#She may be a war criminal but she is me dar criminal

[littlemothcreature]

I saw this cute picture of this little Catra while looking for references for a drawing

I could not help but think she looks perfect to hold so i felt the need to do this...

Good Bless her

[countessofbiscuit]

What are your Bobasoka headcanons? I've already gone through all of the (criminally little) fic on ao3 and I especially loved Smothered and Covered, and I saw the majority of the fics in the tag were gifted to you so I'm assuming you're the OG shipper. Feel free to essay if you like!!

Thanks for the ask and kind words about that fic :3 

Oh, Bobasoka … where to begin? It’s a pairing that’s been bumping around in exchange requests for a few years — I figure it’d be easy for anyone invested in Ahsoka’s relationship with the clones to be compelled by the idea. Lledra used to draw Boba and Ahsoka interacting, and it was probably a few panels of their incredible Destinies comic that set my Bobasoka wheels turning. I’m also drawn to them because their journeys traverse so much canon; there’s not just a sandbox to play in, but a whole goddamn stretch of beach, stretching far out into the horizon ...  (#AhsokaLives #BobaSurvived :D)

I have to lead with the proviso that almost everything I write/daydream about/headcanon has a groundsheet of Rexsoka. Ahsoka’s interest in Boba, in my head, is intimately tied up with her attraction to and/or relationship with Rex — or, at the bare minimum, her intimate fellowship with the clones. She went through puberty (maybe with heats!) surrounded by a literal army of handsome, roughly college-aged dudes; that must’ve been a heady mix of heaven and hell. If she didn’t quench her thirst before war’s end and her (eventual) separation from Rex, she’d probably be pretty dehydrated when stumbling across Boba. As for Boba’s attraction to Ahsoka, well ... she’s very pretty, she’s potentially useful, she’s not likely to skewer him in his sleep (+2) on account of being a Jedi (-1), and now she’s the one down on her luck; if he falls in bed with anyone, why not this girl who isn’t afraid of him and stares a lot at his lips?                         

And Boba is like a hot shipping potato — satisfying, hard to fuck up, goes well (read: makes for an intriguing story) with almost everyone. And I think it has everything to do with his liminality, something he shares with Ahsoka and probably recognizes.          

Their neither-this-nor-that-ness overlap in such interesting ways, and they each bring their identity issues to the table — Ahsoka as an on-again, off-again Jedi; Boba as a clone who isn’t a Clone™, a Mandalorian by birth and bearing, but not by the book. At different points in their stories, they identify as different things, and that would affect their headspace and color their view of the other. They wrestle with themselves and each other. Force-user and bounty hunter; privileged topsider and orphaned juvenile delinquent fugitive; GAR commander and outcast clone; Jedi and Mandalorian; Disillusioned veteran and disaffected army brat; Rebellion agent and Imperial contractor.

And as much conflict is baked into these dynamics, it also generates a certain magnetism; and I believe they recognize, on some level, their shared trauma and the symmetry in their experiences. Boba and Ahsoka both have happy childhoods with very little to distress or vex them (beyond the art, I do not jive with Age of Republic: Jango Fett, a Disney-canon comic that not only doubles-down on the Jango-wasn’t-Mando nonsense, but shows him being rather cavalier about Boba’s life); Geonosis happens and their adolescent lives are dominated by war (which is how they came to actively threaten each other as space!secondary-schoolers — whaaaaatf!); they are both dubiously (even wrongfully) imprisoned; and they both suffer alienation and incredible personal loss.  

Boba was set apart from the clones before he was even pulled him from the jar, othered and elevated from the beginning. He never bonded with brothers, he does not identify as a clone. And while there are examples of clones making overtures to him, canonically his relationship with them is fraught and probably made worse when he gets banged up in Republic Central at the tender age of eleven or twelve — and of course, Ahsoka is an accessory to this, the second chapter in his tragedy at the hands of the Jedi. He needed help (whether he wanted it or not), it was not given by clones or Jedi alike (hamstrung by bureaucracy, sure, but surely some other means of intervention might have been lobbied for?), and Boba becomes a right teenage disaster, well-balanced only in the sense that he has a chip on both shoulders.

(n.b. Putting my RepComm hat on for a second, I can’t help but sniffle-laugh at the idea that the Alphas watched him get thrown in a maximum-security slammer and were like “Ah, there he is, the feral vod’ika. First time, we’ll let the little snot earn his stripes. Second time, we’ll bust him out and send him on a tough love retreat with A’den or Jaing.”)

Ahsoka, meanwhile, is part-and-parcel of the institutions that Boba sets himself against, even after she too has been cast out by circumstances beyond her control. She grows up in a supportive Jedi community and then spends some seriously formative years with a whole slew of brothers — brothers that should have been Boba’s! 

Boba, on the other hand, is a great example of the proverb that a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. (As he tells Hondo, “Why should I help anybody? I’ve got no one.”) 

The resentment that must create! But also, later, the quiet empathy too — maybe when Boba’s having one of his better days and Ahsoka’s obviously not. 

And all of the above is interesting enough, without also touching upon the wildcard that is Mandalore.

Boba’s relationship with Mandalore .... well, that’s contested in- and out-of-universe and I won’t allow myself to essay overmuch. I subscribe firmly to a Mandalorian Fetts construction of canon, even though Boba must be someone who struggles mightily with Mandalorian identity. He’s raised by a bona fide Mando, a solicitous, loving father who’d have no reason not to pass on his language and beliefs; but at the same time, it takes that village, and when Boba’s clan of two is shattered, he has no one else. The loss of his dad unmoors him from his only anchor to Mandalorian culture and clan.

If Boba had been close to the Cuy’val Dar, one would think he’d have turned to them rather than fall in with Jango’s criminal acquaintances; or maybe the bounty hunters just scooped him up first, and troubled lil’ Boba was shepherded through bereavement by folks who enabled and encouraged him to externalize his anger in a way that gave him a (false) feeling of agency and strength. 

Whatever the reasons, Boba does not repatriate himself to Mandalore (much to Fenn Shysa’s melodramatic dismay). He strikes me as a lapsed Mandalorian; he doesn’t exactly follow the creed besides wearing the armor (scavenged? his dad’s sans helmet? canon is confused on this point, but he doesn’t go Mando until the unfinished arcs at the end of TCW, either for lack of stature, lack of armor, or lack of enthusiasm). I feel like if someone rocked up to Boba in a cantina and had the balls to ask “hey, so you a Mandalorian?” Boba would be like “<ominously slow helmet tilt> who’s asking” and never give you a straight answer.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka gets a crash course on Mandalore from none other than someone who, at one point, belonged to a sect that wanted to expunge Jaster’s legacy from the galaxy — and at the very least, had reason to dislike clones. This isn’t the place to explore my Boba/Bo-Katan feelings, but know that they are fathomless, and I would pay good money to be a fly on the wall of that Kom’rk when Bo-Katan gives Ahsoka Mando History 101 with her own special sauce. Ahsoka is probably more up-to-speed on Mandalore than Boba, and at one point, she may even own more beskar than him! (n.b. After the crash, I think one of the first places Rex and Ahsoka bounce is just inside Mando space, to scope out the Sundari situation and maybe try to scramble a signal to Bo-Katan; she’d have the goodwill to at least get them back on their feet if she can’t help them lay low herself. For a variety of reasons worth maybe ficcing down the line, they aren’t successful.)

I don’t really have a concluding statement except, I just think Bobasoka’s neat :) They hit all my depressed-Millennial buttons.

Headcanon by bullet-point isn’t really my style, but this is tumblr so ... tl;dr:

They recognize a lot in each other, even if they’re slow to admit it, if ever. Boba’s a cagey bastard and Ahsoka doesn’t ever like him enough to be emotionally honest.

They bump into each other during Ahsoka’s walkabout(s) ‘cause Coruscant’s Underworld ain’t big enough for the two of them. Without Slave-1, Boba couchsurfs at Nyx Okami’s garage, but he does his laundry at Rafa’s. He might even borrow the Martez’s new, useful friend for a job or two. 

Ahsoka eventually matures enough to be sensitive about her use of the Force on and around clones, and she definitely doesn’t use it around Boba. Definitely not during sex.

Boba is privately weirded out every time Ahsoka uses Mando slang she picked up off the clones or the Nite Owls.

Boba absolutely kills Cad Bane in that shoot-out, keeps the hat, and lets Ahsoka have it. She shoves it out the airlock and uses it for target practice. 

So many great smut flavours! Hatesex. Acquaintances with benefits. “You’re traumatized and touch-starved and you look just like him/them, and I know how to be gentle and what to do, so maybe we could … ?” They’re both privately comfortable with their bodies and sexuality, but Boba’s got trust issues a parsec long and Ahsoka’s lost confidence; it’s always an awkward affair, but desperation wins out.

They exchange comm codes every time they run into each other, which is kind of pointless because they both use burners.

Ahsoka hitches a ride on Slave-1 more than once. There really is only one bed, so it’s either sleep upright, sleep in a pokey prisoner hold, or sleep with him.

For a few years, Boba can pass as a last-generation clone — the ones that got sold off in bulk units to slavers before Kamino sunk another three years’ food, board, and training into them. Boba pretends he doesn’t notice, easy to really, since he tells himself his helmet is his face. But occasionally, when Ahsoka can convince him there’s profit in it, he agrees to play sleeper agent and assists in liberating a few here and there. 

They don’t talk about Aurra Sing.

When an Imp really crosses him, Boba passes on intel to Ahsoka to ruin their day.

Once, when they’re both super skint, Ahsoka volunteers to get handed in to some relatively minor and out-of-the-way Imperial garrison, so Boba can collect, bust her out, and split the pot with her. It’s the closest she ever comes to telling him “I trust you” — and when he brushes the idea aside, citing something about risk, it’s the closest he ever comes to telling her “I love you.”

Boba sees Inquisitors as muscling in on his game. There are so many lousy Force-users around nowadays, it should be easy pickings, but Inquisitors get privileged information. So he makes sport out of misdirecting them, especially from Ahsoka. 

When he pisses her off, Ahsoka fantasizes about Bo-Katan taking Boba down a peg or two while she watches :)))

Boba experienced Ahsoka’s heat once, secondhand through a cabin wall. He thought he was being clever by shooting Rex up with some Nevoota stim pollen, locking him in with Ahsoka, and hijacking their locked ships. Longest three days of his life, limping on broken hyperdrives and shared fuel stores to the nearest waystation to a soundtrack of violent lovemaking : \

Bounty hunters invariably bump into spies and agents because they work in the same areas. The agents pretend to be bounty hunters, eccentric business people, sex workers, or a range of other things. Sometimes each party knows all about the other, but it’s only polite not to mention it. This happens to Ahsoka and Boba A LOT, especially once she becomes Fulcrum; rebel cells and Imperials often want the same people. Occasionally they exchange fire. A couple times Boba gets imprisoned in Ahsoka’s own brig. Once, Boba blows her cover and definitely lives to regret it. 

(this essay was originally punctuated with pics, but replies with images won’t show up tumblr tags so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) 

[padawanlost]

Hey there! Here's a question for you. What do you think would happen if a Jedi was on a mission and he/she found that his/her disobedience to the Council's instructions kept him/her alive while his/her companions' obedience to the Council's instructions got them killed?

Thishappens quite a few times in canon and it really depends on the jedi. Somewould start to question the Order and their role in it. and other would simplyaccept their success as “the will of the force”. To put it simply: it’s thedifference between Anakin and Obi-wan. As Jedi, they both went trough similarexperiences but were differently affected by them.

Falling inlove was forbidden. Both Anakin and Obi-wan fell in love and both weremotivated by their love.

But whenthey were reminded that love was forbidden, their reaction was completely different.Obi-wan submitted to the will of the Council and Anakin questioned it. andAnakin wasn’t alone in this. Jedi like Ahsoka and Etain were all put inpositions where they broke the code and it made them question the wisdom of theCouncil. That’s also why so many Jedi left the Order before and during theClone Wars.

[The Clone Troopers]’d all rather be somewhere else even if they’re notsure what it is. All of them, like Dar, like me, like anyone. […] I can’t think of the whole galaxy anylonger. My thoughts are with these slave soldiers, and that’s as much caring asI can manage right now. I want them to live. Sorry, Birhan, I’m a bad Jedi,aren’t I? Jedi Knight Etain Tur-Mukan, in Star Wars - Republic Commando: TrueColors by Karen Traviss

The crisis withinthe Order wasn’t just political. They were going through a major crisis offaith. People were losing faith in the Jedi way of life and in the Council’sauthority. Hell, it happened to Dooku.

“It was a massacre; and the Jedi had carried it out, pawns of thecorrupt Galidraan governor, who had set up the Mandalorian army for his ownagenda. Looking back on it, Dooku saw it was the tipping point that had changedhis life. It was the moment he had started to think. I believed my Masters. Ididn’t think for myself. They didn’t question, either; they took the governorat his word. They just believed. And we killed people. We killed them on thesay-so of a criminal. Count Dooku in Karen Traviss’ the Clone Wars.

With all due respect, I urgethe Council to consider our responsibility to the Jedi as well as to theRepublic. To send our brethren to any world at a moment’s notice may bringapproval from the Senate, but does it honor those who fell at Galidraan? I amnot a fatalist, nor am I suggesting that we embrace the bureaucracy of theSenate as a means to determine whom we can and cannot save, but I am concernedthat we allow ourselves to serve without question. Yes, the Bando Gora arecriminals, but is it not criminal to squander the lives of Jedi on missionsthat are so obviously doomed from the start? [Jedi vs. Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force]

How a Jedi would react in the situation you mentionedreally depends on the Jedi but, the jedi were not above questioning theirteachings. Most of them didn’t, but some went as far as leaving the Order orturning against them

[theeurekaproject]

Chimera

Questions ricocheted around the Revelation at the speed of light, but Lyra’s head spun too fast for her to even really register any of them. It felt like her weirdness-detecting meter was broken—so much had happened in the past few days that her mind had just stopped noticing these bizarre situations. It all still felt like a fever dream, and she half-expected to be woken up at any minute by some drunken draft dodger or homeless streetwalker screaming at her to get out of their territory. That was it, it had to be. Any second now, the distant hum of the spacecraft’s life-support systems would fade into the buzz of neon lights, the lingering scent of lavender would transform into the odor of cheap perfume, and Imperial white would turn to Cantator black.

Lyra closed her eyes tight and opened them again, only to see the glittering, ascetic luxury of the Revelation once more. She was still the picture of upper-crust perfection—she was clothed in a gown the Imperatrix had personally gifted her, wearing jewelry expensive enough to support her forever if she dared to run away and pawn it, and sitting amongst people from a range of castes she never thought she’d meet. Acidalia sat in front of her, talking to David about some complicated war Lyra had only ever heard snippets of from T, while the others interrupted the conversation occasionally to add bits and pieces of information and insight. Lyra herself stayed silent, mostly because she had no idea what she could possibly offer this conversation.

“This is dangerous territory,” Acidalia said wearily, rubbing her forehead like she had a migraine. “You’d think after all this time, people would learn that forming never-ending, complicated webs of alliances is a recipe for disaster, especially combined with that imperialistic, militaristic attitude Cadé claims the Alliance has.”

David scoffed. “People never learn from their ancestors’ mistakes. If they did, nobody would be in the mess every one of us is trapped in right now.” Alongside him, his daughter nodded, looking a strange combination of bored and annoyed that Lyra never associated with meeting literal honest-to-god space aliens.

“Well, we’re not really in a mess, are we?” Athena, one of the Scientias, asked. She’d already somehow managed to get her lipstick smeared all the way down her chin and on her bright white teeth, though she hadn’t eaten anything or touched her face. It looked absolutely ridiculous, but Lyra assumed she had a high enough status that the others didn’t want to mention it. “I mean,” Athena clarified, “outside of our own war, that is. What can they do, make us listen to them?”

Acidalia sighed. “Well, yes.” “Bullshit,” Athena said. “You’re the Imperatrix Ceasarina—or, at least, an Imperatrix Ceasarina—of Eleutheria. They have to listen to what you say.”

“That isn’t how diplomacy works.” Acidalia frowned. “I have no way of knowing if Cadé is telling the truth or if this is all entirely made up. Keep in mind that, according to him, the governing body behind their delegation has no idea that they’re even here. There’s a very real possibility that he could just be utterly mad, or that he’s a radical politician with no real, substantial support simply making absurd claims to invoke pathos.”

“So you can just say no to him,” Athena said patronizingly.

“No, not exactly. Because if he was telling the truth, Eleutheria could be facing a military unlike any other we’ve ever dealt with, and then either they crush us, or we waste countless resources getting them off of our planet. Perhaps I’d have taken the risk of denying him if we were in peacetime, but the great Eleutherian army is already divided in two, the government is a barely functioning mess, and half the citizens hate the other half with a passion I’ve never seen before. If we declined their ‘offer’ of an alliance and we were attacked by this hypothetical enemy…” Her voice trailed off, and though it never wavered, she didn’t look exactly the same as before. She wasn’t shaken, really, but perhaps slightly less confident, and that worried Lyra supremely.

“Well, I, for one, am not going to be bullied by these interstellar assholes,” Praetor Andromeda declared, as if it was that easy. Her one glowing iris made a click-click-click noise like metal on metal when she rolled her eyes. “They may claim to have fancy technology, but they’re definitely bluffing. If they don’t have Eleutheria’s biotech, how can they have weaponized black holes? Those aren’t even possible.”

“That is true,” Acidalia ceded, “but they’ve always been far more advanced than us in regards to physics. They do seem to lag behind in biology, but that’s not what’s important right now.” “And, um,” the other Scientia—Carina?—said, “weaponizing black holes is kind of technically possible.” Andromeda’s eyes widened, casting a fluorescent blue glow on the floor. “What do you mean by that?”

“The math does check out.” Carina shrugged. “I—well, I’d hardly know, I’m a student, really. But they’re definitely not too outlandish. And, theoretically, if they existed, they’d be too powerful to face up against. All of Terra would be torn to shreds, and most of Mars, too, at the very least.” “Is there any way for us to get weaponized black holes?” Andromeda asked. “Hypothetically.”

“No,” Acidalia said quickly, “and even if there was, I would never green light that. If these massive forces of destruction are real, the galaxy most certainly doesn’t need another one.”

“It’s war. Creating massive forces of destruction comes with the territory.”

“We do not need to go from leveling cities to leveling solar systems,” David argued. “As if nuclear bombs and the like aren’t already bad enough. Have you ever seen Star Wars: A New Hope? Look at what happened to Princess Leia’s planet! Acidalia’s right—nobody needs more of that.”

“Maybe Acidalia should keep her mouth shut about what’s ethical and what isn’t, seeing as she let her brother kill himself to save her own skin,” Ace snapped suddenly, glaring at Acidalia with a gaze sharp enough to cut steel.

Lyra was sure her eyes almost bulged out of her head, but the Imperatrix herself seemed to take it in stride. “We can debate the ethics of war and self-sacrifice another time,” she said, smoothly transitioning to another subject. Ace looked like he wanted to say something, but Lyra shot him a look, and he closed his mouth. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Acidalia to be held accountable for her actions and the role she had in T’s death, but it seemed unwise to bring that up now, and insulting royalty was never a good idea. Ace was lucky nobody straight-up arrested him on the spot.

With Acidalia’s statement, the rest of the room quieted somewhat, though Ace continued to stare angrily into space. Andromeda kicked at something on the floor, clearly irritated, and an awkward silence fell over the leaders.

“So what are we gonna do?” Athena asked eventually, breaking the unsteady quietude.

“Right now, I think our priority should be shutting down the insanity happening in Appalachia at the moment,” Acidalia replied. “Once we secure the capital, we’ll have more resources to allocate to dealing with the massive war the rest of the Via Lactea may or may not have gotten itself into. I’m going have to address the potential alliance at some point, but I can’t do much while we’re actively fighting a battle.”

“You make it sound much simpler than it is,” Andromeda cautioned, gesturing at the window. “Imperatrix Ceasarina though you may be, you’re still no Praetor.” “I’m actually the Commander in Chief of the entire Eleutherian military, technically speaking, but that’s irrelevant. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but I maintain that it needs to be done. We have to get Appalachia and we have to do it quickly, and if there’s anyone alive who can do that, it’s you.” The compliment tacked on at the end was clearly an attempt to pacify Andromeda, but it seemed to work, and she relaxed slightly, placated.

“All right, but you’re going to have to be lenient on me,” Andromeda said. “If I have to use unorthodox methods—“

“Andy, don’t,” David interrupted, and he and Acidalia both stiffened. Lyra glanced at Cressida, Ace, and the Scientias, who seemed just as tense as the others. For a brief instant it seemed like Acidalia and Andromeda were about to start arguing again, then the atmosphere shifted, and Acidalia’s eyes went wide like she’d had a sudden realization.

“What is it?” Andromeda asked—well, more like demanded, really.

“I just had an idea.” “Yeah, no shit. What’s the idea?” Acidalia bit her lip. “It’s absolutely mad.” “Great.” “It’s almost certainly a war crime.” “Even better.”

David shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like where this is going. I will not have my daughter be the child of a convicted war criminal.”

“You can’t get convicted of war crimes if you don’t lose the war,” Andromeda shrugged. “What is it?” “Before I say anything—“ Acidalia began. “Will you stop running your mouth and spit it out? You’re going to give me a goddamn heart attack from the anticipation. I swear to God, you are the worst,” Andromeda interrupted. She held something in her hands—an elastic hair tie, or maybe a rubber band—and twisted it around her fingers, fidgeting, like she simply couldn’t wait to hear what horrible plan Acidalia had concocted in the past five minutes.

Acidalia swallowed, looking like she was reconsidering even mentioning whatever she was about to say. A moment passed, then two. Then, with a pained voice, she announced simply, “I am a Cipher.”

Lyra had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but evidently Andromeda and David understood, because they looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“That’s genius,” Andromeda said, her features lighting up like a Saturnalia tree.

“That’s horrible,” David countered, looking shocked that Acidalia even dared to suggest it.

Everyone else just kind of stared at each other, and Lyra was relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one in the dark. Even the Scientias looked bemused, which wasn’t a feeling often associated with the caste of knowledge. Cressida tugged at her father’s arm, asking a question in rapid Martian Anglian, but he didn’t answer her. Eventually Acidalia seemed to sense that they needed an explanation, and she rose from her place in her organic white chair, which suddenly looked much more like a throne than it had before.

“To cipher is to encode,” she said, but she didn’t look at them. Her big brown eyes focused on something outside the window, a distant speck of light a million parsecs away, and Lyra got the feeling Acidalia was trying to avoid her gaze. She wondered why. It didn’t seem like the Imperatrix should have to worry about anyone’s judgement—especially not a Cantator’s.

Athena just stared. “Your point?” “What I’m about to say may be somewhat shocking,” Acidalia said, though her tone never wavered, and she didn’t look at all like she was about to drop a bombshell. Still, Ace tensed, and Lyra couldn’t blame him. If she were in his position… well, she might not be very enthusiastic to hear any more life-changing statements by Acidalia, either.

“With all due respect, we just met space aliens. I doubt there’s anything that could shock me any more than that,” Athena dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Now you’ve just made me curious.”

“Well, if you insist.” Acidalia sighed. “The Ciphers are rulers, first and foremost, but we are scientists, too. Eleutheria is much more of a technocracy than you may have anticipated, and the strength of the Imperial family comes not only from wealth, but from scientific skill. More specifically, people like my mother and I are both Imperatrices and geneticists, and that’s why we’ve been able to rule over Eleutheria for as long as we have. If you genetically modify each and every citizen from birth, you’re quelling rebellions before they even begin. Everyone in this room bears the marks of a society so focused on futurism that they’ve given up on ethics, myself included.”

For a minute, nobody said anything. Lyra only half-knew what Acidalia was talking about—she’d heard, vaguely, of biology and genetics, but she hardly knew what a cell was, let alone the intricacies of the human genome. Then Athena said, quite loudly, “so that means we’re mutants?”

“In a sense,” Acidalia said, “though I’m afraid that it’s probably not half as cool as what you’re thinking of. Let me give you an example: you’re a caste Scientia, correct?”

“Yeah,” Athena said, “so?”

“So…” Acidalia trailed off, and Lyra could almost see gears turning in her head. “So you have a very high IQ. Some would argue extraordinarily high, higher than human nature is supposed to permit. High enough that the negative effects—anxiety, depression, mood disorders, psychosis, and schizophrenia—almost cancel out any benefit it ever may have had. How many of your elders suffered from incurable mental illnesses?”

Athena went silent, her easygoing façade disappearing like a mask falling off her face. “Oh, god. My mother. I never met her, but while she was alive, she was supposedly out of her mind. I always wondered if that was why I was so bad at numbers—my family was just stupid. But you think it’s because she had an artificially inflated IQ or something?”

“I know four people with psychotic disorders,” Carina offered. “I always thought that seemed kind of like too many people for such a small sample size, but I never put the pieces together. Why would Eleutheria want to drive their scientists crazy?”

“They don’t. It’s an unprecedented side effect of an experiment that was done one time on one small group, and then extrapolated to everyone forever. You’re researchers, too, even if you’re not in biomed, and you know how disastrous improperly applied science is. But the Eleutherian perspective on science and society extends far beyond just the intelligence and resultant mental illness of the Scientia caste—it permeates every aspect of our civilization from the top down, and the Ciphers are—supposedly—the ones in charge of it all.”

“So they built us to fit in the boxes they made,” Athena said, sounding half-enraptured. “You’re saying that they intentionally modified everyone just to fit into a caste?”

Acidalia nodded. “That’s why I don’t even have to look at you and Carina to know that you probably have all sorts of inconvenient diseases that would make it difficult for you to do much of anything physical. Asthma and allergies, chronic fatigue, weak muscles and soft bones, immune systems that will lose their metaphorical minds over a grain of pollen or cat dander but will turn the other cheek when faced with influenza. Scientias weren’t built for fighting, and I mean that quite literally. After all, if the smartest members of the population are also the strongest, you’re setting yourself up for a revolution. That’s too risky.”

“I was always sick as a child,” Carina said softly. “Is that why?” Acidalia nodded. “Almost certainly. It’s like that with every other caste, too—Labora are incredibly strong, but also prone to deafness, blindness, and other conditions that make communication much more difficult in the absence of sign language and Braille, because you can’t form rebellions—or even unions—if you can’t speak to one another. And the only group of people who are exempt from this are the people who were born to rule society itself. Have you ever seen a noblewoman who’s anything less than brilliant and beautiful?”

“Long story short, the propaganda isn’t lying when it says power is in the Ciphers’ DNA,” Andromeda said, looking far less concerned about all this than Lyra was. Despite being a Cantator, a child whose existence wasn’t approved of by the government, she almost felt that something was crawling underneath her skin, like her body wasn’t exactly her own.

Maybe it wasn’t. She’d never meant anyone else whose hair grew in a natural fluorescent pink.  That couldn’t be normal, could it? She’d inherited it from one of her parents, and where did they get it from? Pre-Eleutherian humans didn’t have hair that looked like liquid fruit-gum  amoxicillin. Even Lyra, who had an abandonment certificate instead of a birth certificate, was affected by the Ciphers and their encoding of genes. And if they’d managed to make her hair the same color as strawberry-flavored antibiotics, what had they managed to put into her head?

“So how can we weaponize this?” Athena asked, having apparently already gotten over the revelation that the government had effectively been poisoning her to keep her scrawny and weak her entire life.

“I can edit the genome of anything,” Acidalia said, “including microorganisms. I’m a walking source of made-to-order bioweapons. It’s not a complicated science—in fact, any standard Biologica could probably do it—but what makes me different is the fact that I have training and education and an expensive lab, while any Biologica who looked too deep into genetics would probably find herself dead before her research even made it to publication.”

“Yes, so let’s stop talking and do it already,” Andromeda snapped, clearly bored. She’d probably heard this discussion a thousand times, to the point where she was sick and tired of even hearing people talk about it. “What do you think would work best? I’m partial to something as infectious as the common cold and as lethal as rabies, myself.”

“Rabies would never work, it’s too slow-acting,” Acidalia dismissed. “Besides, I am in no way agreeing to dropping virus bombs out of planes, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Why not?” “Because that would start a cascade I have no way of shutting down. At least with nuclear attacks, radiation disperses over time. Infectious diseases only amplify, becoming worse and worse with every new case. Innocent people would almost certainly die.” “Well, the needs of the many—“ “Don’t you dare. I’m not murdering civilians for the sake of winning a war. They didn’t sign up for this, and it’s not their conflict to fight. They don’t deserve to die.” “By that logic, neither do half the soldiers we’ve killed.” “Soldiers know what they’re doing when they join. The two aren’t comparable. Even disregarding the ethics of targeting civilians, though, the effects of such a drastic attack would be felt for miles around. It could kill millions. It could bring about the end of days. Eleutheria was born from the ashes of a world killed by a pandemic, and I won’t let that happen again. No more world-destroying, civilization-ending smallpox missiles.”

“Then what are you proposing?” Andromeda’s voice was as cold as the gaze from her electric iris, and Lyra was suddenly more afraid of her than she’d ever been before. She sounded so icy, so inhuman, that it was hard not to flinch away from her uncanny-valley eyes.

“There are ways to localize plagues. It uses ridiculously outdated technology and it’d be a very risky mission, but it’s far better than killing innocents.”

“Not if it kills you.”

“I’m one person. I’d much rather risk my own skin than doom millions of others unfairly.” Acidalia didn’t say unlike you, but the way she looked at Andromeda made it abundantly clear.

Andromeda narrowed her eyes. “If you want to kill yourself, that’s fine with me. But I’m going to need to know what to put in the obituary.”

“You don’t need to write an obituary, because the planet thinks I’m dead anyway. Remember, Alestra killed me. I have nothing to lose. If we win, we win, and if I die, nothing happens. It’d be wonderful if I could come back from the dead proclaiming the news of a Revolutionary victory, but if I’m killed for real, people will be none the wiser.” Acidalia sounded incredibly blasé about her potential imminent death, and Lyra had to wonder if it was all due to T’s untimely demise. The Underground was a sick, twisted, violent place, and she’d lost enough childhood friends to know how the Imperatrix felt. When a loved one died, it was so easy to slip into a toxic, self-sacrificial mentality borne out of survivors’ guilt and the first stages of grief. Even monarchs weren’t immune to the challenges and feelings that came with being human.

Equally empathetic and disturbed by the sudden realization that the Imperatrix Ceasarina was, in fact, as human as any other, Lyra sat back and tried to focus again on the task at hand. Localizing a plague seemed impossible. Diseases—well, they replicated. It was their nature. She’d seen it a thousand times. One person would fall ill, and maybe they’d get better, or maybe they’d slowly decline until their body just crashed and they died. And sometimes that was it—one body, one burial, one half-empty bottle of ineffective antibacterial pills. But there were other times where one sick person turned into ten turned into a hundred, and symptoms swept through crowds of people like wildfire. Lyra had been a victim of such an event; her throat had swollen up, almost but not quite enough to suffocate her. She made it through. Many had not.

It didn’t discriminate, the sickness. It killed the slavers and slaves, the criminals and police, the powerful and anyone who dared to oppose them. It was a silent, lethal force that lurked in every dark corner and every abandoned medical base. She couldn’t imagine how dangerous it would be if it was weaponized. How do you fight against an enemy you can’t even see?

“How would you make sure it would only hurt the people it’s supposed to?” Lyra asked, feeling nervous. Addressing the Imperatrix so casually still felt wrong.

Acidalia still looked uncomfortable, but she answered anyway, sounding as proper and elegant as ever. “Several centuries ago, when Eleutheria was far smaller and the populace more easily controlled, there existed a laboratory of sorts called the Terminal. It was built for the sole purpose of providing medical care to the city-state, but technology progressed and my ancestors gained more power, and, like many scientific endeavors, it lost its original mission after years of experiments of dubious ethicality. After several wars and a near-uprising, the Terminal’s purpose shifted from noble scientific research to citizen control, and you can now use it as a method to dispatch deadly pandemics or lifesaving cures to whichever portions of the city you’d like.”

“How?” Athena asked, looking suspicious. As if Acidalia had a reason to lie to them, Lyra thought.

“It’s built into Eleutheria itself. The city’s grown around the Terminal for the past few hundred years. Or, to put it metaphorically, it’s like mycelium; the actual structure is the flowering fungus, but it has an invisible network of hyphae that reach under the surface,” Acidalia said, somewhat unhelpfully.

Athena looked completely bemused, which made Lyra feel slightly better about not knowing what mycelium was. Acidalia didn’t seem to sense that they hadn’t gotten the metaphor, because she didn’t explain.

“So what you’re proposing,” Athena said, “is getting into the Terminal and creating some nightmare plague that would only affect Nova bases?” Acidalia nodded. “Well, more specifically, adolescent and adult men in those Nova bases, as that demographic composes the majority of their army. It’s not perfect—rare as they are, female soldiers exist, and there are doubtlessly many women in non-combat roles that nevertheless have great impact—but it’s the same philosophy about cutting specimens, isn’t it? It’s far better to cut carefully and with patience, even if you wind up removing less than what you wanted, because you can always go back and cut away more. But you should never try to cut more than you need, because once it’s off, there’s no way of getting it back on again.”

Her tone of voice suggested that everyone spent their spare time playing with “specimens” of some unknown kind, and Lyra wondered just how involved the Ciphers were in medicine and biology. She tried to picture Acidalia wearing a lab coat and blue latex gloves like the scientists she saw on the posters for disaster holos, but the image was too ridiculous for her to keep it in her mind’s eye for very long. It was hard to imagine the Imperatrix wearing anything other than elaborate white dresses and platinum jewelry.

“That’s suicidal,” David said simply, looking very put-off by the suggestion. “Ethics aside, you’re going to get yourself killed. The only entrances to the Terminal were built eons ago, back before the starscrapers were thousands of floors high, and they’re all located in places that are considered horrible areas even on the best of days. And today is definitely not the best of days.”

“I know,” Acidalia replied.

“Well, I’d volunteer to take you on a little tour of the worst places on all Terra,” Andromeda offered, “but it’s been years since I was last down there. And even when I was a kid, it’s not like I saw too much of the surface anyway. Besides, it’d be stupid to have us both go on a mission so risky.”

Lyra thought that sounded like a flimsy excuse to avoid having to go on a dangerous expedition, seeing as Acidalia and Andromeda were certainly not the only two important people in charge of the Revolution, but Acidalia seemed to agree with the Praetor. “I’ll have to go alone,” she not-quite-shrugged.

“No you don’t.” It took half a second for Lyra to realize that those words had just left her mouth, but she found that she couldn’t stop herself from talking. “I know those streets. I was raised there. I could show you the whole city if you wanted, and I can most definitely get you to the Terminal.”

Acidalia raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You know that place?” “It’s where I stumbled across your brother. Or, more accurately, where he and Ace stumbled across me. You know—where Cassandra lives. I’ve worked there for my entire life. Up until a few days ago, I’d never even left the island. I tried, but I couldn’t get past the River Orientalis.” She cracked an awkward smile.

“I’m not saying no,” Acidalia said slowly, “but you’re… fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Lyra corrected. In truth, she was probably not sixteen. She could count her age in summers, but everything before five or six years was fuzzy and nebulous, and she could just as easily have been fifteen or even younger. But that made her sound much more immature, and that was not how she wanted herself to come across.

Acidalia bit her lip. “You’re so young.”

“You’re barely twenty.” Lyra’s heart practically spasmed in her own chest, and she nearly flinched away from Acidalia’s steely brown eyes, half-surprised by her own boldness.

“You grow up quick in the Underground,” Andromeda shrugged. Lyra guessed that she was only agreeing to the plan so Lyra could take her place as the sacrificial lamb, but that wasn’t here nor there.

Acidalia shrugged, and something about her posture reminded Lyra of a surrendering dictator waving a white flag. She had an air about her that gave every expression and every action an uncanny amount of weight—all she had to do was breathe, and she captured the attention of everyone in the room.

“I suppose if it’s the only option,” Acidalia ceded, “but I will never be comfortable with dragging innocent people into a war that isn’t theirs.”

“I live on this planet, too,” Lyra reminded her.

“It isn’t the same. This is not your responsibility, and you don’t have to make this sacrifice. There is a high possibility we could both die from this mission.” “I’m a Cantator. Death doesn’t scare me.”

“Then that’s one thing we have in common.” Acidalia offered Lyra hand, which she took. The Imperatrix’s skin was clammy and cold, and a thin crust of blood stuck around the edges of her perfectly manicured nails. Her fingertips were red and raw, like she’d been scrubbing at them until the skin started to peel, perhaps in an effort to get the clotted blood off. Lyra didn’t remark on it.

“A Cantator and a Cipher. I sure hope you survive, because the propaganda department will have a goddamn field day with this,” Andromeda laughed. “Good luck.”

Lyra almost wanted to snap at her. The Praetor wouldn’t be so jovial if she was the one about to go on a suicide mission. But that would have been wasted time, and this whole conversation had been long enough already. There were more important things to do than yell at Andromeda.

Like deliver a living biological weapon, who also happened to be Imperatrix Ceasarina Acidalia-Planitia Cipher, to an ancient laboratory buried in the middle of a war zone so she could program a plague to kill her own mother’s soldiers.

This is going to go just wonderfully, Lyra thought.

[lorainelaneyblog]

‘I recently told my [ ] that methamphetamine will take away a migraine in ten minutes.’

At a certain point, Loraine Laney thought, self punishment must stop, says God. [ ] [ ], Loraine’s old therapist says that it is neurosis to self punish, and that one must come to terms with a mistake and cease and desist, Loraine. So, as regards migraines, women who have had abortions must give in to speed, Loraine. And it is true, [ ], says God, and Loraine Laney doesn’t know but one dose alone will cure a migraine, one dose, [ ], not continual pill popping. She took fifteen Advil in water once, Loraine, and Loraine would take nine, [ ], and bite them--

‘That’s dangerous. Those can get stuck in your throat. For a ten second head start on a migraine, Loraine? Nine? Three at a time?’

‘I don’t know. I thought it was more like seven. Two and two ish or something.’

‘She’s right, [ ]. She read the--’

‘What do you think of that shit you can’t remember? Was there reverb, do you think? Like Tylenol?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

‘Neither did I. But when they prescribed-- You do, you judge me, and part of you thinks I should be punished, Loraine. What about you, with your cheating on women? Your picture doesn’t do it, Loraine, they just come.’

‘I’m sorry, [ ]. I didn’t even realize abortion was bad until this year.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Why, because you never had one? You didn’t want to judge or control?’

‘Right. I thought, as a feminist--’

‘You support women’s decisions around abortion? What about farm animals I always wondered, we loved them, no, you don’t eat babies, but we did 4H, we loved our animals, Loraine.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You don’t know, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, I see.’

I will intervene, says God. Loraine Laney, recently, took a stand, in her blog only, against abortion, and she has not suffered, but weathered, you might say, the judgments of others with her condom use, you don’t know how many men were alienated by your refusal to bare back, Loraine.

‘Oh, she was known?’ asks 50 Cent.

Yes, says God. She thinks white men don’t knock up women because of a lack of testosterone. 

‘Nice, Loraine. And the blacks leave babies in their wake.’

‘Yeah.’

It was her, 50 Cent, she latched on to condoms because of sex ed and she never, never, let them go, 50 Cent. Her father, she had the morning after pill twice as a teen, and as an adult, 50 Cent, but she never had a pregnancy, and people thought she was weird. Let’s touch on her for second, Loraine. She fucked two men at BCTel and then bought her townhouse, and her car, and never looked back, Loraine, but her vagina was deprived, Loraine, she was so sad, Loraine, so, fucking, sad, Loraine, and it didn’t show that day, because she scored, Loraine, with that place, it was a hell of a deal, Loraine, because the woman who had it couldn’t make the mortgage, and she had to sell quickly, Loraine, and she, as you say, fell prey to the problem of women owning real estate, which is that if you are earning and paying, you either shut off your sex drive, or throw out the men, and she threw out men regularly, Loraine, regularly, Loraine, regularly, Loraine, because, you saw her, and she was pretty, Loraine, not devastating, but definitely, certainly, marriage material. Let’s go to him for a second, Loraine. He took a run at her himself, Loraine, and got nowhere, Loraine. She suffered no fools, Loraine, and despite the thirty seven and a half hour work week, drove herself into the ground, Loraine, with, as you say, exposure to men, and men’s work besides, because, and I won’t say what she did, because I don’t want to bother her, but it was a man’s job, Loraine, and they bugged her, and bugged her, and bugged her, Loraine. Whether you fuck or you don’t fuck, men get you, Loraine. And this is the reason, having been exposed to men herself, and been, at times, desperate for scarves, despite her average looks--

‘Really, Loraine?’ says 50 Cent.

‘True.’

‘Why?’

‘Overexposed.’

‘Oh, I see. Because you were single and alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, I see, that’s embarrassing for you. I want God to finish and can we touch on that pimp drug dealer briefly, because he was young, Loraine, but you were passing as youngish, Loraine.’

Yes, says God. That’s it. Scarves, 50 Cent, were not lost on Loraine. And she crushed on a girl in Spain, a Moroccan girl, 50 Cent, and further when she saw her without her scarves, seriously. She was so sweet on that girl, and she tolerated it nicely, didn’t she, Loraine?

‘I infiltrated. The kitchen.’

True, Loraine, but attractions in women are allowed in these conservative, all are conservative, middle eastern countries, Loraine. Once, 50 Cent, a very gorgeous woman got a motor boat, on the bus from downtown Ottawa to Carlington, for coveting Loraine, who was on speed and chatting, and completely missed her, loving women as she does.

‘Oh, she does, does she? Does she love my dick more than women, God? Does she love pussy like a lesbian, because I heard she’s very covetous of women that she loves. Oh, you didn’t even want to fuck her boyfriend, Loraine, you wanted her to have sex with you and [ ] again?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh, I see. You didn’t want to give him your precious pussy, hey, Loraine?’

‘Ha ha.’

‘Funny, Loraine. May I go on, God?’ asks 50 Cent.

Yes, Fifty, says God.

‘What was this guy like, Loraine? Was he like me? Was he big, Loraine?’

‘The biggest guy I ever saw in Vancouver was outside The [ ] [ ] selling drugs, just weed, 50 Cent, and other things, I am sure. There are no big men in Vancouver.’

‘Oh, I see. Who was that? What was he?’

‘I think an 80/20. That guy was cute, so cute, a 90/10, but not big, 50 Cent.’

‘It’s true,’ says Dean. ‘They are not big. Up Indian Arm is where all the big guys went, Loraine, they ran, Loraine, from the gender war and into the arms of other men, Loraine, and they’re still there, Loraine. I left because I’m big and I like a big city, and I know it confuses you why the [ ] of the [ ]’s [ ], is in Ottawa, but I am, Loraine, that’s where I like it, Loraine. I do. And 50 Cent is welcome here, but I can’t control rogues, Loraine and 50 Cent. He won’t come, will he, Loraine?’

‘It’s come up.’

‘Oh, it has?’

‘Yes.’

‘But?’

‘I think there’s no point because I’m a pedophile fomenter and will be stopped, by hook or by crook, at the border.’

‘You think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Loraine?’

‘This is what I’ve been told, is all.’

‘Oh, you’ve been told, then. Drink some beer. Take some speed. That guy called his friends, and says you’re a fucking bona fide genius, Loraine, but a loony tunes on speed, Loraine. And we find this, we do, a lot of people can’t stop talking on speed, and you’re one of them, Loraine, so don’t worry, Loraine, don’t, worry, Loraine. People think you’re cool, Loraine. Just crazy, a bit, Loraine, for loving a big, fucking, slut like 50 Cent, Loraine. Oh, she’s oblivious to this, aren’t you, Loraine. People, and I mean people, think you’re a closeted lesbian slut for how you love 50 Cent’s women, Loraine. You love his fat dick in women, Loraine, and they believe, they think you are deprived of women, Loraine, and she isn’t, 50 Cent, the bitch tells all, and she never moans about women. I believe, and you will like this, Loraine, that the good women dumped the evil women during the war, and never looked back. That’s what I think they did, like my big gangsters, Loraine.’

‘That’s nice, Dean.’

‘You think so?’

‘I’ve almost thought it.’

‘But you don’t know?’

‘Not really. Because I didn’t suck a couple myself.’

‘Oh, right. But they were evil to men, and they sucked to women, too, Loraine, and just because you don’t reciprocate that night doesn’t mean you’re not going to, Loraine.’

‘Mmm.’

Leave her, Dean, says God. Leave Dean’s name in Loraine. It is so not his name in actuality, and you covered his job, though there are hints, Loraine. I would like to say that Loraine Laney should rest a bit, and wind up with 50 Cent on Facebook tonight, Loraine, because he, as yourself--

‘As myself?’

--doesn’t read.

‘Oh, she doesn’t read? She likes movies though? She wants me to watch girly movies, and cry with her?’

She doesn’t put upon people, 50 Cent. She wants to see movies again, and HBO, and the like, but she will do most of it herself, and, if she thinks one is special, she will ask you to watch it, but she can barely stand to watch a movie twice anyway, especially if it is moving, you can’t, Loraine, she moves on from everything, 50 Cent, everything, 50 Cent, everything, 50 Cent, and, I am God, and she doesn’t understand why I’m complimenting her, but she has a shit deflector a mile wide, and she doesn’t suffer, 50 Cent, she’s a leaver like no tomorrow, so if T.I. or anyone in the family decides not to love her, she will cut them out like a bad wound, 50 Cent. You wait and see, or a client who is mean, she will see them but not feel anything, 50 Cent, she moves on, 50 Cent, because, and I am God, and I will say what I want, people see it as a failing, but it is not. Nobody wants her, and she knows it. She does, 50 Cent. Let’s touch on that pimp for a second, Loraine. How many hookers do you think he had?

‘I guess he was a drug dealer, God.’

True, Loraine. No hookers at all. But he was handsome, though not too tall, but hot, wouldn’t you say, Loraine? 

‘Oh yes.’

‘Did he want to be a pimp, God,’ asks 50 Cent.

‘Yes, Fifty, he did, but he couldn’t. The police were on him like white on rice, and he was settled back in Seattle before he could say his own name, 50 Cent.’

‘Oh, I see. So he was cool?’

‘Yes, he was. I caught him out on a technicality, because he, unlike most men in Vancouver, connected with me.’

‘What?’

‘Because I was in hip hop, he thought that I thought that I was so cool and so pretty in my aviators.’

‘He offended you. You’re a fucken, bitchy snob.’

‘Oh.’

‘You are. He failed.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, I see. What happened with them?’

‘I thought they were murderers, honestly.’

‘They were, Loraine, and they were evil, so let’s leave it at that.’

‘Oh, I see. Criminal-dar, they call it, Loraine. Were they tough, Loraine?’

‘The one had scary eyes. I didn’t hang around.’

‘Right. You never do, Loraine. What about the one at the coffee shop?’

‘No, normal.’

‘Oh, I see, so they were tough, Loraine, not lying to 50 Cent. Did you get turned on?’

‘I was pleased by the intensity of their gaze, but frightened.’

‘Were they evil murderers, God?’ asks 50 Cent.

No, Loraine. They were gangster murderers, on parole, and they wanted you bad. Badly, Loraine, in your lime. Many people saw you in that lime and gazed away because you looked so cute. Army and Navy, Eminem.

‘Oh, I see. She can’t wear lime.’

It was irredescent, Eminem.

‘Oh, I see. A mini skirt, Loraine? With stripes, no less, and some dumb print.’

‘I forget the print, but yes.’

‘And stripes on the jacket, on the sleeves, well done, Loraine. You freaked at the ignoring. Wear the blue shorts rarely, Loraine, because they annoy.’

‘Okay.’

‘Tell me all of your shoes, Loraine, kidding, Loraine, you have, Loraine. When you told me you found my apple bottoms, the grey ones, at a hip hoppy store on Rideau Street, I was happy, Loraine, so happy, Loraine. And, when you told me that the police ruined them, I was sad for you, Loraine. Of course I made sure the bottoms were secure, Loraine. Did you think they broke?’

‘No.’

‘There were many, we did many at once, and she figured it out,’ says a police officer.

‘Why are you popular with cops, Loraine. You let a RCMP fuck your ass, with his stripper girlfriend? Oh, she’s offended that I minimized her romance with these two, aren’t you, Loraine. Oh, she’s bored. Oh, she wants me, and seventeen comes. Funny, Loraine, just write, please. Oh. Annoyed. Funny. Where did you meet those two, let them see themselves?

‘Saint Catherine’s.’

That’s right, Loraine, and she never forgot and she got a pair of jellies there too, with a high heel which, a block heel, which she loved for awhile, says God.

‘She likes clothes,’ says Eminem. ‘Is she going to break me?’

She has her own money, but she didn’t want to be ungrateful, nor take advantage, Eminem, says God.

‘I’ve heard this little bitch is worth her weight in gold,’ says Eminem.

Try to post that dream, Loraine, says God, out of order, but try, please. I like it.

‘Yes, God.’

[automatismoateo]

Why I became an atheist (Ex-muslim) via /r/atheism

Submitted July 03, 2017 at 04:23PM by bob951 (Via reddit http://ift.tt/2tJ7jDN) Why I became an atheist (Ex-muslim)

       I am from Lebanon, I was born and raised as Muslim, as a young boy my father started taking me to our local mosque and taught me how to pray to Allah, here when the indoctrination started. My parents along with the Imam, told me many things, that just did not add up, that women who show skin are condemned to hell, I asked myself as a 5-year-old “These women are not harming anyone, then why would Allah punish them?” I also asked my parents: “Who created God?” They replied: “You are not allowed to ask this question, it will make step towards hell.” Imams also taught me about hell, it really scared me, and I got nightmares because of it, the concept of hell in Islam as described by most Imams would make an awesome horror movie. Ever since I was little boy, I am an individualist, I do not like people telling what to do and intervening in my personal freedom, I still am now.

       However, my parents are open towards unorthodox views like they reject the Hijab, and don’t think that apostates should be executed, or adulterers/fornicators should be stoned, and think that honor killings are criminal. But unfortunately, they support blasphemy laws, and think that homosexuality is a mental illness and should be rejected by society.

       On one hand, one of my maternal cousins is a member of The Committee of Islamic Scholars, this committee is socially authoritarian and want the government to walk all over other people’s personal & civil liberties in the name of Islam, morality, and traditionalism. A few months ago, when the Supreme Jurisdiction Council declared that homosexuality is fine, and that the state should not intervene with what people do in the bedroom, the committee got pissed off with the Council’s decision. The rest are pro-Hamas and pro-Muslim brotherhood.

       On the other hand, my paternal uncle’s wife works for Dar Al Fatwa, a government institution run by The Grand Mufti of the Sunnis, the institution has political influence on government policy and is backed by Saudi Arabia, and the committee mentioned above.4 years ago, liberals, leftists, secularists, and feminists demanded the Lebanese Parliament and Government to legalize optional secular civil marriage, the Mufti scared the politicians by issuing a fatwa “Any Muslim politician , from the government, Parliament, or member Jurisdiction Council who supports secular marriage even if optional is an apostate. This made the politicians reject the demand, including Christian and Druze members. The rest of my father’s side is collectivist, tribalist, extremely traditional, they hate it when on their members marries someone from another religious sect, like Shia, Druze, Christian, or Alawite.

       Lebanon, had suffered a devastating 15-year civil war from 1975-1990, it has damaged us socially, economically, and politically, and our Military, and gave rise to the terrorist organization Hezbollah backed by Iran. Lebanon is now divided into 4 major religious sects; the Sunnis, Shias, Maronite Christians, and Druze. Each of the 4 groups have politicians in the state, all 4 hate each other, and the politicians take advantage of the status quo to keep us fighting over ridiculous things.

       I was not a very religious person, but at the age of 14 almost 15, my brother lost his job in UAE, and came to Lebanon in the summer, he used to very devout and dragged me to pray 5 times a day, I slowly started becoming more religious, by the end of the summer I devoted myself to Allah, suppressed my sexual urges but because of my raging testosterone levels, I still watched porn, masturbated to girls, and had sex with them, but I felt a sheer amount of guilt, and regret, I used to lecture my closest friends that they must not drink alcohol, have premarital sex, even shake hands with female, they got annoyed by me, and started hanging out less with me. But at the same time, I wasn’t feeling that I am being myself, I was repressive, consumed by those bad ideas. In geography class, we were discussing the universe, and the teacher said that the milky way galaxy has an estimated 160 billion planets , she also added that there are hundreds of billions of galaxies in the universe, I came to the conclusion that we may not be alone, and the existence of extraterrestrial civilizations is highly probable, I asked my Imam “ Our universe has hundreds of billions of galaxies, and every galaxy has hundreds of billions of planets, so according to the laws in probability in Math, the we could not be alone in the universe, Do you think extraterrestrials could exist?” His answer was : “No, that is a bunch of nonsense regurgitated by the evil Americans.”

       At the age of 16 my devotion started slowly diminishing, but since I love The Simpsons, I started watching it more, through it I came upon Family Guy, and then South Park. I fell in love with the other two series, they were more than just comedy and satire, they were very well convincing. These shows make fun of everything, through this show I started being exposed to new ideas, even if I didn’t like them, also did offend me, I dismissed many of their arguments, but they did shed some light. But I couldn’t resist I still watch them more. One of the Episodes that made fun of atheism and evolution, when they explained evolution it made a lot of sense.

       At the age of 17, I started losing my faith, I isolated myself in my room for a few days and asked myself these simple questions, “The Christian thinks I am wrong, so does Shia, and many others and I think Sunni Islam is the right one, what if they are right, what if the atheists are right, what if I am wrong?” “If god is omniscient, why did he create satan, he knows certain people are going to heaven and other are going to hell, then why pray?” “In the Koran, it written that God created life and death to test you, and judge you. But If life is limited, and the punishment and reward are eternal then why did god created us?” “Why is religion geographical?” “Why is consensual sex, masturbation wrong if they are harmless?” “What is wrong with homosexuality?” I remember as a young kid, that I was taught humans were the first creatures to inhabit the earth, but I discovered that there were dinosaurs and ruled the earth for hundreds of millions of years, and got extinct 65 million years. And the question from my childhood which was silenced “If everything needs a creator, and god created us then who created god? And who created god’s god?”. I decided that religion is bunch of bullshit created to control minds.

       But I still needed to do further research, I started reading more about the universe, and evolution, watching more documentaries. I stumbled upon great thinkers Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Bill Maher, Stephen Hawking, and also atheist Youtubers like thunderf00t, TJ Kirk, Seth Andrews, DarkMatter2525, and. I found their arguments extremely convincing, encourage critical thinking, challenge adopted ideas, I did listen to religious clerics and had conversations with Pastors, Imams, Mullahs, Ayatollah I even watched Zakir Naik’s lectures, they seemed ridiculous, and unscientific.

       I decided to read the Koran and The Bible critically, and I saw that these books are filled with unscientific claims, unethical, misogynistic, and homophobic bullshit. And above all else it contradicts itself. I also made an analogy, that Muslim majority and Islamic countries and dystopian and extremely backwards, and wherever there is Islam there is dysfunction. And look what is happening now in European countries they are now suffering from a security crisis.

       From the 1920s to the 70s, Arabs, Persians, Afghanis, used to be much more progressive they got influenced by western culture and Attaturk who secularized Turkey, the hijab was rare only older women wore it, Arab women used to wear bikinis and short skirts sexual harassment & rape were almost nonexistent unlike now in Egypt. Saudi Clerics nagged former Arab & Persian leaders to control what women should wear, but Arabs ignored them. Arabs used to go to European countries to earn their degrees. After overthrowing monarchies and Fedualists, the middle class was established because of free market capitalism, and they ruled the Arab world holding progressive and liberal values. But soon after KSA started getting rich with oil Arabs started going to work there coming back with regressive and reactionary values about the world since the 80s. In addition, the Muslim brotherhood gained more influence. Making Arab culture become one of the most backwards in the world. Plus, the Islamic revolution of Iran also affected us negatively which gave birth to Hezbollah triggered by Zionism, and western neo-conservatism.

       And what really pisses me off is the western regressive left, feminists, and social justice warriors defending Islam and telling others that “The hijab is liberating”, If someone mentions that atrocities against women and gays in the name of Islam or Islamic countries they will reply “But it’s their culture”, and what is worse is that in the women’s march almost everyone was cheering for Linda Sarsour who wants to bring Shariah (Islamic Law) to America which is anti-women, and homophobic. By the way Sarsour means cockroach in Arabic.

       I now I am an atheist, a de-facto kind, I don’t agree with religion or the hijab but it can be helpful to the unfortunate providing some escape fantasy, and hijab can sometimes protect from the scorching sun. PS: Excuse my English, it isn’t my first language. Thanks, in Advance.

[askkrenko]

Magic Story Abridged: Limited Time Offer

(Episode 7; Battle for Zendikar Episode 1; Original Stories HERE and HERE )

When Gideon Jura wields his swift sural All those who chose to oppose his sural fall When there’s crime to thwart or a war to fight You can count on the man who is mono-white When Gideon Jura wields his swift sural.

Art by Dan Scott

PRESENT DAY ZENDIKAR

(We open on Kytheon Iora, now a man, fighting a number of Eldrazi spawn. In the background, a group of Kor, Humans, Elves, and Goblins watch patiently.)

Munda, a large, muscular Kor: (Quietly, to the others in his group) ...Here we see a wild Gideon Jura, latin name Kytheon Iora, taking down its prey. Though the beasts are larger and more powerful than he, his glowing golden aura protects him from all known forms of attack. His Sural, also known as an Urumi or Whip-Blade, can cut through the flesh of even the toughest of Eldrazi, though it may take many such blows to cause one to fall. Though Eldrazi meat is inedible, this kill with give the Gideon great renown. If the hunt is successful, he will not have difficulty finding a mate this season.

Kytheon, now going by Gideon full time: (Calling over) I know you’re there, Munda! Are you going to lend a hand or not?

Munda: You’re doing fine, bro! They can’t even scratch you!

Gideon: I’d still like to finish up sometime today!

Munda: Fine, fine! Everyone, attack!

(Munda and his party help Gideon dispatch the Eldrazi.)

Gideon: Really wished you’d shown up earlier. I’ve been fighting those things for hours. Literally hours.

Munda: Sorry, bro, but we just came from our own fights. Bala Ged’s overrun. Gone the way of Sejiri. Everyone’s running to Sea Gate, but who knows if we can hold that.

Gideon: Sea Gate… Right… I’ll meet you there. Right now I need to… go place.

Munda: You need to sleep. Maybe have something to eat. You look exhausted.

Gideon: Can’t. Gotta be at work in an hour.

Munda: What work? We’re in an apocalyptic situation and all society in that general direction has collapsed.

Gideon: Well, the thing about that is THERE’S A BALOTH BEHIND YOU!

Munda: Wha-

(Gideon planeswalks away.)

Art by Richard Wright

THE MILLENNIAL RAVNICA

(Gideon bursts into the Millennial, one of the finest, most expensive restaurants in the entire city-plane of Ravnica. He’s still covered in dirt and Eldrazi ichor.)

Maitre’d: Sir, you can’t just-

Gideon: (Flashes a badge) Official Boros business, stand aside, civilian.

(Gideon marches up to a table full of finely dressed goblins)

Krenko, the devilishly handsome goblin leader in a homemade crown: Can I help you, officer?

Gideon: You’re under arrest for arson and six counts of murder… And that’s just today.

Krenko: Sorry, officer, but this crown means I don’t have to listen to you.

Gideon: And why is that?

Krenko: Because it’s made of knives.

Gideon: (Sigh)

Art by Richard Wright

A BOROS GARRISON RAVNICA

Dars, a real, actual Boros Soldier: Great work as always, Jura!

Gideon: (heavy breathing) Thanks. I try.

Krenko, in cuffs, covered in blood: Seemed a bit unprofessional if you ask me.

Dars: We don’t. You’re going straight into lockup… After medical care, of course.

Gideon: He’s fine… The blood’s mine.

Dars: Aren’t you invincible?

Gideon: I’d thought so...

Dars: Then how…

Gideon: Krenko must’ve been tougher than the other criminals I’ve fought… and the Eldrazi… and that vampire… and the pyromancer… and the titan… and Erebos, God of the Dead.

Dars: He must be as powerful as he is handsome.

Gideon: He is very handsome.

Real, actual photograph by Empire State Photography Also Karl Kopinski  and Winona Nelson

(STRANGE OBJECT THROWN THROUGH THE WINDOW!)

Dars: IT’S A BOMB!

Gideon: It’s a letter.

Dars: A letter bomb?

Gideon: It’s from Rikkig and Gardagig, two of the Shattergang goblins. They want us to hand over Krenko for murdering their brother, or… then the bomb.

Dars: Why do these goblins insist on killing each other?

Krenko: Well, when we kill non-goblins, your pink asses call us racist.

Gideon: ...I’ll go deal with them. As soon as I run some errands first.

Art by Vincent Proce

ZENDIKAR

(Gideon fights some Eldrazi on Zendikar. Munda’s there, too. And a random sorceress who shoots lightning bolts.)

Munda: Hey, Gideon, buddy, pal, bro… Remember when I said everyone was running to Sea Gate?

Gideon: Yes…

Munda: Turns out that includes the Eldrazi.

Gideon: Well, slith. On my way. After goblins.

Art by Michael Komarck

RAVNICA

(Gideon busts down the door to a warehouse)

Gideon: It’s over, Rikkig! I already captured your brother offscreen!

Rikkig’s voice, from somewhere inside the building: Didn’t bring Krenko, huh? And here I was going to exchange my hostages for yours.

(Light goes on in back, revealing a group of old women, children, and kittens tied up.)

Gideon: I can’t just hand over a prisoner! He’s been lawfully arrested, just like you’ll be!

(Rikkig steps out, wearing twelve layers of padding, a helmet, and goggles)

Rikkig: Well, if you don’t have a Krenko for me, I still have something for you.

(Rikkig throws a bomb)

(Things explode)

(Rikkig is padded. Gideon is indestructible. The hostages scream. The building begins burning and collapsing.)

Gideon: Damn damn damn!

(Gideon rushes to save the hostages. There’s a lot of them. He can only carry a few at a time. The building continues to burn.)

Dars: NEVER FEAR! THE BOROS LEGION IS HERE!

(Boros rush the building, rescue hostages, put out the fire. Rikkig escapes.)

Gideon: How did you get here so fast?

Dars: Followed you. You seemed like you were biting off a bit more than you can chew.

Gideon: I can handle it myself:

Dars: No. No, you can’t. We’re a Legion. We use tactics and teamwork so screw ups like this don’t happen. We’re going to go send a bunch of guys to catch that one goblin, and you’re going to sleep.

Gideon: But if I do that, who’s going to fight the giant monsters?

Dars: What?

Gideon: Bye.  (Gideon planeswalks away.)

Art by Nic Klein

Art by Igor Kieryluk

SEA GATE, A BIG DAM CITY ZENDIKAR

(ALL THE ELDRAZI ATTACK THE CITY! Hundreds of Eldrazi. Thousands of Eldrazi. Millions and billions and… okay, maybe not that many.  In the center: Gideon, indestructible and kicking ass.)

Gideon: I don’t care how many of you I have to kill! I can do this all day! I haven’t slept in a week and I’m not about to start now!

Jori En, a mermaid who is evenly distributed human and fish: HELP! HELP!

(Gideon bursts into a burning building, scoops up the mermaid, and runs off as it collapses behind them)

Gideon: Why didn’t you evacuate with the others?

Jori En: My friend Kendrin and I were checking for records about the Hedrons! She almost figured out what they do and how they’re supposed to stop the Eldrazi!

Gideon: That’s wonderful! Where is she?

Jori En: Uhh… In that building.

Gideon: Oh.

Jori En: Yeah…

Gideon: So…

Jori En: But I have all her notes! Unfortunately, she was a complete nerd and I don’t understand any of them.

Gideon: …. Go. Run. Get to safety. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.

Jori En: You have a plan?

Gideon: I have a nerd.

Art by Adam Paquette

JACE’S SANCTUM RAVNICA

(We cut to Jace Beleren, a blue cloak with a wizard inside it. With him is Lavinia, his assistant and bodyguard.)

Lavinia: That was your last meeting for today. Time to have a healthy dinner, and then get to bed early.

Jace Beleren: Or I’ll fill myself with coffee and stay up until three in the morning solving Sudoku. Sudokus? Sudoki.

Lavinia: You’re going to be grouchy all day tomorrow if you do that.

Jace: You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mom. I think. I honestly don’t remember.

Lavinia: I distinctly remember not being your mother.

Jace: Then I’ll see you at work first thing in the morning!

Lavinia: ...Of course. Goodnight, Jace. (Lavinia heads off)

(Jace starts to fetch his coffee when… there’s a knock on the bookshelf)

Jace: WHO IS- … wait. Who even knows about my secret passage? (Jace magically opens the bookshelf from a distance, preparing for trouble)

Liliana Vess, hasn’t aged a day in years: Jace! Snookums! (Walks right in.)

Jace: No.

Liliana: How are you, dear! I’ve missed you! You never showed for our last date!

Jace: That’s probably because you tried to kill me.

Liliana: Oh, pish posh. That was on Nicol Bolas’ orders. I’m freelance now.

Jace: You killed my best friend.

Liliana: And I killed my brother. This isn’t a competition, you know.

Jace: What do you want?

Liliana: I missed you! Can’t a girl visit her lover without getting the third degree?

Jace: (incredulous) You came all the way to Ravnica, presumably went to a lot of effort to find my secret passage, and showed up here unannounced because you missed me?

Liliana: I thought we could catch up. Spend some time together. Talk about our feelings.

Jace: You’re a murderer and a liar, and that’s not even bringing up that you managed to turn Garruk into some sort of superpowered psychopath hunting ‘the most dangerous game’ from plane to plane.

Liliana: Yeah, that was fun.

Jace: Go away.

Liliana: Take me to dinner.

Jace: ...You’re not leaving if I don’t play along, are you?

Liliana: I am not.

Jace: Fine.

Art by Dave Kendall

(Jace and Liliana start walking down the street)

Little Old Lady: Sir! Buy a flower for your girlfriend?

Jace: She’s not my girlfriend! She’s some sort of insufferable hell-witch who refuses to leave me alone for arcane purposes she won’t tell me about.

Little Old Lady: Oh, of course! Buy a flower for your wife?

Jace: Grrrrrrrrrr…..

THE MILLENNIAL RAVNICA

Maitre’d: Please forgive the mess, Sir Guildpact. We had an incident the other day… Of course, we’ll make sure it doesn’t inconvenience you.  (He shows Jace and Liliana to a table)

Jace: It’s fine, it’s fine. Just… It’s fine.

Liliana: That Guildpact title is useful. How is it being grand high king of Ravnica?

Jace: I’m not the King. I’m just a grand high Judge. I uphold the law. I don’t create it.

Liliana: Well, that sounds positively boring. You should become king. I’m sure you could pull it off.

Jace: I really don’t want to be king… And speaking of what I want, what do you want?

Liliana: The lobster looks positively-

Jace: I meant with me. Why are you making me take you out to dinner?

Liliana: Because I wanted to see you. Why would you think there was anything else? Do you think I can’t handle my demons on my own?

Jace: They are four particularly large-

Liliana: Two. I already killed Kothophed and Griselbrand. With the Chain Veil. It’s a wonderful artifact that grants ultimate power that is working out great for everybody involved.

Jace: Uh...huh.

Liliana: It certainly doesn’t have some sort of magical hooks in me that I need help understanding.

Jace: Of course not.

Liliana: And I’ll be perfectly fine studying it on my own.

Jace: Great.

Liliana: I can handle this.

Jace: Good to know. So you just want to sit with me and eat dinner?

Liliana: Yes.

Jace: And nothing else?

Liliana: Why? What are you implying.

Maitre’d: (at the entrance) SIR! NO! NOT AGAIN!

Jace: Hmm?

Art by David Rapoza

Gideon Jura, covered in Eldrazi goop: Need to see the Guildpact.

Maitre’d: Sir, you are covered in I don’t know what! We can’t afford another-

Gideon: Zendikar! It’s about Zendikar!

Jace: (softly) Damn it. (loudly) Send him in!

Maitre’d: Oh, all right…

Gideon: (staggers in) Beleren. Zendikar.

Jace: I’m sort of in the middle of something right now. What do you want?

Liliana: Right, he’s on a date! Go away!

Gideon: (Deep breath) Zendikar is being overrun by the Eldrazi, and we have notes on how the Hedrons might be able to stop them, but I need help from someone with skills I don’t have. Will you please help me?

Jace: … Say that last part again?

Gideon: ...Will you please help me?

Jace: You know what? Sure!

Gideon: Great, we can leave right-

Jace: In the morning. I need to have a healthy dinner and get to bed on time or I’ll be grouchy all day, and you need to get to a healer and rest as well. That’s the offer, take it or leave it.

Gideon: I… alright. Thank you.

Liliana: What the falkenrath, Jace? Here I come, all the way from Innistrad, with my magical artifact and two demons left to kill, and you’re willing to just run off with this oversized slab of beef with barely any explanation?

Jace: Is that a problem?

Liliana: Of course it’s a problem! You were supposed to come and help me!

Jace: Really? Huh. You should’ve said something.

Art by Jaime Jones

[republicstandard]

The Future of Europe is Civil War

Europe is committing suicide- or at least it's leaders have decided to commit suicide. Whether European people decide to go along with this is, naturally, another matter. ~ Douglas Murray, The Strange Death of Europe

Europe is my home. It is where I live. Everything I value is here- on this continent. Everything I love and will suffer to lose is here. My country, separate, slightly odd, provincial and uncool; Brexit Britain, land of bad food and uncharitable reputations on dental hygiene and house cleanliness, is a European country too. God knows it is a conflicted time to be an Englishman abroad. God knows it hurts to look at the goldfish bowl from outside. Yesterday brought the story of 78-year-old Richard Osborne-Brooks.

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

A Scotland Yard spokesman said:

'At 00:45hrs on Wednesday, 4 April, police were called by a homeowner to reports of a burglary in progress at an address in South Park Crescent, Hither Green SE6, and a man injured.

'The 78-year-old resident found two males inside the address. A struggle ensued between one of the males and the homeowner. The man, aged 38, sustained a stab wound to the upper body.

'London Ambulance Service took the injured male, who was found collapsed in Further Green Road, SE8, to a central London hospital. He was pronounced dead at 03:37hrs.'

What happened next? Of course, this pensioner was arrested on suspicion of murder. Murder! A crime which requires premeditation and to be without lawful excuse, for stabbing an intruder to your home. With his disabled wife upstairs, Mr. Osborne-Brooks encountered and subsequently killed an armed man who was intruding in his home, the purported castle of the Englishman. No more a castle, you are a serf of the state and subject to prosecution- for doing what any man ought to do in such circumstances. Are we to accept that criminals may just enter our homes, threaten our lives and take what they will?

This pensioner committed no crime. If an armed man breaks into your home you must be able to defend yourself against the chance of being murdered. @metpoliceuk must stop persecuting British victims of crime. https://t.co/gLRQqbiydG

— Ash Sharp 🇬🇧 🇵🇱 (@6crip) April 4, 2018

This is a travesty of justice at any time, let alone the crime nightmare we find ourselves in today. You are more likely to be raped in London than New York. Terrorism is impossible to control. Islam is appeased and treated as an exalted religion over our own and is in control of increasingly large territories across the country. The leader of the Christian faith in Britain has simply given up. White Britons are a minority in their own capital. Free speech died long ago in the land of my fathers. You've heard this song from me and others before. The rhetoric of terrorism will never win and strong and stable becomes a little more shrill with every passing assault on my people. The police investigate online hate speech but not muggings- as the unfairly maligned Katie Hopkins said, if this terrorism losing, I'd hate to see it win.

Our enforcement officers are visiting mosques today to speak to residents about hate crime concerns. If you face anti-Muslim hate, report it to @TellMamaUK and always dial 999 in an emergency. #WeStandTogether pic.twitter.com/j92uOU6UgC

— Hackney Council (@hackneycouncil) April 3, 2018

This is not a police officer. This is an enforcement officer, whose job is to collect information about crimes committed against the good name of Islam. He has no power to arrest, nor to issue any fines. This young man is employed by the state to sniff out hate. The kind of hate that obeys neo-Marxist ideas, the perceived hate for the minority projected into the heart of the White Briton, hate that is subjectively felt- on behalf of the minority! If you feel someone hates someone, then it is so and neither party need agree with you.

I'm from a little place called Great Britain, But I dunno if I love or hate Britain, These words upon my page written, Are the things that make and break Britain. ~ Scroobius Pip

Maybe your European country has similar problems that are being unreported. Maybe you are a Swede, lied to about your democratic socialist wonderland, or German and told that your generation must suffer the intolerable, for the indelible sins of the Reich. The Reich, the idea of which remains to this day the great weapon against the people of all Europe, against our national identity. It seems that wherever you turn, suggesting that perhaps our nations are ill-served by the Multi-Kulti experiment draws the accusation: "Nazi!"

Is it the case that this fifty-something school teacher is a Nazi when she says with sadness of her majority immigrant students;

"I believe the difference between their world at home and our world is so large they cannot reconcile them. The Sharia is, for many students, surely superior."

Only the fool or the ideologue can disagree with this assessment. Anyone who thinks for longer than ten-seconds about the nature of faith can see how obeying the laws of God is more important to the faithful than integrating with a sad shadow of a Western civilization that knows not for whom it stands. We know not why we exist. No longer allowed a national identity, Europeans are simply chattle. Though we are told that we are free, the truth is we have no freedom at all and no respite from the Orwellian demands of our masters that we ignore the obvious in favor of the fantastical.

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

The sad reality is that, in all likelihood, war will come again to our continent. It will be unlike the war that nearly killed national identity, in that no more will a nation-state invade her neighbors for territory and conquest. This war will be continent-wide, but internal- and I believe firstly ideological. As the demographics slide further and further towards the annihilation of White Europeans in many countries, the powers that be -the globalist, rootless and self-serving elites that lead most European countries- will ramp up the programming. State news channels will increase the propaganda, of how values are all that matter. We will see enforcement officers like in Hackney rolling out across the land. The taxpayer will pay for their own imprisonment, fearing to leave their houses, and unable to defend their homes in any case.

“There is a rise in knife crime because nothing is being done about it. Gang crime and gangland violence should be taken seriously as terrorism by the state. Statistical trends over the years show more fatalities of gangland activities than terrorist activities. There is no voice of reason from state officials and an absence of debate.” Dr. Mohammed Rahman

What I contend we are seeing is the weaponization of minority groups by the state itself. One has to admit, using Islamophobia to repress verbal dissent and feral immigrant youth to make the streets so dangerous -or at least give that impression- that most civilians will simply stay at home would be a brilliant idea if your agenda is to create a submissive and servile nation of tax-cows. The neoliberal debt machine needs feeding; so for as long as the music plays the aim has to be to keep the majority dancing to the tune while they are robbed blind, and ultimately replaced by the migrants Israel is too proud to take.

The state must encourage the Muslim community to tell stories of hate crimes, which suggests the hate crimes are few. Tell Mama, a Muslim run and state-funded collector of anti-Muslim sentiment is regularly pushed through the media as an authority on the matter, despite previously losing funding for misrepresenting statistics. Imagine if you were being persecuted- would you need enforcement officers and campaigners to encourage you speak out?

If extremists seek division, we rise above. If extremists cause harm, we rise above. If you face hate, we rise to help: #WeStandTogether pic.twitter.com/4O8R7TbNeE

— TellMAMAUK (@TellMamaUK) March 23, 2017

Imagine, a state-funded NGO and enforcement officers on the streets of Telford, of Oxford, of Rotherham. Where was the state then? Looking away. Gathering evidence of anti-Muslim hate, I suppose. Imagine a constable patrolling Mr. Osborne-Brooks' street in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. Where was the state then? Not protecting the law-abiding citizen, that is for sure.

Imagine recognizing that for all the faults in our society that this society is British, not the dar al-Islam; and that British law -not Islamic- has to rule. Imagine that offense had to be taken and not given. Imagine that instead of stifling the legitimate questions many Britons have about Islam and immigration we could be trusted to discuss them and find peaceful grounds, and non-violent solutions. Instead, old men are arrested for defending their wives and homes from burglars; criticism of Islam is banned, and London itself has been turned over to criminal gangs- the vast majority of whom are non-British in ethnicity.

The UK police will probably-most-definitely-never investigate reports of TellMAMAUK wrongdoings. Call it a hunch. pic.twitter.com/gsLkWz3kc1

— Nick Monroe (@nickmon1112) April 5, 2018

I have been a vocal opponent of interventionalist foreign policy and war in general for most of my adult life- primarily from a leftist position. I abhor violence. I find no pleasure then in telling you that we are headed for civil war in the United Kingdom if we persist in treating the native population as little more than a tax farm. For far less insult the American Revolution began, and like almost all civil conflicts we will see bloodshed in England when the financial situation becomes untenable for a critical mass of citizens. For reasons best known to themselves, our leaders -and this I fear is true of most Western nations- have abdicated. Capitulated. Do they care about anything other than living out their lives in comfort, secure that their childless lineages end during times of relative prosperity?

[Society] is a partnership in all science, a partnership in all art, a partnership in every virtue and in all perfection. As the ends of such a partnership cannot be obtained in many generations, it becomes a partnership not only between those who are living, but between those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are to be born. ~ Edmund Burke

For whatever reason, we believe that war is over in Europe, that it may never return. Seventy years of peace with forty years of paranoid cold war have resulted in a kleptocrat European Union and brainless, soulless political elites who know nothing of their own cultures; wishing only that all Europe becomes a federal state. Looking to a utopian future has always proven to be a recipe for disaster for mankind.

I don't hate white people strictly because they're white. I hate white people because of hundreds & hundreds & hundreds of years of white people hating other races strictly being they are NOT WHITE Racism involves prejudice But not all prejudice is racist https://t.co/NV4OYrPLNe

— 🌷♠🌱Fox🌱♠🌷 (@cascadianpoppy) April 4, 2018

It will not start out as a race war; first Britons will first turn on each other as the hard left demands more state support and the right refuses to pay for it. The socialist cries that the government has sold the family silver will carry some weight- enough to mobilize the anti-capitalists against the working class, who are already beginning to gather together in self-interest. The riots of the disenfranchised Black youths in London will again be played off in the media and by the liberals as a just and expected response to this austerity; and Islam will continue to be protected at all costs, despite further evidence of rape gangs, jihad, and terror plots. In such an environment, all it will take is a single flashpoint to turn economic strife into sectarian violence the likes of which we have not seen since The Troubles. The fight will be undesired by all, not that this will save us.

"Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable." ~ John F. Kennedy

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

In a time of chaos, human beings revert to tribal states. We seek solace and comfort in those that are like ourselves. Can we deny that on some cultural-wide subconscious level that this is happening at greater and greater levels? The desire for ingroup identity is rising, across all demographics. You can feel it in the air and water itself- this is why identitarians are looked at with fear by the state. The elites know what the rise of these groups portend for the future, that none of these events are happening in isolation, that they are all connected to the state's failure to enforce the laws fairly. Is civil war inevitable? Maybe- I hope it can be avoided. I hope, as always, that I am wrong and the world can be a Coca-Cola advert of inclusivity, just plain old getting along, in the way that our governments have promised us we all would.

I am nothing, if not a relentless optimist.

Thank you for reading Republic Standard. We publish this magazine and the Freebird Forum because we believe in free speech- but it doesn't come cheap! Will you make a small donation towards our running costs? You can make a difference by clicking here.

If you love free speech, we are building the platform for you! Read about how we are building FreebirdTV, open source video hosting with no thought-policing.

The Republic Standard Web Shop is now open! Every piece of merchandise you buy is a victory against the nerds.

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine https://ift.tt/2GTCfav via IFTTT