you. He smiled when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders trying to preserve the close contact. Regulus wasn’t about to pull away. He wanted to keep his cock inside of you. Between your body being nice and warm and hopes of a round two, withdrawing made no sense.

Regulus’ peaceful state was ruined when there was a knock on the door.

“Mother fucking hell.”

Regulus grunted as he pulled out of you and reached for an abandoned towel to wrap around his waist. He hoped that whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t mind being greeted by his naked self with love bites all over his neck.

Cracking the door, Regulus frowned seeing Sirius on the other side. His older brother’s eyes widened seeing Regulus’ current state. Sirius didn’t expect Regulus with only a towel around his waist to open the door. He had a feeling that if he looked further in the room he would see you butt booty naked waiting for Regulus to come back.

“First off, gross. Second, I have some bad news...dad was found dead. It looks like death eaters did it. I have a feeling that this is tied in with our old buddy Emma Rosier.”

Regulus’ mouth dropped.

“I’ll be downstairs in five minutes.”

_______

@amelie-black @regulusheadcanons @truly-insatiable @realgaytrash @sunles @fific7 @val-sixx @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @spiderxalmighty @criminalyetminimal @whymyparentscheckmyphone @hazncalsgal @bennyberry @jessyballet @knreidy1 @rubyroscoe1 @acciosiriusblack @lucasfilms77 @exhsle @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @hankypranky @fandom-trash-worth-it @summer-novak @marichromatic @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @li0nh34rt @tas898 @stuckinsaudi1 @untoldshortsofthefandoms @sprnaturallover @shitfaceddaniel @deanwherescas @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner

[patrickjane92us]

Top 10 Games with rich stories

 A game with a rich story line can bring some good memorable experience. Now I’ll be sharing my top 10 best story driven games that I liked so far.

1. The Witcher 3 wild hunt

Witcher 3 is one of the most story driven games out there offering 70 hours long gameplay and a wild open world role playing experience. Even if you complete 100 hours with the game there are still many things to do, learn and hunt in the wild environment. When the game was released it received over 250 “Game Of The Year” titles, the most awarded game at the time and by August 2016, it had received over 800 awards. 

2. Red Dead Redemption

Rockstar as we know is the king of open world games, with titles like Grand Theft Auto, Bully, L.A Noire, Max Payne we know their ability to provide and rich open world experience with an excellent story line. After making its name for Grand Theft Auto series the developers have turned their sights on the Wild West. Red Dead Redemption is one of the best open world wild west games out there. You play as John Marston who’s an out try to walk on clean path but his past won't let him. Red Dead Redemption is not a GTA in Wild West, your actions are grounded which allows you to experience the western setting. Along with the storyline there plenty other things that you can do like from simple Cowboy activities to tracking down buried treasures, it's all in the package.

3. Red Dead Redemption 2

As I mentioned in my number 2 best story rich game, Rockstar has a prequel to Red Dead Redemption where the story is focused on John Marston’s past life as an outlaw and the gang he used to run with. In Red Dead Redemption 2 you play as Arthur Morgan, senior member and lead enforcer of the Van der Linde gang, one of America’s most notorious outlaw gangs. You’ll enjoy playing as Arthur as he nice guy but at the same time a monster. As the story passes by you will see him evolve in a good person or a bad person. The gameplay is based on the choices you make during the story line. You can either play as a good guy or you can go full outlaw in the game and both choices will have different outcomes at the end of the story. Along with the storyline there many side quests and activities that you can indulge in.

4. Grand Theft Auto IV

This Grand Theft Auto is my favorite one, I’ve played GTA V but the story didn’t felt that great as compared to GTA IV. In GTA IV you play as Niko Bellic who is from Yugoslavia. He worked as a soldier in the Yugoslav Wars and as a young man he worked as a smuggler across the Adriatic Sea. In 2008 he moves to Liberty City to get rich with his cousin. As the story goes on you’ll see how Niko gets involved in criminal activities leading to a tragic end of the story. 

5. Call Of Duty Modern warfare 3

Well to understand the story of Modern Warfare 3 you’ll first have to play Modern Warfare and Modern Warfare 2. In Modern Warfare 3 you will experience the devastating effects of war and along the story line you will switch between many Task Forces. The story has revolved around 2 main characters, Capt. John Price and Soap Mactavish. The game is packed with action and huge twist in the story line.

6. Uncharted 4  : A Thief's End

Uncharted as whole series offers a good amount of adventure and thrill as you play as Nathan Drake. In Uncharted 4 Nathan Drake along with his brother  Samuel Drake set out on an adventure to find a 400 million dollars treasure. Nathan does all efforts to get his hands on the treasure just to find out that the treasure is cursed.

7. Mafia III

In Mafia III the story revolves around Lincoln Clay and Vito Scaletta from Mafia II. The story begins as Lincoln returns from Vietnam War and catches up with with his family. As the story progresses Lincoln faces betrayal from Marcano, after the event Lincoln finds himself in bed with a bullet wound on his skull. Once he remembers what happened with him and his family, he sets out to seek redemption.

8. The Last of Us

The Last of Us is set in a post apocalyptic environment. The game tells the story of two survivors Joel and Ellie as they work together to survive across what remains of the country to find a possible cure for the plague that has nearly erased the entire human race.

9. The Walking Dead : Season One

This is one of the best apocalyptic stories among the zombie survival genre The series is focused on the character of Clementine, a young girl found alone by Lee Everett at the start of the apocalypse. Lee helps Clementine to learn how to survive in a chaotic world, but ends up getting bit by a zombie while trying to reunite Clementine with her parents. Clementine continues to travel with other survivor groups.

10. Metro Exodus

Metro is another best post apocalyptic game in open world survival genre. Metro Exodus is set after the events of Metro Last Light, on a post apocalyptic environment that has been devastated by a nuclear war. The game continues the story line of Metro: Last Light's Redemption ending. Even in Metro Exodus you play as Artyom, who flees the Moscow Metro and sets off on a continent spanning journey with his allies to the far east, on a locomotive called the "Aurora". The story takes place over the course of one year, starting with a harsh nuclear winter in the Metro. Another character returning from the previous game is Anna who is now Artyom's wife.

[readingontheedge]

Book details:

Beasts of the Frozen Sun

by Jill Criswell

(Frozen Sun Saga #1)

Publication date: August 6th 2019

Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Burn brightly. Love fiercely. For all else is dust.

Every child of Glasnith learns the last words of Aillira, the god-gifted mortal whose doomed love affair sparked a war of gods and men, and Lira of clan Stone knows the story better than most. As a descendant of Aillira and god-gifted in her own right, she has the power to read people’s souls, to see someone’s true essence with only a touch of her hand.

When a golden-haired warrior washes up on the shores of her homeland–one of the fearful marauders from the land of the Frozen Sun–Lira helps the wounded man instead of turning him in. After reading his soul, she realizes Reyker is different than his brethren who attack the coasts of Glasnith. He confides in her that he’s been cursed with what his people call battle-madness, forced to fight for the warlord known as the Dragon, a powerful tyrant determined to reignite the ancient war that Aillira started.

As Lira and Reyker form a bond forbidden by both their clans, the wrath of the Dragon falls upon them and all of Glasnith, and Lira finds herself facing the same tragic fate as her ancestor. The battle for Lira’s life, for Reyker’s soul, and for their peoples’ freedom has only just begun. 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42118210-beasts-of-the-frozen-sun?ac=1&from_search=true  

Amazon: https://books2read.com/u/3kpvWR?store=amazon 

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beasts-of-the-frozen-sun-jill-criswell/1130074830  

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/beasts-of-the-frozen-sun/id1455347076?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4  

Kobo: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=ZmCADwAAQBAJ 

Excerpt from Chapter 3 of Beasts of the Frozen Sun by Jill Criswell

 As soon as I stepped inside the hovel, I was knocked to the ground.

The warrior pinned my wrists, bending over me. Naked, glistening with sweat, eyes bright with madness. Even now, I didn’t see a monster. I saw a wounded wolf, alone, afraid.

I pulled one wrist free, smacking him on the nose, showing I was neither adversary nor prey. “You won’t hurt me. I’m the only one who can help you.”

Eyes wide, he slouched back.

I sat up slowly, lifting a hand to his brow. “You’re burning up.”

He regarded me suspiciously, until something captured his attention. My skirts had bunched at my thighs. In a blink, the warrior snatched my knife from its sheath.

“You won’t hurt me,” I said again, less certain. I plotted a path around him to the door, the dodges and strikes I could use to evade him.

He pressed the blade to his own throat. Crimson leaked down his skin.

“No!” I wrestled the knife from him and tossed it away. The warrior’s shoulders sank, as if I’d stolen his last shred of hope.

Gripping his jaw, I examined the wound—the cut was small but deep. I tore cloth from the blanket, pressing it to his neck to staunch the blood. “What were you thinking?” I asked, even though I knew. Pulling him from the harbor wasn’t saving him, but capturing him. Too sick to leave, he was a prisoner in this hovel, waiting to be tortured, executed. That’s what men did to their enemies. That’s what the Sons of Stone would do if they discovered him.

“I’m no warrior. I mean you no harm.”

He stared at the fallen knife.

“No.” I leaned to block his view. “That is not the way.”          

If he’d had the strength, he would’ve shoved me aside and grabbed the blade. I saw him calculating his odds as it was, but then the fever took hold. He coughed, fighting for breath, the sound wet and sharp, sawing through his lungs. Of course he’d not hesitate to slit his own throat, when he faced death from every direction.

I thought of Rhys as a boy, ravaged by lung-fever, moaning in his bed. This warrior wasn’t Rhys, but he was someone’s brother, someone’s son. “You’ll be all right. I’ll look after you.”

“Draepa,” he wheezed, pointing at the knife, then me, making a stabbing motion into the side of his neck. “Draepa mir.”

“You want me to kill you?” I shook my head. “I won’t.”

“Draepa mir!” His shout made him cough again. Between coughs, other sounds rose. Laughter. Sobs. He laid his forehead in the dirt, hacking and gasping, crying and laughing, fingers clawing at the earth. Had the fever cracked his mind?

“Shh.” I eased his head onto my knee. At my touch, he tensed. He coughed, growled, and wept, face buried in my skirts. One hand curled around my ankle, as if searching for an anchor to hold fast to in a storm. His fingertips traced the ring of scars there.

To distract him from his misery, I moved my leg closer and told him my story.

“I was nine years old, playing with my brother and his friends in rowboats just beyond the harbor. I’d begged Garreth to take me along, and he took pity on me. The weather turned foul, and a wave as high as a horse capsized our boats. Something circled us in the water.”

The sensations came back fresh: the churning sea, Garreth’s arm around me, slick scales brushing my leg. “It was the Brine Beast. A giant sea creature that sinks ships and devours fishermen. It took three other children first.”

I couldn’t bear to speak their names. Their bodies had washed ashore in pieces, just like the Westlanders’ corpses. My cousin, Madoc’s only son, had been one of them.

“Then it came for me.”

I slid my fingers under his, feeling the indentations of needle-sharp teeth. “I remember fangs closing around my foot. My brother screaming as I was snatched from his grasp. The cold, dark heart of the sea as the Beast dragged me down. Staring at the slithering shape of my own death. I didn’t realize the Beast had let me go until Father pulled me to the surface. The men had run for boats when they heard our cries. Mother …”

I swallowed hard and tried again.

“My mother was on the shore. After the Beast pulled me under, she walked into the sea. No one stopped her. No one knew what she’d done until she didn’t resurface. They searched, but never found her body. Many in Stony Harbor believe the Brine Beast came that day to steal one child from each of the wealthiest families in the village as payment to the sea goddess Faerran, who provides for our people. My mother offered herself to Faerran in my stead, and the goddess accepted.”

I looked at the warrior lying quietly in my lap, listening. I didn’t wipe away the tears flowing down my cheeks. “Now we’ve both bared our pain.”

He’d shifted onto his side, hair falling across his face. One of his hands still held my ankle, rubbing the scars. The other touched the matching bites on his torso. “Sjaeskjir? Beast?”

“Beast,” I confirmed, watching him. Did he understand my language?

“Mordir?”

“Yes. The Beast took my mother.” Easing my legs from beneath his head, I fetched my satchel. “Medicine. To cure you.” I held up a vial of bright green liquid. He eyed it dubiously. “If I meant to harm you, I’d have done it already. And so would you, when you had the chance. We must learn to trust each other.”

His stare was unrelenting. Seconds passed.

Finally, he gave a slight nod.

Before he changed his mind, I opened the vial and held it to his lips. When he gagged, I clapped a hand over his mouth until he swallowed. With his last bit of strength, he crawled onto the blanket and submitted to sleep.

The teeth marks the Brine Beast left on him were inflamed. I bathed his fevered flesh with what was left in the waterskin, rubbed liniment into the wounds along his stomach and chest to stave off infection. “Not an ice-hearted beast under there, are you?”

He grabbed my wrist, startling me.

“Lira.” My name sounded beautiful and strange on his tongue, swelling from a drop to an ocean between the cradle of his mouth and the space separating us. He folded my hand into his, rapping my knuckles against his chest. “Reyker.”

Ray—like a sunbeam. Ker—like a kerchief.  

“Reyker,” I repeated.

His lips twitched. Not a smile; more like a tiny flame in a dark cavern. It was the smallest of gestures. But it was a beginning. 

 AUTHOR BIO:Jill Criswell is a writer of Young Adult Historical Fantasy. She was born and raised in the swamps of northeastern Florida. She earned degrees in English and Psychology and an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Central Florida. Her greatest passion, besides reading and writing, is traveling the world; she's visited fifty countries across six continents, falling in love with places like Iceland, Namibia, and Cambodia. She works as a university English teacher and lives in South Carolina, near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, with her husband and daughter (who is named after a volcano in Iceland). 

https://jillcriswell.com/ 

https://www.instagram.com/authorjillcriswell/ 

https://twitter.com/JillCriswell 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18483321.Jill_Criswell 

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJillCriswell/ 

Giveaway:

Tour-wide giveaway (INT)

Signed hardback copy of Beasts of the Frozen Sun

Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/d04251233282/  

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RO! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Pandora Lovegood. There was something so charming about your application. Pandora felt like so much more than the four paragraphs I wrote for her bio, and that’s because you made the character your own. I was so ecstatic when you ran the idea by me about Pandora being deaf, and you’ve written it in such a beautiful way. Being able to add onto her character in a way that not only makes sense, but further develops her before you’ve even had the chance to write her in-game leaves me so excited to see what you’ll do with her. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

name: Ro age: 29. Literal granny. preferred pronouns: Female. She/Her timezone: AEST (Australia) activity: I work full time and stress full time, but am usually around on my phone for plotting and chatting, and have a few hours a few days a week dedicated to writing. are you applying for more than one character?: (if so, list your preference in order) how do you feel about your character dying?: I am such a sadist, I am honestly all for it. I love crying over my poor dead characters. Provided it is not just a gratuitous death, but something to further the plot. I like to get in some decent character development first, of course! anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.) Obviously Pandora and Xenophilius’ relationship is v important to her character, I’ve kinda guessed at a few things here but of course nothing pertaining to him is set in stone!! ic details. full name: Pandora Lovegood. Born Pandora Min Jee Park. Nicknames Panda. Dora. Pea. Min

date of birth: April 8 1954. Aries. Born to Joon Woo Park and Hae Yun Fenwick. former hogwarts house: Hufflepuff sexuality: Pansexual. gender/pronouns: Female. She/Her face claim change:

more. how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

+ Compassionate. Unrelenting

- Impatient. Restless.

Silent and strong, it is all easy for others to overlook Pandora. A sweet little witch, her husband’s devoted carer. Always sipping on a steaming potion from a chipped porcelain teacup or blowing her nose on a delicate silk handkerchief. These lingering remnants of childhood illnesses she can never quite shake, ever a reminder that she can’t cure everyone - not even herself. That will never stop resilient Pandora from trying.

But look at her, really look at her and see the depth of the ocean. The brilliant, unrelenting mind constantly searching for answers others dare not seek. When one is found she asks another question, digging deeper until all the truths of the universe are laid bare before her. Pandora’s hunger for knowledge is all consuming, she will often forget to eat or shower for days until reminded by a concerned friend. Ceaseless hours are spent reading obscure books of dark artefacts and curses, diving deeply into long forgotten lore, searching out near extinct plants. No length is too far for a new discovery, Pandora would do anything for her patients. Since her time at Hogwarts Pandora has been no stranger to working herself into exhaustion. Impatient, Pandora will quickly grow frustrated if her research isn’t going her way. She will become tense while she continues to push herself to the point of self destruction, the delicate girl with bones of glass and skin of paper almost shattering. At times she is reckless, believing in her own great mind enough to test an experimental potion with no proof other than her own confidence that it will do good. It is a dangerous line to walk, Pandora has been lucky she has not yet caused any damage to a patient or friend that doesn’t know the true risks of what they are about to imbibe.

The person who faces the greatest risks in Pandora’s experimental healing is also the once that faces the greatest rewards. The one that needs her most. The one that Pandora needs, so desperately, to heal. No one is more important to her than her husband. Though some would call Xenophilius a mad man, they would say he is too far gone from reality. But he grounds Pandora, her shining beacon in a world blanketed in confused darkness. He is the only one to understand her. His words are her gospel, at times impossible to comprehend, she will never stop trying to decipher what he has to say. She wishes she could calm the screaming in his head and share with him the silence in which she finds so much solace. Pandora knows together the pair will find his much sought after cure. In doing so she knows they will be unleashing the full potential of Xenophilius’ mind, the likes of which the Wizarding world has never seen before.

Deaf from the age of five after a near deadly case of meningitis Pandora has never let the loss of one of her senses slow her down. If anything, it pushes her further. She can lip read comfortably and speaks in a soft, unsteady voice, though she prefers to communicate in sign language. Fed up with traditional spell casting Pandora dedicated time at Hogwarts to creating new methods of spell casting using sign rather than speech. A small book was published, Pandora hopes to see more inclusive magic being taught at schools and in the Ministry itself. The ceiling of the small tent she and Xenophilius now call home is strung with soft golden lights so Pandora can always see, and bright charms attached to the knocker on the front door to always alert her to visitors.

Just like many of the other new residents of Godric’s Hollow Pandora could not face living in a cottage that had seen so much death, the metallic scent of blood she knows all too well still heavy in the air. The shadows of the dead were still there, filling the cracks in the wall, whispering in Xenophilius’ ear. Almost every surface is covered in books, books from their own libraries, books filled with the neatly organised handwritten notes of Pandora and Xenophilius’ frenzied scrawl. The kitchen has more cauldrons than cooking pots, there are always several bubbling along, filling the room with coloured smoke and curious, heady aromas. The Lovegood home has become a makeshift clinic for the Order, Pandora has all the healing supplies she needs to treat most illnesses. Her compassionate warmth and open door has also made her kitchen a drop in spot for those who need a cup of tea and the chance to let out all the feelings whenever they need to talk. Pandora knows she is doing a good thing helping the Order, she knows this is what her cousin would have wanted. But the quiet girl that believes in her own greatness knows she has a world to save, not just one broken town.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

A half blood witch adored and accepted by her muggle family, Pandora truly cannot wrap her head around the reasonings of this war. There are many things wrong in the world, both Wizarding and muggle, there are many things worth fighting about. Blood status is not one of them. At first she found it foolish, more anti-muggle propaganda they had all heard a hundred times or more. But as the injured kept arriving at St Mungo’s in higher numbers, carrying dark curses, as the death count become a number so astronomical Pandora’s heart ached to the point she couldn’t breathe trying to imagine what that much death really meant she realised that this really was a war. It was at that time Benjy approached her, asking her to join, to fight, to heal.

She couldn’t. Pandora’s fight was at her husband’s side. Her fight was in the wings of the hospital with patients that needed her. She did all she could, splitting her time between the wards and the Order, helping where she was needed. She kept her eyes open as she worked her rounds, always seeking out information. She passed on everything she deemed of importance to the Order - names, places, curses. Pandora did her best to help. Though she would never admit it, not even sign it in pitch darkness, a part of Pandora she tried to keep buried deep within was grateful to have so much work to do. Her talents finally were being used to her full potential, she was needed. With so many people to heal the higher ups at St Mungo’s allowed her unauthorized methods to go forward without the usual testings and verification. She was helping more people she had ever dreamed possible.

The presumed death of her cousin shattered her. In a morbid reprise of the news of her father’s death Pandora collapsed in a faint upon hearing the news. Just as with her father Pandora felt his death should have been prevented, she should have been there, she should have done more for him. Pandora finally felt ready to fight, just as the Order decided upon retreat. Pandora knew that she had to follow them to Godric’s Hollow. Without as much work to keep her occupied Pandora’s mind is continuing to crack. Anxiety keeps her awake at night more often than her books, she stares at the posters of the missing hung so morbidly in the graveyard wide eyes shimmering with tears, bitten fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. The weight of all those lives lost is pressing down on her, Pandora isn’t sure how to fight back. She tries her hardest to keep herself occupied helping the Order. But with the fighting at a standstill Pandora has no one to heal.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

Pandora has no desire to stay in Godric’s Hollow. She is there because she believes it is what Benjy would have wished for her, because she thinks that is what is best for Xenophilius’ right now. Her own desires are less important than theirs. She agrees with the people that wish to carry on fighting, though she tremors at the thought of losing yet another person than she has grown close to.

What Pandora really wants is to get out of Godric’s Hollow and return to St Mungo’s. She knows there are still people there that need her. Pandora needs to be needed, she needs to help.

She sits quiet in meetings and conversations, as a mere associate of the Order she has no say anyway. But she pays close attention to what those around her are feeling and saying, she is sure she isn’t the only person that feels hopelessly stuck in this death filled town.

Pandora Lovegood: How does Pandora feel about being forced to stay in Godric’s Hollow, when she could be out helping those who have been wounded by this war?

Pandora feels utterly trapped in Godric’s Hollow. With no real work to keep her occupied she is restless and anxious, fixating on small problems, even creating problems just so she has something to do. The decision to relocate was made in haste and fear. It is a choice she is ever increasingly regrets. The only reason she is content in staying is Xenophilius, without the distraction of a world torn apart by war is that every book she reads, every potion she brews is dedicated to deciphering the voices drowning his mind. Pandora isn’t sure how much longer she can stay, the gnawing guilt in her stomach a constant reminder her skills are going to waste when so many people are suffering without her healing hands. extra.

Pinterest board.

if i were a season, i’d be late spring

if i were a time of day, i’d be sunrise

if i were a place, i’d be a quiet corner of a library

if i were a type of weather, i’d be a sunshower

if i were a scent, i’d be antiseptic cream

if i were a plant, i’d be a aloe vera

if i were an element, i’d be water

if i were a color, i’d be off white

if i were a song, i’d be Here comes the Sun by The Beatles

if i were an item of clothing, it’d be a clean white tshirt

if i were an object, i’d be a fountain pen

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be pride

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be diligence

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Epione, Greek goddess of soothing pain

Future plot ideas:

Pandora is ignoring her own mental health in order to look after those around her. She is in a fragile state and edging closer to breaking point. She may start turning to potions to help get through each day. It would also be very nice for someone to realise how much she is struggling and help her for once.

Pandora can take many risks when creating potions or perfecting a cure. She could trial a new potion on someone and end up doing more harm than good.

Pandora feels like a caged bird unable to sing stuck at Godric’s Hollow. She would like to start making occasional trips back to London/St Mungos to gather supplies and intel. She may learn more about missing Order members this way.

Pandora , Xenophilius mystery solving!!

[medellindemexico]

Draft 2

In the eyes of society, Tia Mary had all the right things to be a good mother and wife. She was hardworking, fertile, light skin, married, had a home, three children. What more can she want. This is a point that is consistently brought out in defense for staying with a man that cheats on you. Ive seen it in movies, overheard it on the subway, heard my cousins and even grandma justify staying with an unfaithful man. I have always thought and still think that cheating is inexcusable. That it is the worst thing a human can do to another human, in a relationship that is. How can someone you're supposed to love and respect betray your trust and body? This is something I think today, and even promised myself to leave a man if he was ever unfaithful. But, then again I have never been in love. Never been pressured to stay with a man because we had a family together. Or because he has provided for my family. That without his help, my sisters would've been drowning in debt. So when I look at my bitter Tio Sebastian in the eye, I give him the respect that is excepted of me as his niece. But I do hold deep contempt and dislike towards him. How could he be so cruel but I remind myself that Tio is human and capable of mistakes.

Tia Mary’s pain doesn't end here though. Her pain seems everlasting whenever she recounts the stories of her youth and speaks her pain through clenched teeth. Tio Sebastian invaded her life and she was beginning to not know what a life without him was. He invaded her mind, soul, and body. This would leave scars that are not only visible on her skin but on her outlook of life. He would ruin her for every man not because she was irrevocably in love with him, but because he gave her the evidence of his unfaithfulness, that she would carry throughout her entire livelihood. He gave my Tia two STDs that unfortunately both don't have a cure. Treatable yes, but one can argue that heartbreaks are also treatable but they also don't have a cure. Yet I know even if there was a cure, there would be no cure for her kind of heartbreak. She has to deal with the mistakes of her husband, of the man that gave her diseases that have no cure. Diseases that in her late 50′s she still has to go to the doctor for. That so unfortunately, the STD went undetected for so long, it scared her reproductive system. It penetrated her ovaries and she had to get a Oophorectomy. I remember her crying from pain and despair in her bedroom from hearing the news that her ovary would have to be removed. She was holding my mother's hand while she was sweating from both the Californian heat and nerves, yet she offered me jolly ranchers. Blue, green, red, purple jolly ranchers in her bedside table that she knew would make me happy. My aunt was literally suffering on what I thought at the age of 7 was her death bed. In a way it was, she had to give up what she defined was a part of her womanhood. Part of her identity as a woman. When I see her this spring break I want to tell her she is so much more than her reproductive system. I hope I have the guts to. 

We often equate the endurance of pain to strength. I have and I think many of us do. That if you can handle a tattoo, a broken arm, heartbreak, getting cut etc. you're strong. Which I now deem that is somewhat true but I also believe that strength is so much more than what you can endure but rather what you can give. My Tia gave her all and lost so much. She endured and continues to endure emotional, mental, and physical pain. These events would change her life. It would change the way she would see life. The way her children wold be raised, and they way they would live their lives. My tia would never be the same. 

Tia Rosa stayed with her husband, something that I have no doubt she thinks about everyday. Why didn't I leave him? Why did I stay? why did I do to deserve this?When I learned about her life I immediately wondered, why did she stay? was she so in love that she was so blind?what kind of woman stays with a man like that?  That belief that was comes around goes around comes to my mind immediately. This belief is what many people, like me, hold on to. That the universe or God or really any higher power, can give the people who have wronged you, what they deserve. Tio Sebastian would (in my eyes) in a way pay for all the shit he put my aunt through. The decades of pain, suffering, humiliation, tears, would come back to bite him in the ass. Now, as a woman and as my aunt’s niece I understand and feel her pain. I genuinely feel bad for her, for what she went through, what she continues to go through, and what her children carry out as offspring of the pan they held as a couple. Tio Sebastian would be told to never enjoy the dark bitter taste of alcohol that he loved to use as an excuse for his hideous personality, his kidney would fail him and have to be removed, his obesity would contribute to his official diagnosis of diabetes, his liver would blacken and fail him enough to give him liver cancer, yet he would have the luck of his liver donor dying, thus giving him the liver of a prisoner. He would get a liver transplant and survive. Yet he was saddened at the lack of sympathy he received from his children, that his grandchildren would not want to visit him, his daughter would even make the same mistakes as him, Yet throughout all this, Tia Rosa stayed, She stayed when their house was robbed, she stayed when her father would publicly denounce him, she stayed when he would return to her body with his own, but tainted and diseased, she stayed when her husband’s mother would wish her ill, when he sister in laws would curse her with maldiciones, she stayed when he was sued for child support of a child he had no idea existed-leaving them on the edge of bankruptcy, she stayed when she would find out he slept with her cousin, she stayed when he would gamble their money, she stayed, 

[axis-was-killed]

Hope you don’t mind that I made a little fic @darielareyes001

A/N: I am American so I’ll be using the American school system, so they are currently seniors. Hawkmoth has been defeated, but they kept their miraculous’. Marinette had fixed the peacock miraculous, effectively curing Emilie (Adrien’s mother), so he is living under her care. Gabriel however was put in jail when his identity was revealed, so he won’t be getting out of there anytime soon. Also this Felix is Adrien’s cousin, cause it just will make more sense story wise. There will be cursing, I just don’t know how much. Might be a tad ooc, so be warned. Have a great time :)

Not much of a fanfic writer (as in I don’t post them if I have any) but here’s my go:

(The song that’s playing is “Butch 4 Butch”)

This is both a prompt and song fic in a way.

ALSO SHOUT OUT TO “Real Life Tim Duck 🦆| Weird 👻”, bookdragon, Pure_Chaos, Rosie, noodle, Eli, AND Nettie, ON THE MARIBAT DISCORD FOR BETA READING THIS EVEN THO ITS NOT MARIBAT. ALSO A THANKS TO REAN FOR HELPING OUT AS WELL

———————— Story starts here ————————

Felix was entranced. He stared as he watched her dance on the edge of the roof, her arms moving gracefully along a song he didn’t recognize. It fit well with the moment, on loop.

She was beautiful, looking so graceful that she could be mistaken for a goddess. Her dress, although plain, framed her well. It complemented her skin. Her hair flowed freely in the wind, with ribbons added in the mix. The moon seemed to take a liking to her, as it was shining down over her dangerous dance. He noticed she was barefoot, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Felix recalled her tales of sorrow, her battles of war. Her friends had turned on her. They left her to rot as if she was being disposed of after being of good use, but no longer worked to suit their needs. They had taken advantage of her, only needing her when she could provide them with something. A dress perhaps. Or maybe pastries. Or a party to be planned. Anything she could provide, she’d give.

“You are too kind,” He had told her once.

“Yes, I know. But all I can do is hope that they’ll realize what spell they are under. I cannot free them. I’ve tried for what feels like millennia, but what was really only two years. Two years since she’s entered the class. Two years since the web of lies started. Two years since they left me, their friend through thick and thin, for Lila Rossi, the person with everything. The person who made up everything . So yes, I am too kind. And sometimes, I resent that. But other times, I’ve come to accept that as fact.”

He had originally told her that as an insult, but that day, she was tired. So, oh so tired. And he could see that in her eyes. Her eyes had looked too old for being just 16. He had been stunned. She didn’t care about his insult. No. Instead she knew it, but decided to not care.

With that simple response he was intrigued. He wanted to know more. At the time, he too had also been 16, but he had been an asshole, so he wanted to watch her demise. But she was too smart. She knew what he was trying to do. After all, she was the one that pointed out all the lies that were told by the one and only Rossi.

It had been another two years since their talk. She had changed him, even if she didn’t know. Or maybe she did. He was a lot kinder, but only to those who he deemed deserving of that love. She was one of them. His goal was to no longer see her demise. Instead it was to keep her out of harm’s way. And, possibly, make her his.

At the age of 17 Felix had learned of his cousin’s pathetic excuse for keeping quiet. He resented him. Felix did end up confronting Adrien, but he wouldn’t listen. His head was so far up his ass that he couldn’t listen to reason. He said “it would all go back to normal if she just stayed quiet. She doesn’t need to expose Lila. Everything will be just like how it was before! No harm done.”

Felix had been pissed. He still was pissed, though not as much as it had been at the time. At that point, it had been decided. Adrien is no cousin of his. He avoided him at all costs. He urged her to do the same. And so she did. Not because of Felix though, no, she also knew how much loving him had harmed her. When she looked back on it, she had noticed it wasn’t love. It had been an obsession.

Felix was drawn back to the present by the sound of another voice. It was Chat Noir. He was asking something, but he didn’t know what. Felix didn’t take much of a liking to Chat Noir. He was too naive, too pushy. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“... JUST WATCHING HER!?” Chat whisper-yelled.

“What was that?” Felix whispered in a hushed tone as to not warn her of their presence, though with the cat there, he doubted she didn’t already know they were there.

“I said, 'why are you just watching her!?' She could be trying to jump off you know. She could be dead because you were just watching!”

“While yes, you do have a point, she is by no means suicidal. I know her well, and I know she won't jump.”

Chat just stared at him. He truly just stared at him. Felix decided to ignore him, and went back to looking at her dangerous dance. The more he thought of it, the more it looked like a waltz with death.

Chat spoke again. “I’m going to tell her to get down from the edge. It’s too dangerous. She might fall and die."

It was true. She could die if she fell. They were atop a 10 story building, amongst the tallest buildings in Paris. The chances of her surviving a fall were slim to none at all.

The song started again.

“My sweetheart’s piano is rat filled,” her voice was beautiful.

“And mine’ is infested with bugs,”

���The music we make is unnatural,

But it sounds just like falling in love~” she sang. It was heartfelt, because she was singing to her unknown lover. One that wasn’t hers, at least not yet.

Felix wondered why she started to sing.

“This butch,

This butch,

This butch,

This butch. He makes me go weak in the knees~”

There it was. The slight shift in pronouns. She had shifted to use “he”, not she. She was singing to a boy.

She continued to sing and dance. Blissfully unaware of her small audience.

“And when we go back to my apartments, he’ll probably kick my fucking ass~”

There it was again. The pronoun shift. Felix noticed that time.

“I talk real slow, and speak real low…

Hoping he’ll lean into me..

But we just laugh cause,

’What was that?’

We can’t take ourselves seriously”

Felix remembered that. It was an odd night, but one he enjoyed dearly. She had been bored and they were in her room. She got bored and tried to speak in a low tone. It was funny. Her voice was too high pitched.

“This butch,

This butch,

This butch,

This butch…” her dance slowed down.

“He makes me go weak in the knees.

But I can’t let him see me swoon…” her voice was soft. She sounded scared. By then she had stopped dancing all together. She was now looking out over the city, enjoying the view. Her back was turned towards them.

“Or else he would think I am… sweet..” her voice trailed off. He wondered again who she was singing to. She looked at peace, but he knew, he knew damn well that there was sadness, cloaked away so the world couldn’t see.

It was at that the stupid son of a bitch decided to speak.

“Purrinces, you should probably get down from there. Wouldn’t you want you to fall! But fear not, I am here to save you!” Chat Noir called out.

She turned, but she turned too fast. The force of her turn threw her off her balance. And so she fell.

Felix’s heart stopped. He froze, hoping this was a nightmare. But he knew it wasn’t. So he ran. He ran to the edge, hoping she at least caught herself so he could pull her back up.

He was crying, but he didn’t care. She was falling. It seemed so damn slow. It was like the universe was taunting him.

“MARINETTE!-“ Felix cries out. He watched, helplessly, as she hit the floor, tears in her eyes. She said something, but he didn’t know what it was. There were people down there.

Someone had called the ambulance it seemed, but Felix paid no mind to them. No, he was busy grieving, too caught up in his own pain. He called the Dupain-Chengs, emptily telling them what had just happened. He heard them cry, asking him where he was. So he told them.

The Dupain-Chengs knew a lot about their daughter. They knew she had issues with her classmates. They knew about her being Ladybug. You thought they wouldn’t notice? You thought that they wouldn’t notice their daughter slowly suffer? You thought they wouldn’t start to question why she was losing sleep, or why she was mumbling to herself a lot?

They knew. And they tried to take a lot of her workload off of her. They did as much as they could, but it didn’t seem like enough. Maybe they didn’t try enough. It hurt, seeing her lying dead on the floor, covered by the tarp.

What hurt a lot more, however, was hearing the story of how it happened. They were angry, wanting to curse out the supposed hero. He did nothing to save their daughter. The hero stood by, watching, wanting to cry. But he couldn’t. He was a hero, and hero’s showed no fear, sorrow, or any negative feeling.

It was a horrible day. The next morning everyone heard. Marinette’s parents told her story of her sacrificing her childhood to save Paris. They revealed she was Ladybug, and Paris mourned the hero they had lost…

PEOPLE WHO WANTED TO BE TAGGED :D

@izanae @cookid-mcgee

WOAH IM BACK! I got a little bored of mlb for a sec 💀 BUT HERE!! Sorry but here’s another traumatic scenario 💀

ALSO PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE A BACKGROUND STORY BEHING THIS I DIDNT REALLY PUT MUCH THOUGHT INTO THIS I JUST SAW SOME FELINETTE NOVEMBER POST AND I GOT EXCITED 💀 so yes feel free to write a background and it can be happy or sad IM HERE FOR BOTH !🙌 it doesn’t have to be good and yk I wouldn’t mind this being used as a reference for an au yk 😏

@felinettenovember

[nintendotreehouse]

Exploring Skyrim Part V: Khajiit, Bretons, and Orcs, Oh My!  A Character Primer for Adventurers of All Ages

Hi! This is Tim O. from the Treehouse. When I’m not helping our multilingual teams localize games I sometimes enjoy stealing mammoth cheese bowls and collecting Dragon Priest masks, which is to say I enjoy playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

This open-world game was created for exploration. From snow-capped peaks and thundering waterfalls to rugged highlands and fast-flowing rivers, the world calls out to adventurers, enticing them and encouraging them to take roads less traveled, or throw caution to the wind and abandon roads altogether.

In our last few posts, Lindsey and James provided some background on character archetypes, skills, and skill trees, and that’s all sure to come in handy. Before you pack up your broadswords and spell tomes, however, you need to decide which race you want your character to be, because who you are will impact how you play.

Races and Playstyle

There are ten playable races in Skyrim. Each race has its own history, culture, and origin within the continent of Tamriel. The race you choose may influence how NPC characters throughout the land interact with you. Additionally, each race has its own natural aptitudes, initial bonuses, and abilities to boost your chances of survival. When creating your character, the skill statistics of each race are something to be considered as they lend themselves to certain playstyles. That being said, all of the skills in the game can be developed over time, so the most important thing to do is to create the character you want—the race you choose does not lock you into a specific playstyle. So, while Argonians make great thieves because they are naturally-gifted at opening locks and picking pockets, and Bosmer get a jump-start on becoming elite archers due to their affinity for bows, you still have all the freedom in the world to choose whatever combination of race and playstyle your heart desires. If you’re bound and determined to be a Khajiit magic-user, there’s nothing stopping you. You may need to work a bit harder in the beginning, but if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.

The Playable Races

High Elves (Altmer) – High Elves hail from the Summerset Isles located off the southwestern coast of the main continent. High elves are one of the oldest races of Tamriel and are as proud of their heritage as they are of their distinct physiology. They are the tallest of the playable races in Skyrim, they’re slender in build, and they have golden-hued skin and prominently pointed ears. High Elves are a very precise people and have rules for just about everything including marriage, architecture, and even table manners. When it comes to the arcane arts, high elves are unparalleled, being the most skilled of all the races of Tamriel. They are born with magical abilities outstripping other races and can even regenerate Magicka, the energy used to cast spells, at an accelerated pace once per day.

Argonians – Argonians are a reptilian race originating from the southeastern swampland rainforest of Black Marsh, which boasts great inland waterways and impenetrable swamps. This province also is subjected to a unique weather pattern that some have described as “an inferno of foul-smelling brown rain,” often accompanied by heavy thunder and fog. Secretive and intelligent, the Argonians are excellent at guerrilla tactics, unsurprising given their swampy homeland. Argonians are the most skilled race at lockpicking, though they also excel in other stealth and thief-based skills as well. Argonian racial abilities include rapid health regeneration, which can be used once per day, and resistance to disease. Their ability to breathe underwater also offers a natural advantage in watery terrain.

Wood Elves (Bosmer) – The Wood Elves of Tamriel call the mangrove swamps and semi-tropical rainforests of Valenwood home. Wood Elves prefer simple lives in the heart of nature, eschewing over-developed cities and living in accordance with their Green Pact, which prohibits the use of wood as a building material and restricts them to a meat-based diet. They are famed for their skill with bows and are known as the best archers in the land. Their natural stealth also gives them skill bonuses excellent for thieving. Wood Elves are resistant to disease and poison, and they have the ability to command a wild creature once per day.

Bretons – The northwest province of High Rock is the homeland of the Bretons, who claim both human and elven ancestry. While the Bretons get their physical appearance from their human forefathers, they have inherited their affinity for magic from their elven progenitors. Bretons are known to be passionate, intelligent and possess a seemingly instinctive bond with magic. It is this bond which accounts for their ability to resist magic that would devastate most races, and even absorb Magicka from hostile spells once per day.

Dark Elves (Dunmer) – Dark Elves come from Morrowind in the northeast corner of Tamriel. Morrowind is a harsh and strange land, its flora and fauna having evolved to survive the ash storms generated by the Red Mountain, the largest volcano on Tamriel. Dark Elves have glowing red eyes and grayish skin. They are taller than their Wood Elf cousins but shorter than the high elves. Their abilities also land in the middle-ground between their kin – they’re better magic users than Wood Elves, and stealthier than High Elves. Dark Elves are particularly adept at destructive magic, possessing a natural resistance to fire, and can invoke a special ability which inflicts damage to all nearby opponents once per day.

Imperial – Imperials are the ruling race of the powerful province of Cyrodiil located in the heart of Tamriel. Imperials are among the wealthiest and most highly educated of races, and are also known for their military discipline. They are of typical height for humans and have a complexion somewhere between Nords and Redguards. Imperials are skilled at both combat and magic, making them ideally suited for hybrid playstyles. It’s easy to imagine an Imperial casting destructive magic with one hand while the other wields a longsword. They also have the ability to calm human characters once a day through the power of their voices.

Khajiit – The cat-like Khajiit inhabit the province of Elsweyr on the southern central coast of Tamriel. Khajiit are the most agile of all the races on the continent, but as they are one of only two “beast races,” they are often treated with distrust and derision. It is perhaps their position as second-class citizens along with their natural stealth and superior unarmed combat skills that lead many of them to become thieves and assassins. Khajiit also possess enhanced night vision, which they can use an unlimited number of times each day.

Nord – Nords are the dominant human race of Skryim, the northernmost province of Tamriel. Nords are the tallest and most powerfully built of the human races, and are typically fair in complexion. Family, honor, and glory are valued above all else in Nord culture. They are natural warriors adept at wielding both one- and two-handed weapons. As you might expect given their frigid homeland, Nords are resistant to frost. They also have the ability to drive away enemies for short periods of time with a fierce battle cry once per day.

Orc (Orsimer) – Orcs are native to mountain ranges in both High Rock and Hammerfell. Orc strongholds are scattered across Skyrim, but only those who have become “blood-kin” are welcome inside. Orcs have a complexion that ranges from light green to dark brown, possess heavily muscled frames, and are second only to the High Elves in height. They are also the only race to have tusks. Orcs are famed throughout Tamriel as warriors and blacksmiths, and have a natural affinity for one- and two-handed weapon wielding, as well as smithing and enchanting. Orcs have the ability to send themselves into a fierce rage that increases the damage they inflict and decreases the damage they take for a short period of time each day.

Redguard – Redguards are the main inhabitant of the northwest province of Hammerfell, an arid land dominated by deserts and rough mountains. Redguards have darker complexions, are of medium height, and possess sturdy builds. They are known for their skill and versatility as warriors and are exceptional at combining one-handed weapons with shields. In keeping with their rugged homeland, Redguards have a strong constitution, which manifests itself in a resistance to poison. They are able to regenerate stamina at an incredible rate once per day, allowing them to attack with great ferocity.

More than Human

In addition to the playable races of Skyrim, you can also become more than human by contracting diseases, which transform you into a vampire or werewolf. Each of these conditions has advantages and disadvantages, so you’ll want to weigh them before allowing yourself to be seduced by the music of the children of the night.

Vampires – To become a vampire the player must acquire the disease “Sanguinare Vampiris” and stay infected for longer than three in-game days. There are four stages of severity to the disease, though drinking blood can keep the curse at bay. However, the more severe the disease becomes, the more spells and abilities become available to the player. Vampires suffer from a weakness to sunlight, but are fully resistant to disease and poison, harder to detect when sneaking, and  more powerful at casting illusion magic. Vampirism has its own skill tree and perks, which include things like detecting all creatures, transforming into an invulnerable mist, and conjuring a gargoyle to fight for you. Vampirism can be cured and contracted multiple times.

Werewolves –  A player can become a werewolf by contracting the disease “Lycanthropy”, which grants the ability to transform into a monstrous and powerful wolf-like beast for a limited time once per day, which can be extended by feeding off corpses. There are cures for Lycanthropy, but many are costly (unless you want to become a vampire), and once cured, it cannot be contracted again. Lycanthropy also has its own skill tree and perks, from increased damage to an extended howl range. Spoiler Alert: those who want to become werewolves best look to the Companions of Whiterun for guidance.

Skyrim is a game filled with choices; what to do, where to go, how many mammoth cheese bowls to collect. It’s all up to you. The first, and perhaps most important choice you’ll make is how you want to play. Are you a straight-up brawler? A long-distance sniper? Do you prefer magic or heavy armor and cold hard steel? Think about the playstyle that suits you best and then choose your character’s race. That choice may make the beginning of your adventure a bit easier or it may not, and it doesn’t have to. The important thing is to be you. Now lace up your boots and grab your supplies. Skyrim awaits!

—Tim O.

[letscollectallthethings]

Jonathan Meades - extract from “Say Hullo to Heini”, a novel in progress.

The scents of my early teens were barbecued lamb and burning buildings. We listened to Yé-Yé and explosions, doo wop and gunfire, we picnicked on rocks under stone pines, the sea lapped our feet whilst a war raged around us, we danced the Madison on a battlefields edge. We couldn’t admit that paradise was provisional, that our heaven on earth was turning into hell, a hell we would have to flee. Lime sorbet tastes of immeasurable loss.

I can still see it as though it were yesterday, in Dewachter’s window on the Rue Hoche, chocolate brown corduroy, lanyard thick, cardan style, collarless. It was the day before my 14th birthday when my father refused to buy me that jacket, I’d set my heart on it. In his opinion it looked Bavarian. It was Bavarian, the collarlessness. That was it then, nothing more to say. I didn’t know where in Germany Bavaria was, but because he had spoken of it so often, I did know that it was the fount of the greatest evil. The waisted jacket he bought me instead had a collar, and narrow rounded lapels, three buttons, raised stitching, a flap over the breast pocket, a single vent. I liked it well enough. His uncle and two cousins had died in Buchenwald.

Was I even then, all those years ago, a Jew? My mother was not Jewish, so I was not a Jew according to the dictates of Judaism. My father was non-observant. He could not reconcile the modern science with the ancient faith of his and my ancestors, even though one of them, a Rabbi, had given his life for being a Jew – the Ottoman military governor that’d decayed before the French arrived. We French…

None the less, so far as he himself was concerned, my father was not a Jew, or only on his own terms. He considered himself above tribalism, above cults, and sectarianism. Ahavath Israel was divisive. He insisted, for example, mistakenly, with wearisome obstinacy, that Eichmann’s crimes had been against all humanity. In his version, it was humans, not Jews, whom Eichmann had deported to their deaths. This does not accord to Eichmann’s own statements to Höss, the Auschwitz commandant. My father believed that being Jewish didn’t mean belonging to a religion, obeying what he called its “archaic foibles and murky prescriptions”. He even claimed to despise dietary regulations, he pretended to take pleasure in eating pork, but in truth ne never touched it. I doubt that he’d ever tasted, for example, sobressada, or blanquicos, or longanisses. What he might, had he’d lived so long, have learned to call “King Rabbit”. Being Jewish on his own terms meant having a Hippocratic duty to the sick, whoever they were, irrespective of faith, and having a humanistic duty to succour the oppressed, idem. We who have been oppressed throughout all history must side with anyone else who is oppressed. We must care for them because only we have shared their fathomless suffering, only we have both the competence and the charity to alleviate it. We are chosen because we own extreme empathy. It is a duty and a curse. It implies no divine favouritism. We must side with justice. We must not think of ourselves. We must, above all, not allow ourselves to be defined as victims for that strengthens the tormentors (I had observed, at the Avenue Jonnart baths, that many Catholics too were circumcised).

I learnt from him, the paramountcy of justice. There are many forms of justice, mine differed from his. The figure of Judex that I have incarnated throughout my life derives from the god whose justice is vengeful, stern, pre-Christian: Jesus was not much of a Jew, he was the first appeaser, a Duke with faith in rehabilitation and redemption.

A Jew must believe in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a pyre for a pyre.

His parents and, especially, his sister considered my father’s exalted compassion to be mere vanity. For them, his humanitarianism was an expression of guilt, a form of masochism. They thought his work at the hospital was show off self-denial, that’s what I thought too. His work and his library frightened me. He was a proctologist, you see what I mean about masochism. He was an expert in venereal infections of the anus. The malignant anal melanomias and anal fistulas, suppurations and abscess’. He was the author of “a Haemorrhoid Atlas”, his bookshelves were no incitement to sexual congress. He cured filthy incestuous Arabs of their filthy incestuous diseases, diseases I wished never to suffer. What sort of gratitude do you get from such people? This sort of gratitude – a slit throat, a bomb in a bar, a van packed with plastic explosives. His family wanted to bind him to his race, he was always trying to slip away from the ancestral burden, but in the end, you can’t. He was too good a man to understand the frailty of goodness.

Was I all those years ago French? My passport said I was. My mother was French – Français de souche, “frangaouie”, as they say. She came from Talence, and was brought up in a reformed church, a protestant, and, I have to say, worthy of that name. She protested at the least injustice, provided it was an injustice done to someone other than herself. She believed, as my father did, that she should work for the good of others – the poorer, the more backward, the more downtrodden, the more wretched these others, the better. The more resistant to her efforts, the better. My mother was a paragon of Republicanism. Imparting the values of the Republic was an act of necessary charity, and a virtuous mental flagellation. Training ingrate barbarians to be French was the finest of callings, and most trying. They were 80% illiterate and would remain so, they wished to remain so. She had reservoirs of energy to spend on making excuses for the thieving behaviours of her charges at youth camp. She strove for equality. She could never see that those whom she had treated as equal, were not her equal, she demeaned herself. She offered friendship, knowledge, sympathy, succour to people whose only reaction was to consider that she must be weak to do so. They despised her enduring attempts at brotherhood, she was blind to the chasm that divided her from them. She saw the good in everyone, even when they spent half the day kneeling and keening to Allah, and beating their wives, and stealing, never getting their rotten teeth fixed because they were too superstitious to go to the dentist. She did not rail against our fate, she accepted the wrong that had been done to us, that was being done to us, that would go on being done to us as though it were inevitable and deserved. She believed, for example, that no wrong that was done to us could match the iniquity of the wrong done to the indigenous people who shared our country. My mother did not consider us indigenous. What does indigenous means? How is indigenousness measured? How long does it take to become indigenous? How long have your ancestor’s ancestors to live somewhere? How many generations? Are we not indigenous? Will half a millennium do? Five and a half centuries ago, that’s when my mother’s husbands people, my fathers people, my grandmothers people, arrived on this blessed shore to till and worship and procreate and cook and build. How are we connected to the earth? Familiarity. Use. We frequent the place, we attach ourselves to it. It responds with fruit and plenty, that is its side of the affectionate bargain. My mother wrapped herself in penitence, she made herself bear the burden of illusory crimes, invented crimes, crimes that had not been committed by people dead before she was born. In short, crimes created by our enemies to promote her penitence, and the penitence of all who thought like her. That penitence about our being in someone else’s land, of our being there, which was, then, here.

She did not hate our enemies, she did not castigate them. She did not even regard them as enemies, rather as victims. Victims? Victims to be pitied. In the last days she went back tidying the house as though it were guests who were expected rather than Arab squatters. Word had spread fast. Thousands had left the ‘ghreb for the city, and the promise of a house. They had already, for example, taken over Jani’s parents’ house. They awaited out house, they lingered in the shade watching our every move. Entire extended families waiting menacingly. They were surrounded by sacks and kit bags, chickens and bantams, by wheelbarrows, bucking pram frames and handcarts all piled high with the scraps and rags that are the destitutes riches. Soon these lurking thieves would add to their wealth, they would appropriate what was ours. My mother says it’s what was due to them. It is not due to them. It was not due to them. There wouldn’t be “them” had there not been French medical science in Algeria, there would’ve been no Algerians to give birth to the generations who killed in pursuit of independence. They’d have died from malaria, cholera, typhus, small pox, they could not cure themselves. And independent they would soon contaminate our home with smoke and spit and shit.

My father was French, his passport said so. His family had been French since the premiers écrits, since my great great grandfathers time. My father had studied medicine at the faculty in Bordeaux, which was unquestionably in France, but France was now our enemy. French barbules, among them collaborationist criminals who had worked for the Gestapo, tried to pick us off with sniper fire, they hurled grenades at us, they shot is with automatic weapons. French soldiers drove armoured vehicles at us, French policemen besieged us, French judges imprisoned us. The French state had made an alliance with our enemy. The terrorists who had been its enemy only months before. Its army stood proudly side by side with murdering Arabs who were now known as “freedom fighters”. It attacked its fellow citizens. It remained callously passive whilst we were prey to the psychopaths of independence. The state, a traitor to itself, made truce with its habitual opponents, the self-righteous Parisian traitors of the Marxist imperium, the bag carriers, the big hearted fifth columnists, the ones who financed terrorism, the unthinking thinkers who cheered the FLN from the grandstand of their ivory tower, the fellow travellers in their cafes on the Boul'Mich, who filled their precious journals and reviews with calumnies about us. These smug grotesques with their complacent manifestos had no idea of our life, save through the misinformation they fed each other, they lied to themselves, they claimed we were fascists. What did they know of our history? What did they know of our silent suffering? Why did they hate us? We were French, that is what we believed, naively. I had yet to realise that when the French have no one else to turn against they turn against themselves. It was a lesson quickly learnt. France was a nation mutilating itself, it was chewing off a limb which it reckoned gangrenous, but which would haunt us. The amputee is forever revisited by the leg that is long since hurled into a hospital incinerator and turned to agri-fertilizer.

Before we fled, there was work to do. There were selected tasks to be undertaking. There was a legacy to be created, I was 16 years old. Park de Galland – they’ve changed the name, of course they’ve changed the name. Park de la Liberté. The dusty public garden off Rue Michelet, also changed, now named Didouche Mourad, one of their sacred fucking terrorists. Everyone knew about this park, a roofless house of assignation which I had never previously wished to visit, now I needed to. Late afternoon, I sat on a stone bench beneath contorted dragon trees, argons, and planes. The hard, fissured ground was littered with leathery seed pods and sloughed bark which was holed and popped. Twenty minutes. There were occasional footfalls and indeterminate figures on the terrace above, I wandered if that was where I should be. Was this the right part of the gardens? A further twenty minutes. There was a breath in the stiff leaves. A shadow passed against the sheer wall, veering and bending against the terraces balustrades. There was gust of fairground scent, Maderas de Oriente or it’s like, and sweet kief smoke, assassin smoke, an Arab whore stood before me. In those days I used to believe that they were all whores, Arab women, if they looked good enough. The others were failed whores, veiled to conceal their hideous faces. I waved a deck of banknotes then held it away from her. She stood over me and raised her skirt to reveal a deep forest of glistening hair in the midst of which was discernible a red sunset. She stroked it raspingly, a liquid colour version of the monochrome studies in my father’s library of venereal shame.  She moved towards me and put her hand on the part of my trousers which corresponded to my penis. She blew smoke at me, showed me a full horse-mouth of blue green teeth stopped with gold. She asked me what I wanted. I guided her onto the ground in front of me. She knelt, her tongue pushed out of her foul mouth, she was swift with my zip. My worry was blood and tissue on my ice blue jeans, on my punched toe-cap chisel toes, that was the last thing I wanted, almost the last. More than anything, I did not want any part of her to penetrate my clothes and touch my flesh. The pistol was in the inside pocket of my cobalt blue, chamois blouson, a Beretta M1951, which, when he handed it to me, Bébé called “one of our little Egyptian friends”. I shot her through the head just as he had instructed me, diagonally, a clean neat strike, a selective task, expertly prosecuted. She looked surprised. The last thing she did was to implore me with her eyes to undo what I had done. Too late. Even silenced, the report was cracking loud. Maybe my fear accentuated it? No, it was loud. The suppressor was not worthy of the name, yet if anyone heard there was no reaction, such was the frequency of shots in the city. It was quite interesting in a way to watch her go from life to death, an experience to learn from no doubt. Arab blood nourished Arab soil, the soil to which they claimed exclusive right. I wouldn’t say I felt elated. Satisfied, yes. I did up my zip and extinguished her drug cigarette with my foot. Ennio Conte was open. I celebrated the loss of my virginity with a lime sorbet. A special occasion merits the best.

[shade-without-color]

Camaraderie 5+1 witcher Fanfic: Chapter 5: A taking in the contract (Geralt’s story)

Note: After much delay, I have worked on the Toussaint fic which originally I supposed to work on Cahir and Milva but I was more or less completed with my Geralt chapter. In the books it was hinted he kept himself busy with contracts,so here is my attempt of one if not many contacts Geralt took before facing Vilgertoz, so the wraith-like creature is based on my culture,which is Meng Po which I did the tea element which is so creepy and I made a quick OC-Marcin with the brilliant Mark Rylance.

I have fun doing that chapter despite that long gestation process. So enjoy it :D Next will be Cahir and Milva which is slightly different tone wise.

“Well asides from the sentimentality of whom has fallen expect for you.” Regis simpered wistfully,he thought of Dethlaff for that one singular moment. How is he now? Supposed that fleeing to who knows where. “Suppose that you are an important aspect to gain Geralt’s freedom.” Dandelion’s mouth grew dry on that aspect,all that wistful nostalgia that they both talk about their times in Toussaint. “By unfortunate circumstances by Geralt’s choice of the contact,your former love Anna refused to be merciful. Dandelion picked up on Regis’ careful placement of words by addressing his ex-lover as “Your”, which of course sarcastically emphasised.

“What would Geralt got himself too that you needed my charm and wit.” as Dandelion spoke disdainfully.

“To get to the point,Geralt has been summoned by the court of Beauclair for a contact-“ Regis simpered slightly “The beast of Beauclair,the harbinger of a town seeped in religion and vice.” as he slowly reeled to Dandelion on the haunting case of the Beast of Beauclair as every intriguing as his tales. Regis observed Dandelion pressing his hand on his cheek,savoring each twist and turn. Maybe it would be a perfect ballad for him to compose. “Seems Anna got creative this time with the names of the opposed.” Seems she could not forget that contact Geralt took to clear the frightening succubus in the winding streets,though Dandelion knew there was a certain line of discretion on his part. “No surprise Geralt took that,flexed his brain muscles instead of sipping mead for days.”

Typical Geralt.

“It was that time when he was devising a way to trap the succubus.” as Dandelion drank a shot “Until he told me that story of you and that succubus,through us intruding you're ahem.” Regis raised an eyebrow There was a particular contact that etched on his mind,as he scanned through the dog-eared papers laid on the wall. His eyes widened slightly of a certain one-perhaps a ghastly wooden creature like a leshen. No a dangerous woman on the run or perhaps tracking of a missing person. “Well usually I do not read contacts but I can somehow recall wordings of that contact. It goes something like that.”

Geralt fingered the dog-eared notice,he glanced at the ink used to write that notice. That intensity of the ink speaks about his upbringing,must be the majordomo of the house.

Contract: The bleeder.

Looking for a monster slayer or a Witcher.

We do notice guests who came to our gathering to celebrate Lebodia’s resurrection that their mouths are bleeding and they drop like flies.

The reward would be well to feed a man a year,you can be guaranteed of that offer.

Come and look for the master of the house Marcin,the statues of the estate are decorated in the brightest pink and you see the crypt name with the words “To die is to live."

Dandelion notice a small smile of Geralt,as his ears perked up on that mhmm “It is rare as a blue moon that you actually smiled Geralt.” Dandelion chirped slightly “What is it this time,thinking of that Yen would cover over again to smoulder you.” Geralt heaved a loud sigh as if bemused by Dandelion’s response. “I do not smile at contracts.”

“Oh you do,I can read your damn face-“ as Dandelion watched his lip curled slightly at his biting comment “I know you for so long that whenever you have preset an interesting contact,you are grinning madly like an idiot thinking how you can solve it.” Geralt heaved exasperatedly ,perhaps it was gospel truth.

“Yes from the trial of the grasses,he could be stripped off from emotions but when he got an interesting contact to boot. I swear he was like a child at play.” Dandelion laughed bemusedly ,as he could recall how he kept one eye open to feel the vibrations of Gerald’s steps which of course are lighter than a drowner’s waddle. He passed through the floors like the shadows. And Dandelion shut his eyes,with a smug smile on his face.

Geralt cracked his neck slightly as he glanced upon a strange sight. It was very different from the winding graveyards of Toussaint scaled with moss and vine. It seems that it was brought life with little streams of pink flowers like the pain strokes of the esteemed Toussaint painters at that time. “I am looking for a man named Marcin,I read somewhere that you have some trouble in the fields.”

“Ahh someone has taken my contract.” He seems to move out from the shadows. There is something calming in his gaze as Geralt noticed how the children gathered around his cape,and a little girl tugging at the sleeve of his.  He seems rather gentle and kind “Master Witcher-“ as he bowed down slightly in reverence. “thank the gods you came.” Geralt raised an eyebrow on the child shivering on that sight. He observed how he would quell the child’s fear of seeing such a mutant like him. He smiled slightly for he could recall that time when Ciri encountered him,she must feel that fear inside

Marcin whispered slightly as he gathered the wood to create the fire “It is best to rest now Master Witcher, the haunting is far away. Care for a drink.“ the howl of the wind caused a shiver down his spine. He quickly sprinkles some herbs into a cup. “Surprising,usually people would just shun me,but hospitality. Rare.”

“We would do what is best.” Marcin simpered quietly “Yes we are poor,times can be sullen,but we are honest folk-“

Geralt bemused slightly,it was perhaps a refreshing change to the hardiness of its citizens,even at most the isles of Skelliege would open their arms thanks to his connections to Mousesack and the ambitious Cathalte.“So tell me about that party that you have seen those strange sightings Marcin When did it all happen?.” as he sipped that strange brew which to be honest is pretty much palatable as Regis’ brews.

“It all started out with this young man Lulcas. Bless his soul. Lebodia protects him.” as he pressed his fingers back and forth as if petitioning his soul,watching the clouds roll by. “As usual he seems ever joyful,I have seen him grew up to be a fine young man.” He could feel that ghost of that young man lingering around this venue. Geralt glanced at the veiled portrait of him,he must be the apple of his eye,by the sorrow of his voice. “So Lulcas went out hunting with few of the cousins,and I was getting ready for the feast for his birthday until I saw one of his serving boys came up. I could recall how his mouth is bleeding and I was calling the doctors to cure him. Bless him that he is making a recovery. From what I hear that he may glance upon a dark spirit just from the hunt.”

“Uhm” Geralt nodded slightly “then why did you raise it up now,if you know there is a dark spirit lurking around. there are many, wraiths,golems,banshees and if you are unlucky a mischievous djinn  “

“I beg your pardon-“ Marcin hissed slightly “Times are tough,it was said that even before my master was born,the persons who passed the house to my master's uncle Rumours said it was built under an elven sanctuary-related to some goddess,of course the master's uncle being eccentric kept some of the smashed artefacts,beautiful ones to be honest-"

As usaul,Toussaint seems frivolous in hiding its dark past,Geralt could glance at one of them,placed every so neatly on the family gallery along with the portraits of his past masters-a beautiful carved statute-he may not be a connoisseur of art like his friend Dandelion but he appreciated the artistry of the folds. "For instance that one." however Geralt has a hunching suspicion on that choice of item. True that angering the gods seems far-fetched but it may be the root of the family's woes."Yes." Marcin simpered quietly "And many others,my job is to clean them until they are tidy."

Geralt drank the tea "Hate to intrude but perhaps your master's uncle which he inherited,you may just accidentally unlocked a vengeful spirit, In fact, your little trinket could be the start of cursing your master's life as a form of retribution,but that is my guess."

Marcin's mouth grew wider in horror “No it cannot be.”

“I am not interested in your inclinations,we are all here to find your master.” Geralt hissed quietly “We are dealing with something dangerous,and it is best if you could cooperate.”

Marcin withheld his pride “Yes master Witcher.”

“Good can you show me the venue.”

“Gladly” Marcin spoke silently “be patient with me as I need to get the horses ready. It would be a long trek. Rest well.”,there he cued the servant to bring Geralt up. Geralt silently climbed up to the attic "Our servants provide you the room,it used to be Master Lulcas but it shall be your rest for the night." Geralt raised an eyebrow for such kind hospitality,he was so used to be jeered by the crowds,should he failed the contract. he could even be chased by the beagles. But suppose there is kindness in humanity.

“We will meet before dawn."

The wind seems to howl ever so quietly. Geralt could hear his medallion humming quietly as he braced to the saddle of the horse quietly. The bottles of potions tinkled with the air. Geralt could observe how Marcin’s face grew awfully pale just observing the ever changing picturesque landscape,as Geralt waxed it poetically in his mind-it was out of a fairytale with its rolling hills and the fireflies fluttering the way like lantern-bearers. The fragrance of its landscapes become heady,if not sickeningly sweet. “So this is where you last saw him. Master Lulcas.” as Geralt grew attuned with the surroundings. No foul play,a strewn body with the dressing of a noble,with bright purple and yellow tunic and pants “Hmm burnt marks,that seems not natural,he has a good hand-an archer?"

"According to the eyewitness,the last time he saw young Lulcas,he was with Bruno. He was a good archer,him and my master used to do archery matches as a knack to knack for scraps.”

” Geralt turned to Marcin,his body shook like the winds and his mouth grew dry “What did he wear for the hunt with Lulcas."

Marcin grew silent “He wore a purple and yellow doublet just like this corpse.”

“So that dead body must be one of the hunting companions-Bruno.” Geralt concluded cooly,as he flexed the arm slightly,swirling back and forth "It must be after a day or so. You are lucky that we do not have ghouls lurking around that area."

“Gods… Yes.” Marcin grew pale in horror,just that thought of poor Lulcas being torn by those horrid creatures. The sight of Bruno’s mauled body brought him shivers down his spine. “Lebodia protect us.” as Marcin swallowed his words slightly.

Geralt slowly observing the throat of the strewn body of Bruno "hmmm.." as he opened his throat,there is a strange aroma in his breath which Geralt tried to recall any plants that "He probably died from his own vomit,choked by someone who forcefully makes him drink a potion” as he noticed dribbles around his mouth. And another detail came in which is peculiar which is a sentence around that arm “Elven markings. Strange ” He muster the words of Eldar blood on his arm. “It sounds like a curse of him,an elven prophecy that they will never step into the ground.” That thought echoed in his mind as he glanced at the shadow of the figure. the fragrance grew even more potent as if hungering for the blood of those young men. “Seems we are dealing with an angering spirit” as he could feel his medallion shaking back and forth. It made Marcin even more frightening than before. “And it is guarding that land, he/she could sense that we trespassed it." Geralt could sense an angering presence in the field. "I think it would be best you leave me to that investigation.",Geralt let a deep sigh as he gave the horse to Marcin "Until I come back,I suggest measures protect the household from any attacks, sprinkle a line of salt and let no one,even that meddling child go out.”

“And I suggest,you help me to repeat these words to you and the residents in its house,to ease the spirit.” quickly he repeated those words and Marcin repeated again in a hushed manner. “Now go.” as Geralt watched the sun setting down.  “And remove those artefacts whenever they are and give it to a mage for safekeeping. ”Geralt could observe his hand trembled as he is holding the lantern.  "Yes master Witcher,and if you should find Master Lulcas-he wore a teal doublet,it was a gift from his grandparents many years back and a ring on his left pinkie finger with our house sign,it is the.”

And like the fog on the outskirts of Velen Marcin varnished to the horizon. The night has just begun as he glanced at the stars rising back and forth like the symphonies before. His mind calculated to alleviate the angering spirit. The spirit moved languidly back and forth. Its aroma grew heavier and heavier. His steps grew even further and further,as he noticed the many bodies,peasants from the nearby taverns,the possible members of Lulcas’ hunting party and perhaps some herbalists that are unlucky to handle the cruelty of the woods. Geralt squatted down quickly  examining the bodies “All have the same cause of breath,with the same aroma.”

At the end of the trail,his eye caught on the brightest doublet and that ring which Marcin described ever so vividly. “Looks exactly how Marcin describes it.” He examined every part of the body,it has that same burn as the victim,”But seems that Lulcas has his burn ringed around that neck,it seems that he have suffered more damage than the others.”

“Must be a wraith. Got to lure it out.” Geralt stood out the whole night,the stars seem to move back and forth,his hands trembled as he makes those oils and potions,recalling all of uncle Vesemir’s teachings of his childhood trekking down in the woods of Kaer Morhem or perhaps towards the banks of the Yargua. He squatted down quietly to let the wind guide him. The rustling of the wind grew even louder than ever, and Geralt’s senses become alive,as the heady fragrance grew heavier and heavier. he cracked open one eye,a ghostly figure came over him. She exuded a strange glow as she hissed on his face. He quickly unsheathed his sliver sword,shimmering with the spectre oil and a small bomb on his hand.

It did a dance smouldering Geralt’s senses,his heart slowly raced as his mind concerted on that creature. He smirked slightly as he made that slow dance with the wraith. Geralt gritted his teeth slightly as he twirled his sliver sword to the wraith. The diaphanous folds of the red dress blinded his eyes with toxic fogs. He created the Aard by lunging his hand to the air,creating a gap of fresh air for him to breathe and knocked down the creature. It somehow dissolved into the fogs,with piercing screams. His eyes twitched with determination as he crossed his wrists to make the Heliotrop sign to block away from the poisonous gases. Her cup grows fuller at every blow he did. Geralt thought quickly how to slay that spirit,it hissed even further at every block. Slowly she inches into Geralt's throat and slowly pours that dark liquid. Geralt struggled to remove himself,but he quickly made an upside down sign "the Aard" and it stopped momentarily. The blood dripped from his nose sizzled slightly and with his lightning quick reflexes he quickly grabs the creature's neck and choked it. with his sliver sword he stabbed the heart of the creature. It went deeper and deeper into the abyss.

At the final blow,Geralt fainted on the grassy plains and what he could recall little are the screams of the creature.

Geralt laid slightly on the bed,he tried to stretch himself slightly to see Marcin smiling slightly “When I saw you, my men gave you some food and drink to sustain you. Do you manage to clear off that angry spirit? I did as you said, quickly give the artefacts for the mage for safekeeping."

"It is done." Geralt mummer slightly,his body grew weary from that contract “Spirit should keep you away from your estate for a long time-“

“How about master Lulcas..” Marcin mumbled slightly,his hands swiping back and forth in anxiety for the safe return of him. “He is dead,like his companion Bruno. I am sorry.” Geralt mummer slightly,which he has seen a change in his heart-for that one moment he watched Marcin shed a small tear. He grew numb on that news. He tried to swallow the lump from his throat.”Thank you for helping us,at least his death is avenged. Lebodia take pity on us." as he offer a glass of strong spirit to revitalise him. “that should do you the trick,I will get my men to escort you back.”,there he gave him a firm handshake and small satchel of coins “For your keeping as agreed,should you come back to Toussaint,do pay a visit. Rest well,you may wake up early to travel back to your lodgings.”

Regis could not help but to laugh at that moment when Geralt got escorted by a few stately gentlemen “As I was reading up the medical diagrams which I bought from a local herbalist I recalled Geralt stinking like a mammune that I have to burn stalks of rosemary to get rid of that smell."

“You looked as if you need some rest.” Regis simpered quietly. Geralt rolled his eyes slightly,as he glanced at Regis smiling smugly as he watched the men leaving by safe and sound “And I am surprised you have some men who treated you like the king. Did the person who gives you a contact to comment on your hard work to get rid of this evil. I supposed you have used your charm to rub you to get that deluxe treatment "

"Cut it.” Geralt mumbled slightly as he plopped himself on the bed. “Do not rub it Regis do not.”

Dandelion woke up with that noise “Did I hear that Geralt has been treated like a king,for that should be interesting..”

“Hush…”

Dandelion laughed so hard,until his cheeks flushed red “I think Geralt enjoyed that treatment,for once he did not get spit by a contact dealer. As usual Witcher mutations hid his emotions expect for a bemused smile.”

“Poetically apt-“ Regis laughed merrily “Anyway we should not idle for any longer,you are the key to Geralt’s freedom.” For once Dandelion beamed slightly on these words “He would surely need a friend like you.” Regis gave a wink “I got it all planned,you just have to do all of the talking."

[maxihealth]

Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2020

Today as we appreciate the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., I post a photo of him in my hometown of Detroit in 1963, giving a preliminary version of the “I Have a Dream” speech he would deliver two months later in Washington, DC.

Wisdom from the speech: “But now more than ever before, America is forced to grapple with this problem, for the shape of the world today does not afford us the luxury of an anemic democracy. The price that this nation must pay for the continued oppression and exploitation of the Negro or any other minority group is the price of its own destruction. For the hour is late. The clock of destiny is tickling out, and we must act now before it is too late.”

As I meditate on MLK, I think about health equity. By now, most clued-in Americans know the score on the nation’s collective health status compared to other developed countries: suffice it to say, We’re Still Not #1 for health outcomes, albeit we’re the biggest spender on healthcare, per health citizen, in the world.

Underneath that statistic is a shameful state of health affairs: that people of color and the LGBTQ communities in the U.S. have lower quality of health and many services than white people do:

Black women have higher breast cancer death rates than White women

Asian women are less likely than White women to receive a pap smear

Hispanic women are more likely than non-Hispanic White women to be diagnosed with cervical cancer at an advanced stage

Rates of hospital admissions for uncontrolled diabetes are higher for Black women than for women in other racial/ethnic groups

The rate of hospital admissions for lower extremity amputations due to uncontrolled diabetes is higher for Black women than White women

The rate of new AIDS cases is higher for Black and Hispanic women than for non-Hispanic White women. Black and Hispanic men had even higher rates than women, as well as higher rates than non-Hispanic White men

Black women receive treatment for depression less frequently than White women and Hispanic women received treatment less frequently than non-Hispanic White women

Hispanic women received treatment for substance abuse less frequently than non-Hispanic White women.

If these statistics don’t move you, then here’s a finding from the National Academy of Science’s Shorter Lives, Poorer Health that might surprise you: today, people in the U.S. under 50 have poorer health outcomes than our cohorts in other developed countries. For women under 50, we’d rather live in other industrialized countries where fewer women under 50 die from noncommunicable diseases, heart disease, injuries, perinatal conditions, drug-related causes, and communicable and nutritional conditions.

Yes, more younger women in the U.S. — the wealthiest nation in the world — lose more life-years due to malnutrition, infectious disease, injury, and lifestyle-borne diseases like diabetes and heart disease than in our fellow rich countries.

And in 2018, a new statistic emerging that the rate among women for deaths due to opioid overdoses rose. One of the most heartbreaking aspects of this concerning trend is a link to pregnant women and newborns.

What’s new today versus previous MLK Days is that the rate of white male middle-age deaths is on the rise, as well. So when we consider health disparities and public health, it’s important to realize there’s one boat, one health commons, and every person in America is impacted by those social determinants of health beyond the healthcare system: clean air (ask a miner in West Virginia), clean water (ask your cousin in Flint, Michigan), good jobs (with health benefits – ask any worker without them), nutritious food (ask someone living in a food desert), social connections (ask an isolated senior), and in my growing appreciation, access to connectivity/broadband networks (ask anyone looking for a job  or a clinic for a lab test without a good smartphone data plan).

In 2019, an emerging concern is how the growth in adoption of artificial intelligence and cognitive computing among health care organizations – particularly, insurance plans, providers, and pharma. AI can be used for good, to be sure. The promises of Big Data in health cover a wide range: hospitals anticipating and preventing inpatient readmissions; health plans deploying more effective population health programs; and research-based life science companies being more intelligent and efficient in finding cures.

But AI also can mine data from sources beyond the medical claim that mashed together profile people in ways that can be used to bias business choices in the interest of cost-saving or simply-put, prejudice. We must guard against exacerbating health disparities with these sorts of AI applications in health and medical care.

Last year’s U.S. District judge ruling against the Trump administration’s decision to add a citizenship question to the 2020 U.S . Census is another example of how institutions, and public ones at that, can try to mis-use data or mis-appropriate data. For an in-depth look into this phenomenon, see my report, Here’s Looking at You: How Personal Health Information is Getting Tracked and Used, written for the California Healthcare Foundation.

Finally, read what U.S. doctors have to say about health disparities in JAMA. The top line for doctors lies in the concluding sentence: “Apart from the human and economic consequences affecting today’s adults and workforce, the health disadvantages faced by today’s children carry profound implications for tomorrow’s adults, the nation’s economy, and national security. Now the question is what US society is prepared to do about it.” 

To this end, I am encouraged (immediate-term, anyway) by the growing understanding and embrace of the role of social determinants for health in America among both providers and health plans.

Coming full circle to Dr. King, there’s a paragraph from MLK’s speech delivered at the Great March of Detroit that especially resonates on his special Day:

“We are coming to see now, the psychiatrists are saying to us, that many of the strange things that happen in the subconscious, many of the inner conflicts, are rooted in hate. And so they are saying, ‘Love or perish.’ But Jesus told us this a long time ago. And I can still hear that voice crying through the vista of time, saying, ‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you.’”

Health Populi’s Hot Points:  I am a child of metro Detroit. As a very little girl, I lived through the Detroit Riots of 1967, a few days after which my father drove us through the fire-devastated neighborhoods of his friends and clients who lived and worked around 12th Street and Grand River. It was a visceral moment for me in my life, one of my earliest memories, seeing burned-out shops on pedestrian main streets. I remember still the smoky smell which my young lungs breathed in. I wondered why something like this happens.

In a few years’ time, I was reading Martin Luther King’s book, Why We Can’t Wait; The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and Native Son by Richard Wright — still, one of my favorite books. In college, I delved deeply into urban economics and urban planning, soaking in Jane Jacobs’ seminal work, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, among other influential books on the syllabus.

At the University of Michigan School of Public Health, I then learned to connect the dots between our environment, our socioeconomic status — especially the role of education — and health.

Addressing health disparities is as much about access to health insurance as it is to access to good and well-priced food, safe schools, education, good jobs, and sound social policies about gun ownership and use. We must also attend to seeing that broadband and connectivity, and net neutrality for access to the online world, services, and communities, are guaranteed to all health citizens in America.

These interrelationships are fundamental to public health thinking. Those of us whose work touches any aspect of health and health care must attend to public health and commit to reducing health disparities in America. A healthy populace is more productive across so many dimensions. As we continue the hard work to re-build the national economy and continue to expand affordable health care access, public health should and must be seen and used as a pillar for economic growth.

This is a key call-to-action I raise at the conclusion of my book, HealthConsuming: From Health Consumer to Health Citizen, most Americans, having morphed into payors and consumers, see health care as a human or civil right. As health citizens, people in America would be covered by universal health insurance and more comprehensive data privacy protections. That’s the rights side of the civics ledger. On the responsibilities side, Americans must become more politically engaged, embracing their role as citizens and the blessings of the freedom to vote and engage in public policy in the commons. That’s what MLK would have wanted.

This post was updated from previous versions that have run here on Health Populi to commemorate Martin Luther King, Jr.’s, birthday. 

The post Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2020 appeared first on HealthPopuli.com.

Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2020 posted first on https://carilloncitydental.blogspot.com

[titheguerrero]

Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2019

On this weekend as we appreciate the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., I post a photo of him in my hometown of Detroit in 1963, giving a preliminary version of the “I Have a Dream” speech he would deliver two months later in Washington, DC.

Wisdom from the speech: “But now more than ever before, America is forced to grapple with this problem, for the shape of the world today does not afford us the luxury of an anemic democracy. The price that this nation must pay for the continued oppression and exploitation of the Negro or any other minority group is the price of its own destruction. For the hour is late. The clock of destiny is tickling out, and we must act now before it is too late.”

As I meditate on MLK, I think about health equity. By now, most clued-in Americans know the score on the nation’s collective health status compared to other developed countries: suffice it to say, We’re Still Not #1 for health outcomes, albeit we’re the biggest spender on healthcare, per health citizen, in the world.

Underneath that statistic is a shameful state of health affairs: that people of color and the LGBTQ communities in the U.S. have lower quality of health and many services than white people do:

Black women have higher breast cancer death rates than White women

Asian women are less likely than White women to receive a pap smear

Hispanic women are more likely than non-Hispanic White women to be diagnosed with cervical cancer at an advanced stage

Rates of hospital admissions for uncontrolled diabetes are higher for Black women than for women in other racial/ethnic groups

The rate of hospital admissions for lower extremity amputations due to uncontrolled diabetes is higher for Black women than White women

The rate of new AIDS cases is higher for Black and Hispanic women than for non-Hispanic White women. Black and Hispanic men had even higher rates than women, as well as higher rates than non-Hispanic White men

Black women receive treatment for depression less frequently than White women and Hispanic women received treatment less frequently than non-Hispanic White women

Hispanic women received treatment for substance abuse less frequently than non-Hispanic White women.

If these statistics don’t move you, then here’s a finding from the National Academy of Science’s Shorter Lives, Poorer Health that might surprise you: today, people in the U.S. under 50 have poorer health outcomes than our cohorts in other developed countries. For women under 50, we’d rather live in other industrialized countries where fewer women under 50 die from noncommunicable diseases, heart disease, injuries, perinatal conditions, drug-related causes, and communicable and nutritional conditions.

Yes, more younger women in the U.S. — the wealthiest nation in the world — lose more life-years due to malnutrition, infectious disease, injury, and lifestyle-borne diseases like diabetes and heart disease than in our fellow rich countries.

And in 2018, a new statistic emerging that the rate among women for deaths due to opioid overdoses rose. One of the most heartbreaking aspects of this concerning trend is a link to pregnant women and newborns.

What’s new today versus previous MLK Days is that the rate of white male middle-age deaths is on the rise, as well. So when we consider health disparities and public health, it’s important to realize there’s one boat, one health commons, and every person in America is impacted by those social determinants of health beyond the healthcare system: clean air (ask a miner in West Virginia), clean water (ask your cousin in Flint, Michigan), good jobs (with health benefits – ask any worker without them), nutritious food (ask someone living in a food desert), social connections (ask an isolated senior), and in my growing appreciation, access to connectivity/broadband networks (ask anyone looking for a job  or a clinic for a lab test without a good smartphone data plan).

In 2019, an emerging concern is how the growth in adoption of artificial intelligence and cognitive computing among health care organizations – particularly, insurance plans, providers, and pharma. AI can be used for good, to be sure. The promises of Big Data in health cover a wide range: hospitals anticipating and preventing inpatient readmissions; health plans deploying more effective population health programs; and research-based life science companies being more intelligent and efficient in finding cures.

But AI also can mine data from sources beyond the medical claim that mashed together profile people in ways that can be used to bias business choices in the interest of cost-saving or simply-put, prejudice. We must guard against exacerbating health disparities with these sorts of AI applications in health and medical care.

This week’s news covering a U.S. District judge ruling against the Trump administration’s decision to add a citizenship question to the 2020 U.S . Census is another example of how institutions, and public ones at that, can try to mis-use data or mis-appropriate data. For an in-depth look into this phenomenon, see my report, Here’s Looking at You: How Personal Health Information is Getting Tracked and Used, written for the California Healthcare Foundation.

Finally, read what U.S. doctors have to say about health disparities in JAMA. The top line for doctors lies in the concluding sentence: “Apart from the human and economic consequences affecting today’s adults and workforce, the health disadvantages faced by today’s children carry profound implications for tomorrow’s adults, the nation’s economy, and national security. Now the question is what US society is prepared to do about it.” 

To this end, I am encouraged (immediate-term, anyway) by the growing understanding and embrace of the role of social determinants for health in America among both providers and health plans.

Coming full circle to Dr. King, there’s a paragraph from MLK’s speech delivered at the Great March of Detroit that especially resonates on his special Day:

“We are coming to see now, the psychiatrists are saying to us, that many of the strange things that happen in the subconscious, many of the inner conflicts, are rooted in hate. And so they are saying, ‘Love or perish.’ But Jesus told us this a long time ago. And I can still hear that voice crying through the vista of time, saying, ‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you.'”

Health Populi’s Hot Points:  I am a child of metro Detroit. As a very little girl, I lived through the Detroit Riots of 1967, a few days after which my father drove us through the fire-devastated neighborhoods of his friends and clients who lived and worked around 12th Street and Grand River. It was a visceral moment for me in my life, one of my earliest memories, seeing burned-out shops on pedestrian main streets. I remember still the smoky smell which my young lungs breathed in. I wondered why something like this happens.

In a few years’ time, I was reading Martin Luther King’s book, Why We Can’t Wait; The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and Native Son by Richard Wright — still, one of my favorite books. In college, I delved deeply into urban economics and urban planning, soaking in Jane Jacobs’ seminal work, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, among other influential books on the syllabus.

At the University of Michigan School of Public Health, I then learned to connect the dots between our environment, our socioeconomic status — especially the role of education — and health.

Addressing health disparities is as much about access to health insurance as it is to access to good and well-priced food, safe schools, education, good jobs, and sound social policies about gun ownership and use. We must also attend to seeing that broadband and connectivity, and net neutrality for access to the online world, services, and communities, are guaranteed to all health citizens in America.

These interrelationships are fundamental to public health thinking. Those of us whose work touches any aspect of health and health care must attend to public health and commit to reducing health disparities in America. A healthy populace is more productive across so many dimensions. As we continue the hard work to re-build the national economy and continue to expand affordable health care access, public health should and must be seen and used as a pillar for economic growth.

  This post is updated from previous versions that have run here on Health Populi to commemorate Martin Luther King, Jr.’s, birthday. 

The post Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2019 appeared first on HealthPopuli.com.

Article source:Health Populi

[realselfblog]

Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2019

On this weekend as we appreciate the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., I post a photo of him in my hometown of Detroit in 1963, giving a preliminary version of the “I Have a Dream” speech he would deliver two months later in Washington, DC.

Wisdom from the speech: “But now more than ever before, America is forced to grapple with this problem, for the shape of the world today does not afford us the luxury of an anemic democracy. The price that this nation must pay for the continued oppression and exploitation of the Negro or any other minority group is the price of its own destruction. For the hour is late. The clock of destiny is tickling out, and we must act now before it is too late.”

As I meditate on MLK, I think about health equity. By now, most clued-in Americans know the score on the nation’s collective health status compared to other developed countries: suffice it to say, We’re Still Not #1 for health outcomes, albeit we’re the biggest spender on healthcare, per health citizen, in the world.

Underneath that statistic is a shameful state of health affairs: that people of color and the LGBTQ communities in the U.S. have lower quality of health and many services than white people do:

Black women have higher breast cancer death rates than White women

Asian women are less likely than White women to receive a pap smear

Hispanic women are more likely than non-Hispanic White women to be diagnosed with cervical cancer at an advanced stage

Rates of hospital admissions for uncontrolled diabetes are higher for Black women than for women in other racial/ethnic groups

The rate of hospital admissions for lower extremity amputations due to uncontrolled diabetes is higher for Black women than White women

The rate of new AIDS cases is higher for Black and Hispanic women than for non-Hispanic White women. Black and Hispanic men had even higher rates than women, as well as higher rates than non-Hispanic White men

Black women receive treatment for depression less frequently than White women and Hispanic women received treatment less frequently than non-Hispanic White women

Hispanic women received treatment for substance abuse less frequently than non-Hispanic White women.

If these statistics don’t move you, then here’s a finding from the National Academy of Science’s Shorter Lives, Poorer Health that might surprise you: today, people in the U.S. under 50 have poorer health outcomes than our cohorts in other developed countries. For women under 50, we’d rather live in other industrialized countries where fewer women under 50 die from noncommunicable diseases, heart disease, injuries, perinatal conditions, drug-related causes, and communicable and nutritional conditions.

Yes, more younger women in the U.S. — the wealthiest nation in the world — lose more life-years due to malnutrition, infectious disease, injury, and lifestyle-borne diseases like diabetes and heart disease than in our fellow rich countries.

And in 2018, a new statistic emerging that the rate among women for deaths due to opioid overdoses rose. One of the most heartbreaking aspects of this concerning trend is a link to pregnant women and newborns.

What’s new today versus previous MLK Days is that the rate of white male middle-age deaths is on the rise, as well. So when we consider health disparities and public health, it’s important to realize there’s one boat, one health commons, and every person in America is impacted by those social determinants of health beyond the healthcare system: clean air (ask a miner in West Virginia), clean water (ask your cousin in Flint, Michigan), good jobs (with health benefits – ask any worker without them), nutritious food (ask someone living in a food desert), social connections (ask an isolated senior), and in my growing appreciation, access to connectivity/broadband networks (ask anyone looking for a job  or a clinic for a lab test without a good smartphone data plan).

In 2019, an emerging concern is how the growth in adoption of artificial intelligence and cognitive computing among health care organizations – particularly, insurance plans, providers, and pharma. AI can be used for good, to be sure. The promises of Big Data in health cover a wide range: hospitals anticipating and preventing inpatient readmissions; health plans deploying more effective population health programs; and research-based life science companies being more intelligent and efficient in finding cures.

But AI also can mine data from sources beyond the medical claim that mashed together profile people in ways that can be used to bias business choices in the interest of cost-saving or simply-put, prejudice. We must guard against exacerbating health disparities with these sorts of AI applications in health and medical care.

This week’s news covering a U.S. District judge ruling against the Trump administration’s decision to add a citizenship question to the 2020 U.S . Census is another example of how institutions, and public ones at that, can try to mis-use data or mis-appropriate data. For an in-depth look into this phenomenon, see my report, Here’s Looking at You: How Personal Health Information is Getting Tracked and Used, written for the California Healthcare Foundation.

Finally, read what U.S. doctors have to say about health disparities in JAMA. The top line for doctors lies in the concluding sentence: “Apart from the human and economic consequences affecting today’s adults and workforce, the health disadvantages faced by today’s children carry profound implications for tomorrow’s adults, the nation’s economy, and national security. Now the question is what US society is prepared to do about it.” 

To this end, I am encouraged (immediate-term, anyway) by the growing understanding and embrace of the role of social determinants for health in America among both providers and health plans.

Coming full circle to Dr. King, there’s a paragraph from MLK’s speech delivered at the Great March of Detroit that especially resonates on his special Day:

“We are coming to see now, the psychiatrists are saying to us, that many of the strange things that happen in the subconscious, many of the inner conflicts, are rooted in hate. And so they are saying, ‘Love or perish.’ But Jesus told us this a long time ago. And I can still hear that voice crying through the vista of time, saying, ‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you.'”

Health Populi’s Hot Points:  I am a child of metro Detroit. As a very little girl, I lived through the Detroit Riots of 1967, a few days after which my father drove us through the fire-devastated neighborhoods of his friends and clients who lived and worked around 12th Street and Grand River. It was a visceral moment for me in my life, one of my earliest memories, seeing burned-out shops on pedestrian main streets. I remember still the smoky smell which my young lungs breathed in. I wondered why something like this happens.

In a few years’ time, I was reading Martin Luther King’s book, Why We Can’t Wait; The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and Native Son by Richard Wright — still, one of my favorite books. In college, I delved deeply into urban economics and urban planning, soaking in Jane Jacobs’ seminal work, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, among other influential books on the syllabus.

At the University of Michigan School of Public Health, I then learned to connect the dots between our environment, our socioeconomic status — especially the role of education — and health.

Addressing health disparities is as much about access to health insurance as it is to access to good and well-priced food, safe schools, education, good jobs, and sound social policies about gun ownership and use. We must also attend to seeing that broadband and connectivity, and net neutrality for access to the online world, services, and communities, are guaranteed to all health citizens in America.

These interrelationships are fundamental to public health thinking. Those of us whose work touches any aspect of health and health care must attend to public health and commit to reducing health disparities in America. A healthy populace is more productive across so many dimensions. As we continue the hard work to re-build the national economy and continue to expand affordable health care access, public health should and must be seen and used as a pillar for economic growth.

 This post is updated from previous versions that have run here on Health Populi to commemorate Martin Luther King, Jr.’s, birthday. 

The post Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2019 appeared first on HealthPopuli.com.

Calling Out Health Equity on Martin Luther King Day 2019 posted first on http://dentistfortworth.blogspot.com

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Fatal Flaw ( Original Sin )

Fatal Flaw  :: By Robert Fleischmann Published on:

September 26, 2017

The tenets of evolution and creation conflict on many points but none as significantly as on the reality of original sin. Original sin can be defined as: “The guilt and sinfulness inherited by all people as a result of Adam’s fall into sin.”

We also call this the “sinful nature” of human beings. Scripture describes it this way:

The LORD smelled the pleasing aroma and said in his heart: “Never again will I curse the ground because of humans, even though every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood. And never again will I destroy all living creatures, as I have done. (Genesis 8:21)

Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. (Psalm 51:5)

For it is from within, out of a person’s heart, that evil thoughts come—sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly. All these evils come from inside and defile a person.” (Mark 7:21–23)

Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned (Romans 5:12)

For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. (Romans 7:18–21)

The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. (Romans 8:7)

All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath. (Ephesians 2:3)

In contemporary parlance, we speak of the sinful nature as if it is a state of morality. We talk about the kind and good as “moral” and excessively sinful as “immoral.” The way we speak implies there are levels of morality – presupposing no one is (or was) truly, fully, and completely immoral or fully and completely moral.

Within the theory of evolution is the idea that as we physically evolve from a lower to a higher species we also socially and morally evolve from lower to higher. In The Descent of Man, Charles Darwin wrote: “I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers who maintain that of all the differences between man and the lower animals, the moral sense or conscience is by far the most important.”

Many suggest that in time we breed immorality out of the human species.  As our physical bodies continue to evolve to a higher level our sense of morality would also evolve to a higher level, just as a higher sense of morality is apparent in human beings than with their presumed lower evolved cousins in the animal world.

While many disciples of evolution presume a moral evolution that coincides with a physical evolution, Scripture speaks quite the contrary. Jesus warned, “Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold” (Matthew 24:12).

This passage suggests that wickedness increases with time and, correspondingly, so does the chilling of love. That is not evolution but “devolution.” There is a moral decline that occurs when the sinful nature, left unchecked, brings increased immorality.

The solution for many is to redefine immorality. Offensive practices rejected a century or generation ago are now embraced as our new morality. Scripture says:

Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. (Isaiah 5:20)

For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. (2 Timothy 4:3–4)

By embracing the tenets of evolution, we ignore the original sin in all of us. We already hear it in our utopian descriptions of human beings as being fundamentally good. We talk about how people who seem bad on the outside, “deep down are good.” Nonsense.

There is no evidence that humanity is becoming increasingly moral and pure. In fact, the evidence speaks clearly to the contrary. Stories of great cruelty are often quickly dismissed as anecdotal and anomalies in what is otherwise a “good” culture. In reality, history up to the present time, tells of entire groups of people embracing practices that presently or formerly were considered immoral.

The greatest concern with this evolutionistic view of morality is that by ignoring our sinful natures, and our inclinations to go bad when given the opportunity, we naively overlook immoral or questionable bioethical experimentation as dangerous. We think the adaption of CRISPR technology to cure defects should be pursued because we would never cave into the minority voices that would abuse the power. We think experimentation in transhumanism to repair defective, disabled, or removed limbs and body parts can only help people and that only a few would use it wrongfully – and we can protect against that.

Consider for a moment the early promotion of birth control to help families control the number of children they had. The target audience was families because any sexual activity outside of marriage was deemed immoral both by Scripture and society. Today we use tax money to provide birth control for sexual activity between unmarried and same-sex people.

We looked to in-vitro fertilization as a way to help the infertile bear children. In time the technology was used to selectively choose “good” embryos and destroy “bad” embryos. And in removing any conscience pangs over the destruction of life at conception (remember Psalm 51:5), scientists redefined conception to no longer mean fertilization but implantation.

Advocates promoted legal abortion to benefit relatively few women who faced an unplanned pregnancy. Advocates claimed the number of abortions would likely not change drastically from the levels in the early 1970s.  Today we are nearing 60 million abortions since its legalization in 1973.  And today, something like 45% of all abortions are performed on women who already had at least one previous abortion.  For them, it has become a form of birth control.

At every turn, an opportunity to do a presumed good becomes perverted into an evil abuse. Do you think a technology that might obliterate a disability on the genetic level would never be used to enhance some abilities for nefarious reasons? Do you think we settle for normalcy when the technology permits us to go further?

I do not fear technology. In fact, I embrace it with excitement. I am always aware of original sin, however. Given the opportunity, much of the technology we all have access to can be used for evil, and many use it that way. Our computers that help us work faster and more accurately also now provide great temptations for the users and becomes instruments of evil for those who hack them.

You see it going on now with payment technology. Credit cards which reduced the content of cash in one’s wallet can be hacked at ATMs and gas pumps.

My point is that for every advancement made in technology and biotechnology for the good of people, an imaginative culture can take it and use it for evil. We know this not just from experience but divine revelation. All of us have a sinful nature. The capability to do evil does not evolve out of existence. Instead, our love and commitment to others become calloused over time.

Operating in a vacuum that ignores original sin invites trouble.  No one is exempt.  Because of original sin even the kindest and most moral of people has the propensity to do evil. Knowing this, plan accordingly. We must regulate most technology and biotechnology because its potential for harm is great. We might even need to forbid that which seems possible because we lack the moral strength to use it correctly.

It is naïve to pursue technology and biotechnology with the flawed notion that we morally improve. We need this kind of acknowledgment about the nature of human beings to protect ourselves from our evil inclinations. We must regulate and in some cases outlaw those things which permit immorality. We must adhere to the objective standard of morality, namely, Scripture, so we don’t find ourselves making it up as we go.