#and we still suffer under its effects today

[quirkwizard]

On the Matter of Quirk Counseling

So one of the hot-button issues of the fan base is the subject of Quirk Counseling. That it's this horrific practice done to "deviants" like Himiko to make them normal, and it's what turned her into the person she is today. And with the ending, people thought that Uraraka working to spread it out over the country was a terrible thing and was only going to make more problems. Naturally, this is something I disagree with. At least, to the extent the fanbase takes it.

We're told that Quirk Counseling is a program that helps the youth understand and adjust to living in modern society. However, as we see with Himiko and her flashbacks, this kind of process can end up isolating people who don't fit in with that society. A pretty grim perspective on the world. However, I don't think it's the most reliable one. This is the kind of perspective we get from Chitose, who is someone who is radically opposed to how society handles Quirks and wants to destroy it, and Toga, someone who was hurt by this same process. So I think that paints a specific picture of the practice. One that may not be entirely true.

Because in spite of being such a big part of a major villain, we know very little about what Quirk Counseling entails. We're told by Midnight that every kid goes through Quirk Counseling during elementary school. So every character in the series must have undergone this same process at some point. During Tamaki's flashback, we see something like this going on in middle school. People being taught how to use their Quirks, at least in a basic way. This is later reinforced during the Remedial Course Arc, where the whole point is the heroes helping to teach kids about their powers. All in all, it doesn't seem that terrible, and it seems to work with a lot of people in the world.

This all paints a different picture of what exactly Quirk Counseling entails. Because when we see it in action, it's mostly just teaching people how to use their Quirks and helping them understand their own powers. Which isn't a bad thing. Quirks can be very dangerous and wild, even from a young age. It's important you know how it works, whether it be how it functions or how to use it. Better yet, how not to use it. Because, as we have seen, the unchecked usage of Quirks is going to be dangerous for everyone involved. Values like this need to be put into kids at a young age to keep any kind of peace or stability in the broader world. And it seems to work.

Himiko is an odd case within the world. Someone whose Quirk had a potent effect on their interests and personality, more so than any other person we've seen. She is an outlier. A deviant. Yet she was still a little girl that needed help. Maybe, if she had gotten the right help, she wouldn't be the person she is today. And that is part of the tragedy of Himiko. That the concept of normality has been so enforced that they can't even hope to properly help Himiko. The problem wasn't the system itself. The problem came in its inefficiency to handle cases like Himiko. Outliers that couldn't handle possibly fit within the brackets of "normal." And when all that pressure comes down on someone, they will eventually break under it.

It's why I don't think that Quirk Counseling growing is the problem everyone tries to make it out to be. Uraraka's helping to expand the system that is meant to help and teach kids about their powers. We've seen how that can help troubled kids. The Remedial Course is the prime example of that, where it's something that works with the kids rather than trying to strongarm them. And with that system growing, it will help to prevent cases like Himiko. It can help the kids learn about themselves and their powers. It can show kids not how to be "normal." But what they're going through isn't something they have to be afraid of and can live with. Just as Himiko could have. Expanding this isn't disrespecting her. It's keeping other kids to suffer like she did.

[arachnerd-8-legs]

really disappointing that bunjywunjy had to be pestered twice just to quietly remove their reblog after using their huge platform to encourage garbage like raving about the lesbian estonian soviet flag and how 'new pride flag just dropped' so people could go 'ooh pretty' about a flag that was forced onto us by ppl who wanted our culture gone and oppressed us for about a century in total if not more.

to say nothing or not show anything of the truth about that flag and quietly remove the reblog felt more like it was done out of obligation (and you didn't agree) rather than care for the subject matter that is still a fresh wound in our country's memory. it's only been 33 years since it ended.

I'd rather you make the mistake about something you didn't know (eastern european history is easy for westeners to overlook, because we're not a big country like them, we're not england or france or spain or germany) and admit/apologize for said mistake or even just outright state that you don't actually care rather than say nothing and quietly remove something so that people would stop talking about it

[tiredfox64]

HIIIIIIII ur works r sooo good i read them one by one before going to sleep im tellin ya anyways do u still do requestss?? If u do,can i request kunglao x gnreader where we suck kung lao off under a table while hes talking to raiden????? Its fine too if reader n kunglao switched

Hush Hush Never Tell

Yip notes: Guess my works were your bedtime stories XD. Also how did you freaking know I wanted to do a concept like this??? And You picked Kung Lao I've been wanting to give him some love.

Pairing: Kung Lao x Gn reader

Warnings‼️: NSFW, Oral sex (both receive)

You sat on Kung Lao’s lap with your arms wrapped around his neck and your lips smothering his. A steamy make-out session was at play. You had Kung Lao all hot and bothered from the beginning.

He hadn’t seen you since he went to the Wu Shi Academy. He knew he had to focus on his training but his mind would wander to the thought of you. He would think about holding you and kissing you from head to toe. He would imagine how your skin would feel against his and where your hands would wander. Then you came for a visit. Finally, he got to spend time with the love of his life. And maybe he could get rid of that inner frustration that had been building up since the last time he saw you.

He was very grabby today. He squeezed wherever he could. You both grew more and more desperate to the point you started grinding on his lap. You heard his breathing grow heavy and he began to whimper. Oh yeah, things are getting spicy. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Knock! Knock! Knock! FUCK!

Both of you heard Raiden calling for Kung Lao. You didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, you acted quickly. Your first instinct was to slip off of Kung Lao and hide under the table. Luckily the other side of the table was covered so no one would be able to see you were down there, only Kung Lao. Since he wasn’t answering Raiden decided to walk in. Kung Lao scooted his chair into the table more to prevent his friend from seeing his rock-hard boner. The only hint that something was going on was the slight blush on his face.

You heard some of their conversation. Raiden asked where you were, and Kung Lao had to lie by saying you were out for a walk. Little did the champion know that you were close by. This conversation might go on for a long time so you might as well get comfortable and have some fun.

When you looked forward you realized that your boyfriend's boner was not going down. It was pushing up against his pants. You knew it was uncomfortable for him so you decided to help him out a little. There was already a reaction from him. His hand went down to hint at you to not do that but did you listen? Fuck no! You’ve wanted to do this for a long time and now was your chance.

When you pulled down his pants his cock sprang out. Clearly it was happy to see you too. You saw the droplets of precum at the tip. It began to drip down and you took the chance to lean it and lick it up. Kung Lao’s eyes changed from a wide-eyed panic to half-lidded. His eyes rolled back a little before correcting.

“Are you alright, Kung Lao? Are you ill?” Raiden asked, believing his friend was suffering from something.

“Ah yeah…yeah I’m perfectly fine.” He lied through his teeth.

He tried to close his legs to prevent you from doing anything else but it was useless. You placed yourself between his legs. You were gonna have your fun right now.

You began to leave kisses all over it. They were gentle but it had an effect on Kung Lao. His nostrils were flaring up and he didn’t know where to put his hands. You gave him little licks on his tip. You’re killing him with your teasing. He wanted to thrust his hips but that would bring too much attention. Seeing how his legs jittered gave you the hint and you gave him what he wanted. Your tongue began to swirl around his tip.

Kung Lao’s hands were going crazy trying to keep himself under control. One of his hands was scratching at the table while the other was concealing his mouth just in case he couldn’t hold in any moans. Raiden suspected something was up but didn’t ask. He decided to go on and on about what they needed to do in regards to training. Kung Lao was not taking anything in. All he was thinking about was how good you were making him feel. You grew braver as this went on so you decided to take him all in. He felt your tongue slide down as your warm mouth surrounded his cock.

You’re gonna be the death of him.

He let out a whine and he began shaking a little. Raiden noticed and had to ask since Kung Lao was acting very strangely.

“What is the matter? You are not yourself.”

Kung Lao had to think quickly. What did he decide to say?

“…hungry…” Good thinking, it’s realistic.

Raiden sighed before saying, “Typical. Fine, I will leave you be so you can get yourself food. But once you are done we must discuss our training routine.”

Raiden walked out of the room and Kung Lao immediately got to work. You felt his hands grab onto your head before he stood up. It all happened so fast. You felt his cock go deeper down your throat, causing you to gag a little. He thrusted in and out of your mouth. He was a panting and whimpering mess.

All your teasing made him sensitive. Combined with the fact he had jerked off this whole time even when he so desperately wanted to he was incredibly sensitive down there. If Raiden didn’t leave in time he probably would have came right in front of him.

His cock abused the back of your throat while his fingers grabbed at your hair. His pelvis bumped into your nose multiple times. You began to drool from the inability to swallow in time and the constant movement in your mouth. You felt him twitch and he began to moan. One more thrust and you felt his cum flow down your throat. He was pent up for a long time so there was a lot going down. You had no choice but to swallow it all. That orgasm was needed. He was shaking and sweating. He didn’t even realize the top half of his body was leaning on the table.

He slipped his cock out of your mouth before sitting back down. His head went back and you could see his chest rising up and down a lot from his heavy breathing. Your mouth was a mess. A mess of saliva and cum that was slipping down your lips.

You crawled out from under the table and began to stand up before feeling Kung Lao pick you. He placed you on the table and took your pants off in one fell swoop. He parted your legs before giving you a smile.

“Now’s my turn.” He did say he was hungry. Time to dig in.

His face was between your legs in seconds. Gosh, you forgot how impressive his tongue was. Swirling around and making it a wet mess down there. His lips felt like heaven. They are wonderful for kissing and giving kisses down there. You couldn’t close your legs since his hands were spreading them apart. Good luck trying to fight him, he’s too strong and hungry for you.

Your back rested against the table since you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself up. Your head hung off and you were trying your hardest to be quiet. Your legs began to shake and you tried to push Kung Lao’s head away from down there. He didn’t budge and that orgasm hit you like a brick. Your hands went from his head over to your mouth to cover it. Your moans were muffled but could still be heard by him. Prideful bastard, he loves hearing you moan for him.

You sure made a mess on his face. Kung Lao got on top of the table and crawled on top of you. His lips latched onto yours and you both got a taste of each other. When he pulled away you saw the mess you made but also the large smile on his face.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” He’s such a sweetheart, right?

Yap notes: I saw slugs this morning and that's cool. Not important but it's important to me. My cat finally came out and asked for pats and I told her I had to finish but nooo she needs pats. Now she is sleeping nearby. If only I could have my dog come near but he is moody right now. OH RIGHT THIS IS A FANFIC I GOT SIDETRACKED. I mean what can I say Kung Lao is a cutie patootie. And he has a big appetite like me when I'm not anxious. What am i gonna do for dinner? Adiós!

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Here For You

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: It's a bad day, a really bad day. And your boys have no intention of leaving you to suffer alone. Warnings: Chronic pain Series Masterlist

The sun's light filters in through the curtains of your room, casting long stripes of gold across the floor. But its warmth doesn't reach you today, not in this bed where you lie still, the covers pulled tight around your body as if they could shield you from the world.

You stare at the ceiling, your mind a blank slate as you wait for the pain to recede. But it remains, a constant reminder of the night before, and with every passing second, it seems to grow stronger, more insistent. This isn't just any morning; it's one of the worst, where even the simple act of sitting up feels like an impossible task.

Madam Pomfrey's potions are lined up on your bedside table, glinting mockingly in the sunlight. You've already taken them all—the ones you save for days like these—but their effects are negligible. Your bones still ache deep within, each breath a sharp stab to your lungs. You've also left out the pill packets, your muggle medication that's a requirement to get by.

The thought of food is repugnant, the mere idea enough to make your stomach twist in protest. So you lie there, motionless, your eyes tracing the patterns in the plaster above you as you try to ignore the gnawing emptiness inside.

It's moments like these when you wish to be left alone, not out of anger or frustration but as a silent plea for privacy. Your boyfriends—Remus, Sirius, and James—understand this unspoken rule, a boundary drawn in the sand that they dare not cross unless invited.

They have witnessed your struggles, the way you grit your teeth against the sharp stabs of discomfort. Still, they haven't seen you like this—when the pain becomes too much, when it consumes you entirely, leaving you trapped within your own body, unable to move, to fight back.

This is the side of you that you've always tried to hide from them—the side that shows just how human, how vulnerable you are. And it scares you, knowing that they could see you in such a state.

But today, they’re not letting it go. They used to be just your friends, but now they’re your boyfriends.

The sound of the door creaking open is a subtle intrusion, but it sends a wave of apprehension through your already tense muscles. You haven't spoken to them yet, haven't given them any indication that you're aware of their presence, but you know it's them. They noticed you weren't at breakfast. They always do.

James is the first to enter, his face immediately softening with concern when he sees you still lying there, unmoving, unresponsive to his arrival. Remus follows closely behind him, his expression one of quiet worry. Sirius lingers in the doorway, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a frown that creases his forehead.

"Hey," James's voice is a soft murmur as he eases himself onto the edge of your bed. The mattress dips under his weight, pulling at the sheets that cover your bruised body. "We got worried when you didn't show up for breakfast."

The words hang in the air, but you can't summon the strength to answer them. Your only reply is a faint shake of your head—a silent plea for understanding.

Remus kneels by the bed, his hand hovering over yours. He hesitates, unsure where touch might bring comfort or inflict pain. Finally, he settles for taking your fingers, avoiding the worst of your injuries. "Is it bad?" The question is barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of his concern.

"Yeah." Your voice is a ragged echo of its usual self, each word scraped raw by the agony coursing through your veins. "Really bad."

Sirius crosses the threshold, closing the door with a soft click. His eyes meet yours, shadows of concern etched in their depths. He moves to the foot of your bed, his usual buoyancy replaced with a heaviness that mirrors your own. "Have you taken any potions?" The question hangs in the air, though he knows the answer. He's searching for something—anything—that might ease your suffering.

You nod feebly, the motion draining what little energy remains. "I took them all... but they didn't help."

James exhales, a sound laced with frustration and helplessness. His hand finds your arm again, the touch both grounding and reassuring, even as your world spins out of control. "Just tell us what we can do," he murmurs, the words barely more than a breath. "We'll do anything."

Normally, you'd wave them off, assure them that you're fine and they should enjoy their day without fretting over you. But today... today the pain is a gnawing beast in your bones, a weight too heavy to lift even with the strongest of pretences.

"I just... I don't know," you admit softly, voice barely above a whisper as it trembles with the effort of speaking. "It hurts too much to move."

James's frown deepens, a hand running restlessly through his already dishevelled hair as he turns to look at Remus and Sirius, as if hoping they might have answers he does not. It's Remus who breaks the silence first, his voice steady despite the concern etched into every line of his face. He rises from beside your bed, the movement fluid and measured.

"Perhaps a bath?" he suggests, looking between the three of you. "The warmth could help relax your muscles."

A faint nod is all you can manage in response, appreciating the thought but dreading the effort it will require to get you there.

"I can't... I can't move," you admit quietly, and the admission feels like a defeat.

Sirius steps closer, his gaze holding that familiar protective glint you've seen so many times before. "You won't have to. We'll help you."

The prospect of their assistance sends a wave of embarrassment through you, but it's quickly snuffed out by the realisation that you have no energy left to argue or resist. You've always been careful to maintain your boundaries, to not let them see you at your weakest—vulnerable and exposed—but right now, you need them more than your pride.

"Alright," you whisper, the word scraping against your dry throat.

James leans in, brushing his lips against your temple—a soft promise. His arms snake around you, cradling your body as if it were made of glass. "We've got you, love. Just let us handle everything."

A nod is all you can manage, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you with its blend of frustration and relief.

Remus retreats to the ensuite, the sound of running water soon filling the room. James and Sirius exchange a look, a silent communication that speaks volumes of their shared concern. With a gentleness belying his imposing frame, Sirius reaches for the wheelchair parked by the foot of the bed.

"Here," James's voice is a low murmur, more felt than heard. "I'm going to lift you now." His hands, firm and surprisingly gentle, slide under your knees and behind your back. You nod, offering him the ghost of a smile even as humiliation burns in your cheeks. They've seen you hurt before, but never like this, never so helpless.

The world tilts as James lifts you into his arms. A whimper escapes your lips, the movement sending daggers of pain through your legs and lower back. But he holds you steady, his grip unyielding against the tremors that wrack your body.

Sirius hovers nearby, a shadow cut from the dim light. His hand comes to rest on your head, fingers brushing through your hair with deep affection. "Easy there," he murmurs, the warmth in his voice belying the worry in his eyes. "We'll have you sorted soon. Just keep breathing."

Once they've settled you into the wheelchair, Sirius takes the handles, steering you towards the bathroom where Remus stands waiting. The door is ajar, steam curling out from the gap and filling the bedroom with the scent of lavender bath salts. He's always had a knack for knowing what you need, even when you don't.

The sight of the bathtub makes your face heat up, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over you. You've been seeing them for a few weeks now, but none of them have ever seen you naked. The thought of their eyes on your bare skin sends a shiver down your spine, and it's not from the cold.

"I can undress myself," you insist, though even as you say it, you know it isn't true. Your body feels heavy, too weak to move.

But Sirius is already shaking his head, his hand coming up to gently push back a lock of hair that has fallen across your forehead. "We'll help, love. Don't worry about it. We're not here to gawk—we're here to help."

And you believe him. How could you not when their faces are filled with nothing but concern, their attention focused solely on easing your discomfort? There is no place for shame or embarrassment here, not in the warmth of their care.

Remus kneels next to you again, his gaze soft with understanding. "We'll be careful," he says quietly, "and we won't look more than necessary. Only us here."

You nod, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. With that, they begin to undress you, their movements slow and cautious. Their hands are careful not to touch more than necessary, and respectful of your modesty.

Your clothing, once a barrier between you and the world, falls away piece by piece until you're left in nothing but your underwear. Remus keeps his eyes on your face as he helps you to take your knickers off and you close your eyes, taking in a shaky breath as they lift you into the bath.

The water is hot, almost too hot, but it's a welcome change. It laps at your skin, soothing away the ache in your muscles and cleansing the sweat that clings to you. A sigh escapes your lips, long and shaky, as the tension begins to seep from your body.

"Feeling any better?" Remus's voice is low, just above a whisper.

You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, grateful smile. "Yeah," you say, your voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of water against porcelain. "A lot better."

James crouches next to the tub, his hand resting lightly on the edge, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that speaks volumes of his concern. "Good. We'll let you soak for a bit. Shout if you need anything."

Sirius, still leaning against the door jamb, gives you a small, reassuring nod. "We won't be far. Take your time."

They leave you alone then, retreating back into the bedroom, but their presence lingers—a comforting pressure at the edge of your awareness. They remain within reach, ready to respond at the first sign of distress.

Eventually, when your muscles have uncoiled and the ache has dulled to a manageable throb, you call out to them. They return without hesitation, helping you from the bath with the same gentleness they showed before.

The warmth of their hands is a tangible safety net, drying you off with such care that it's almost impossible to remain tense. The blush on your cheeks refuses to fade, but the embarrassment is tempered by an unexpected sense of comfort. This isn't how you imagined spending your day, yet here you are, surrounded by the people who mean the most to you, and they're taking care of you in a way no one has in a long time.

Remus's fingers are deft as he helps you into a soft shirt, his touch careful to avoid any lingering soreness. A pair of pajama pants appears, courtesy of James, who flashes you a reassuring smile as he hands them over.

Sirius kneels before you, his silver eyes serious as he gently rolls up the pant legs. His hands pause at your feet, waiting for your permission before lifting each one, guiding the fabric over your calves and thighs with a gentleness you wouldn't have expected from him. The tension in your shoulders eases bit by bit, replaced by the rhythmic lull of their ministrations, the familiarity of their presence, and the surprising intimacy of this moment.

"Better?" Sirius asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers tighten slightly around your knee before releasing their hold. The concern in his tone is palpitous, a stark contrast to the bravado he often wears.

There's a shift in the air as James steps forward, taking control of the wheelchair once more. He manoeuvres you back into the bedroom with practiced ease, parking the chair next to your bed. "More sleep, or shall I make you a cup of tea?"

For a moment, you consider the weight of exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, the beckoning call of oblivion. But sleep is a fickle friend these days, and the ache in your bones refuses to be ignored.

"Tea," you manage, your voice threadbare from disuse. "That would be... nice."

A smile flickers across James's face, brief but genuine. "Tea it is." He straightens up, adjusting his glasses as he turns towards the door. "I won't be long."

"Here, let me help you," Remus says, a supportive presence by your side as he helps you move from the wheelchair to the bed. He arranges the pillows behind you with care, ensuring you're comfortable. Sirius sits at the foot of your bed, his hands restless as they toy with the hem of your pyjama trousers.

You watch them both, warmth spreading. "Thank you," you say quietly, and it feels like an understatement. For everything, you want to add, but words fail you.

Sirius looks up then, his eyes softening. "No need for that, love. We're just doing what anyone should do."

"Exactly." Remus's voice is firm as he sits on the edge of your bed, his gaze meeting yours as he wraps an arm around you. "We're here for you, always will be."

You feel a lump forming in your throat again, but not from fear or sadness—it's from the overwhelming sense of love and gratitude that fills you for these three boys who have become your everything.

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into Remus' touch, the simple act grounding you, reminding you that you're safe, you're loved. Sirius moves closer, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in a silent promise of support. You squeeze his hand back and, for the first time since you woke up, you feel the tension in your body start to ebb away.

The sound of footsteps draws your attention as James returns, carrying four steaming mugs of tea. He hands them out, his movements careful and measured. Then, with a final glance at you, he slips under the covers on your other side. His presence is a warm reassurance, another pillar of strength in your small sanctuary.

[the-broken-spear]

Aequorin has made a post addressing the thing:

Transcript below the cut

[Text reads: We want to apologize for the execution and editing decisions we made as a team on the Auraboa story, Ancient Arboriculture Observations. Your critique of the story and that parallels can be drawn to the struggles faced by native nations and the forced assimilation of their children into a western world have been heard. Looking at the story now, we can absolutely see how such parallels were drawn, and are committed to correcting this. We thank you for both reaching out to us, and for your patience while we worked to address these concerns. The Auraboa were and are intended to be dragons with a scifi-alien mindset with an innate mental link and a different perception of time, not a native nation. The original draft for the story had many ideas, context, and characterization that were explicitly stated and then cut out for the sake of word count. The expectation was for the breed article to do the heavy lifting required, but it also wound up insufficient to support the needs of the story and as a standalone article. The fact that the hatchlings were changed but still able to freely move between the Loop and a linear time perception was left implied instead of explicitly stated. Regarding the concerns shared on Auraboan speech, the mental link and the non-linear perception of time meant that speech was an inefficient and alien form of communication for the Auraboa, resulting in stilted speech patterns that we will be evaluating with a critical eye to avoid harmful stereotypes. We appreciate the critique and feedback. We will use this as an opportunity to better our lore and restore much of this original context to make sure we are telling the story and building the world we want and intend to tell. We are also re-evaluating our length limits based on the individual stories we want to tell and the world building we hope for these entries to do. We've been restricting the story lengths to prevent writing ourselves into corners like the Tidelord and the long, long break between Bounty of the Elements and its planned conclusion in Adventure Mode. And like with the Undertide story, the Auraboa story suffered under this artificial limit. This time, this combination lead to us publishing a story that could be read in multiple and harmful ways. We also need to note that in the United States we are entering a holiday weekend and many of our employees will be taking or are already on paid time off. We apologize that a change cannot be effected as immediately as we would like, but will work to improve the story as swiftly as possible (November, ideally.) For today: The Auraboa breed article has been expanded to more fully cover the connection that the Auraboa have in the Loop, duality of the nature of Auraboa hatchlings, and to make clear that the Auraboa born now are not and have not been severed from their connections and family. We will update Site Status again when the short story is updated with the additional context, direction, and ending. We want to thank the community again for your feedback and commitment to bettering the world of Flight Rising. As always, we ask that feedback on topics that touch on real world matters of significance are submitted directly to us through Contact Us.

/end text]

[thrashkink-coven]

Happy Emancipation Day!

Here's a short write up I did about Emancipation Day for my local grassroots mutual aid collective. This will unfortunately be focused primarily on Canada because our area of influence is more local than international. Please be sure to educate yourself on what this day means in your region!

What is the Slave Abolition Act of 1833?

The Slave Abolition Act of 1833 was a British law that ended slavery in most British colonies, freeing over 800,000 enslaved Africans in the Caribbean, South Africa, and Canada. The law, approved on August 28, 1833, took effect on August 1, 1834. It did not immediately apply to territories controlled by the East India Company, Ceylon, or Saint Helena; these exceptions were removed in 1843.

Earlier, in 1793, John Graves Simcoe, the first Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada (now Ontario), had passed an Act Against the importation of new slaves. This law promised freedom to children born to enslaved women at age twenty-five, but it did not free existing slaves. The Slavery Abolition Act of 1833 later replaced this law, ending slavery across most of the British Empire.

Did it really free the slaves?

The Slavery Abolition Act had its flaws. It only freed those enslaved under age six. Older individuals were classified as 'apprentices' and had to work 40 hours a week without pay as “compensation” to their former slave owners. Full emancipation was not achieved until July 31, 1838.

While Canada often expresses pride in its relatively lesser involvement in slavery when compared to other British colonies, it wasn't the first to end it. The Independent Republic of Vermont was the first in North America to abolish slavery with its 1777 constitution. This came 16 years before Upper Canada’s partial abolition in 1793. Vermont was quickly followed by states like Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, and the U.S. Congress banned slavery in future Midwest territories in 1787.

What is Emancipation Day? What does it mean?

On March 1, 2021, the Canadian House of Commons unanimously declared August 1 as Emancipation Day. This date marks the beginning of the partial abolition of slavery across British colonies in various countries.

Why is Emancipation Day important? 

Neglecting acknowledgement of Emancipation Day allows Canada to evade its dark history and distort its legacy. We must hold governments accountable for the history of their crimes. It’s critical to confront the reality that slavery was a part of Canadian history and that its legacy continues to impact African Canadians today. While Canada often boasts about its role in the Underground Railroad and its “total” abolishment of slavery before the U.S, it must also face the uncomfortable truth of its own very real involvement in slavery. Emancipation Day is about confronting history with honesty. Acknowledging this day is essential for addressing past injustices and ensuring that future generations grasp the full, unfiltered truth of Canada's history, including the painful chapters that must not be forgotten or repeated. 

Emancipation did not end the oppression of Black people in this country. For those who suffered under centuries of slavery, emancipation should have signaled that Canada would become a place of respect and opportunity for their descendants. Instead, Black Canadians still face racism, discrimination, and prejudice in education, healthcare, housing, and the justice system.

The history of slavery and the stories of enslaved people and their descendants have historically been confined to Black communities. Recognition of this day on a national scale not only helps to validify the black experience, but also to clearly acknowledge our refusal to return to these oppressive norms. Integrating this crucial part of Canadian history into the education of all our children is vital for addressing anti-Black racism and its ongoing impact in our society to this day. A necessary step toward justice is issuing an official apology to the descendants of enslaved people, bringing this issue to the forefront of Canadian awareness and starting the path toward meaningful reparations.

Emancipation day allows us the opportunity to use the past to reflect upon the present. We must acknowledge the deep, ongoing trauma from slavery and segregation as the foundation of anti-Black racism that is still rampant in our justice system today. It is only through this acknowledgement that we can begin to form a dialogue which sees black people as an important, intrinsic part of Canadian history at all times, not just during black history month. 

[thatkinkyyqueer]

Kinktober Day 30

(Using @absurdthirst prompt list)

Weight Gain/Object Insertion/Sex Pollen

“This is beautiful Dr. Bradly!” Susan says as I take her into my solarium. I invited her over for dinner after today’s test with the smokey tentacle monster. I told her it want to further discuss a plan for how to proceed, but if I’m being honest I’ve been so horny since the test. I haven’t been able to shake the images of Cameron’s look of ecstasy as the creature made him orgasm over and over. We still haven’t been able to get him out of there, but he definitely doesn’t seem to be suffering.

“Thank you.” I reply after a long pause, realizing I’ve been staring at Susan’s ass for too long. I walk her through the room showing her all of my plants. “And they’re all carnivorous?” She asks, admiring my largest pitcher plant. “Mostly. Some are here to fill the space and help with the overall ecosystem I’ve created in this room, but yes most of this plants are carnivorous.” Susan nods thoughtfully. “Would like to see my favorite plant?” I ask with a grin and she nods.

We walk to the center of the room. There’s a pole that reaches the ceiling and hundreds of small dark green vines wrapping around it, some of the vines ending in bright blue flower bulbs. The vines start to move as we approach. I stay back a couple feet and Susan steps closer to examine it. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She watches as the two of the buds start moving like charmed snakes.

“That’s because they came from the lab. It’s the only one we’ve ever found. I call it a monster-era.” I laugh at my own joke as she turns to face me. “I think I remember reading the file about this. I don’t remember much, but that vibrant blue and the moving vines are hard to forget. Is it safe?” I choose my next words carefully and smile at her, seeing the buds come around either side of her head. “It’s not dangerous.”

Right on queue the buds come into her field of view and puff it’s fine blue pollen into her face. She shrieks and stumbles back into the mass of vines. “Just relax. Everything is fine.” I say mostly so she won’t fight so hard and damage my plant. She’s panting hard, which will only make the pollen work faster. “What was that?!” I can feel my cock hardening in my pants, Susan notices too. “Pollen. Don’t worry it won’t hurt you.” The vines start wrapping around her wrists and ankles. “It’s works like a very powerful aphrodisiac.” Her face is flush and she’s having trouble keeping eye contact with me.

“I can tell it’s taking effect. Your body temperature is rising.” I say in a low voice. She bites her lower lip as I look her up and down. It looks like she’s squeezing her legs together. The vines quickly tighten around her limbs and tie her firmly to the pole. “Get me out of it please!” She begs me and I wonder how wet she is. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. The vines aren’t going to release until you have an orgasm or I cut them off.” I step a little closer now that it’s safe. “Then cut them!” She yells, getting frustrated.

I stand directly in front of her. “No.” I say plainly and she whines loudly. “Listen no matter what the plant will make you have an orgasm in an hour or so and it will release you on its own. No harm done.” I look into her eyes and palm my cock through my pants. “Or I could help and you’ll be out of there quicker.” Her brows furrow. “Fuck you.” I shrug at her, before reaching out and tracing a single finger along her jawline and under her chin. She lets out a shaky breath as her whole body trembles. I lean in close to her ear, without touching her and whisper. “Remember that when you’re begging me to fuck you in a couple minutes.”

[thoughtportal]

The Congo’s role in creating the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was kept secret for decades, but the legacy of its involvement is still being felt today.

“The word Shinkolobwe fills me with grief and sorrow,” says Susan Williams, a historian at the UK Institute of Commonwealth Studies. “It’s not a happy word, it’s one I associate with terrible grief and suffering.”

Few people know what, or even where, Shinkolobwe is. But this small mine in the southern province of Katanga, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), played a part in one of the most violent and devastating events in history.

More than 7,500 miles away, on 6 August, bells will toll across Hiroshima, Japan, to mark 75 years since the atomic bomb fell on the city. Dignitaries and survivors will gather to remember those who died in the blast and resulting radioactive fallout. Thousands of lanterns carrying messages of peace will be set afloat on the Motoyasu River. Three days later, similar commemorations will be held in Nagasaki.

No such ceremony will take place in the DRC. Yet both nations are inextricably linked by the atomic bomb, the effects of which are still being felt to this day.

The Shinkolobwe mine – named after a kind of boiled apple that would leave a burn if squeezed – was the source for nearly all of the uranium used in the Manhattan Project, culminating with the construction of the atomic bombs dropped on Japan in 1945.

But the story of the mine didn’t end with the bombs. Its contribution to the Little Boy and Fat Man has shaped the DRC’s ruinous political history and civil wars over the decades that followed. Even today the mine’s legacy can still be seen in the health of the communities who live near it.

“It’s an ongoing tragedy,” says Williams, who has examined the role of Shinkolobwe in her book Spies in the Congo. She believes there needs to be greater recognition of how the exploitation and desire to control the mine’s contents by Western powers played a role in the country’s troubles.

Mombilo too is campaigning to raise awareness of the role played by the Congo in deciding the outcome of World War Two, as well as the burden it still carries because of this. In 2016, the CCSSA’s Missing Link forum brought together activists, historians, analysts, and children of those affected by the atomic bomb, both from Japan and from the DR Congo. “We are planning to bring back the history of Shinkolobwe, so we can make the world know,” says Mombilo.

Out of Africa

The story of Shinkolobwe began when a rich seam of uranium was discovered there in 1915, while the Congo was under colonial rule by Belgium. There was little demand for uranium back then: its mineral form is known as pitchblende, from a German phrase describing it as a worthless rock. Instead, the land was mined by the Belgian company Union Minière for its traces of radium, a valuable element that had been recently isolated by Marie and Pierre Curie.  

In no other mine could you see a purer concentration of uranium. Nothing like it has ever been found – Tom Zoellner

It was only when nuclear fission was discovered in 1938 that the potential of uranium became apparent. After hearing about the discovery, Albert Einstein immediately wrote to US president Franklin D Roosevelt, advising him that the element could be used to generate a colossal amount of energy – even to construct powerful bombs. In 1942, US military strategists decided to buy as much uranium as they could to pursue what became known as the Manhattan Project. And while mines existed in Colorado and Canada, nowhere in the world had as much uranium as the Congo.

“The geology of Shinkolobwe is described as a freak of nature,” says Tom Zoellner, who visited Shinkolobwe in the course of writing Uranium – War, Energy, and the Rock that Shaped the World. “In no other mine could you see a purer concentration of uranium. Nothing like it has ever been found.”

In a deal with Union Minière – negotiated by the British, who owned a 30% interest in the company – the US secured 1,200 tonnes of Congolese uranium, which was stockpiled on Staten Island, US, and an additional 3,000 tonnes that was stored above ground at the mine in Shinkolobwe. But it was not enough. US Army engineers were dispatched to drain the mine, which had fallen into disuse, and bring it back into production.

Under Belgian rule, Congolese workers toiled day and night in the open pit, sending hundreds of tonnes of uranium ore to the US every month. “Shinkolobwe decided who would be the next leader of the world,” says Mombilo. “Everything started there.”

All of this was carried out under a blanket of secrecy, so as not to alert Axis powers about the existence of the Manhattan Project. Shinkolobwe was erased from maps, and spies sent to the region to sow deliberate disinformation about what was taking place there. Uranium was referred to as “gems”, or simply “raw material”. The word Shinkolobwe was never to be uttered.

This secrecy was maintained long after the end of the war. “Efforts were made to give the message that the uranium came from Canada, as a way of deflecting attention away from the Congo,” says Williams. The effort was so thorough, she says, that the belief the atomic bombs were built with Canadian uranium persists to this day. Although some of the uranium came from Bear Lake in Canada – about 907 tonnes (1,000 tons) are thought to have been supplied by the Eldorado mining company – and a mine in Colorado, the majority came from the Congo. Some of the uranium from the Congo was also refined in Canada before being shipped to the US.

Western powers wanted to ensure that any government presiding over Shinkolobwe remained friendly to their interests

After the war, however, Shinkolobwe emerged as a proxy ground in the Cold War. Improved enrichment techniques made Western powers less dependent on the uranium at Shinkolobwe. But in order to curtail other nations’ nuclear ambitions, the mine had to be controlled. “Even though the US did not need the uranium at Shinkolobwe, it didn’t want the Soviet Union to get access to the mine,” explains Williams.

When the Congo gained independence from Belgium in 1960, the mine was closed and the entrance filled with concrete. But Western powers wanted to ensure that any government presiding over Shinkolobwe remained friendly to their interests.

So important was stopping the Communist threat, says Zoellner, that these powers were willing to help depose the democratically elected government of Patrice Lumumba and install the dictator Mobutu Sese Seko in 1965 for a decades-long reign of ruinous plutocracy.

Attempts by the Congolese people to negotiate better conditions for themselves were attacked as Communist-fuelled sedition. “The idealism, hope, and vision of the Congolese for a Congo free of occupation by an external power was devastated by the military and political interests of the Western powers,” says Williams.

A wound unhealed

Mobutu was eventually toppled in 1997, but the spectre of Shinkolobwe continues to haunt the DRC. Drawn by rich deposits of copper and cobalt, Congolese miners began digging informally at the site, working around the sealed mineshafts. By the end of the century, an estimated 15,000 miners and their families were present at Shinkolobwe, operating clandestine pits with no protection against the radioactive ore.

Accidents were commonplace: in 2004, eight miners were killed and more than a dozen injured when a passage collapsed. Fears that uranium was being smuggled from the site to terrorist groups or hostile states vexed Western nations, leading the Congolese army to raze the miners’ village that same year.

Stories abound of children born in the area with physical deformations, but few if any medical records are kept

Despite the mineral wealth present at Shinkolobwe, since Union Minière withdrew in the early 1960s there has never been an industrial mine that could safely and efficiently extract the ores and return the proceeds to the Congolese people. After the Fukushima nuclear accident in 2011, any interest in extracting the uranium for civilian use withered away. “Uranium, even in its natural condition, resists control,” says Zoellner. “Right now Shinkolobwe exists in a limbo, a symbol for the inherent geopolitical instability of uranium.”

The ongoing secrecy around Shinkolobwe (many official US, British and Belgian records on the subject are still classified) has stymied efforts to recognise the Congolese contribution to the Allied victory, as well as hampering investigation into the environmental and health impacts of the mine.

“The effects are medical, political, economic, so many things,” says Mombilo. “We’re not able to know the negative effects of radiation because of this secrecy.” Stories abound of children born in the area with physical deformations, but few if any medical records are kept. “I had a witness who died with his brain coming out of his head, because of the radiation,” says Mombilo. “In all these years, there is not even a special hospital, there is no scientific study or treatment.”

Many of those affected by Shinkolobwe are now campaigning for recognition and reparation, but knowing who should receive them – and who should pay – is compounded by the lack of information made available about the mine and what took place there.

“Shinkolobwe is a curse on the Congo,” says Mombilo.

But he adds that for over a century, the country’s rich resources have made possible one global revolution after another: rubber for tyres made automobiles possible, uranium fuelled nuclear reactors, coltan built the computers of the information age, and cobalt powers the batteries of mobile phones and electric vehicles.

“Our world is moved by the minerals of the Congo,” says Mombilo. “The positive thing I can say is that in all these advanced technologies, you’re talking about the Congo.”

The Congo’s impact on the world has been immeasurable. Recognising the name Shinkolobwe alongside Hiroshima and Nagasaki should be the first step to repaying that debt. {read}

[lagolepuri]

#6: Halcyon

“You could have made yourself easier to find, you know.” Hythlodaeus crested a grassy hill where he found Aletheia resting on a thick blanket, overlooking the water below. Her dark locks whipped fitfully around her in the wind.

“I thought my directions were specific enough,” she replied without lifting her eyes from the water.

“‘Meet me by the water where form itself forgets’ is specific enough in retrospect, but it’s unlike you to be so flowery and indirect.” Hyth surveyed their surroundings as he approached. “‘Come quickly,’ you also said, but we seem to be having a picnic. Are the sandwiches so near to spoiling?”

“Oh, come,” she spoke softly, “You’re beginning to sound like Emet-Selch.” She shifted herself to one side of the blanket and patted the ground next to her. “I’ve saved you a seat.” As Hythlodaeus took his place, Aletheia snickered darkly. “How did Hades bear to suffer the both of us when my mischief furrows the brow of even jolly Hythlodaeus?”

His friend’s demeanor gave Hythlodaeus pause. It was rare to see her so somber. “I fear my jesting has been misconstrued for scorn.” He gazed up at the Elpis sky, tumultuous with umbral wind. “Perhaps this foul weather infects us both,” he offered, then, when no reply came, he lifted his voice to ask, “On what adventure have you invited me today?”

“Bird watching,” said Aletheia, without a hint of mirth.

Hyth smiled with chagrin. “That was the urgent matter I rushed here for?” He was careful to make clear the hints of mirth in his own voice.

“At another lake, for another bird, it might have been a less urgent matter, but for this one you’ll never get another chance. You made it just in time, too. Look, it comes.”

Hyth craned his neck to see the lake of Lethe below them, its waters as rough and turbulent as the sky above them. A small, blue bird glided above the choppy waves and alighted on the crest of one. As it did, the wave itself dropped and rested. A ring of calm, clear surface surrounded the bird and grew, spreading stillness across the water until only in the distance could it still be seen trembling.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” A light came into Aletheia’s ruby eyes that Hyth had not seen since arriving. “‘Alkyone,’ Hermes named it. It seems to project peace and stasis into the aether wherever it rests. I suspected some light-based manipulation, but that doesn’t seem to be correct. I can’t determine the method of its effect. But it’s enviable nonetheless, don’t you think?”

“Remarkable indeed. But why do we find it here? I would have been excited to see such a concept cross my desk under the name of good Hermes.” As they watched, the little creature closed its eyes and seemed to go to sleep. Its form relaxed and its beak touched the beak of its reflection in the perfect mirror of the lake. Two birds seemed to be suspended in a vast empty space between the raging umbral storm above and its illusory twin beneath the water.

“Whatever his intentions were for this creation, it seemed not to meet his desires. So here it has come to rest, the first and last of its kind, and forget that it ever existed.

Hythlodaeus’s sharp eyes could already see the weave of the little bird’s being start to fray in the magic of the lake. The surface of the water trembled. “Did you not inquire further? What intentions did Master Hermes have that such a marvelous creation failed to meet them?”

Aletheia shook her head. “I didn’t inquire at all. Just observed.” She glanced sideways at her friend. “Nobody else knows I’m here. Came in through a back door. Better not to worry anyone by announcing myself.” Hythlodaeus scowled with concern, but did not interject. “When I return to the star,” she began, “I hope I can return as such a creature. Bringing peace and serenity wherever I alight. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

At that her companion smiled. “Is that not already the creature you are, Azem, the hero, Fourteenth Seat of the Convocation?”

“So you see me, perhaps. So I hope to be remembered. But I fear I’m coming to be known as more of a storm crow.” Hyth frowned and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Aletheia sighed and continued. “Suppose that unbeknown to you that tree over there began to fall towards you. I see this and shout to you. I run towards you, arms outstretched, but you are startled and bewildered. If I save you, you may piece together what happened and thank me, but that first impression, associating me with the danger never goes away.” She sighed again. “When I depart, yes, peace may be left in my wake, but when I arrive…people have begun to take me as a sign of coming danger and struggle and pain.” At the edge of the blanket, her sword gleamed silently in the sickly storm light. Below, the waters grew restless.

The two sat together in silence for a while as the Alkyone and its reflection unraveled on the water. Hythlodaeus, always so glib and full of cheer, wanted deeply to rally his dear friend from her gloom. He remembered the youthful Aletheia rapping on his window with a gangly Hades in tow and dragging them into the wilderness on fanciful adventures. The right words wouldn’t come. He could only put his arm around her and tell her that no matter what happened, her friends would continue to love her and carry her memory.

When the stormy sky vanished from the surface of the lake and dark waves took that place again, neither of them were there to see it.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Bunch Family (1)

It's 7:36 a.m., Monday. Jack Bunch is preparing breakfast for the family. At least with the ingredients that are available. But this family is doing almost as well as the Keatons compared to others. Because their house was completely spared from the great catastrophe. But yet the whole thing had its effects.

At the time, Jack had just returned from a mission in which he himself had been seriously injured. He planned to go on vacation with his family, but then the meteorites came. "eww, that salad tastes totally disgusting"/ "it's been outside all night, you should have noticed that beforehand"/ "but I didn't!"

The injuries from the accident he suffered during his last military deployment are still clearly visible and will probably remain for the rest of his life. But the family is glad that Jack is still alive. He has not been on duty since the incident and the disaster. He would love to return to his post.

"Mom, when will I finally get my own room? Arlo snores really loudly"/ "huh? I don't" / "oh yes, but when you're asleep, you can't hear it…" / "pff, I don't do that, I'm still a child and not an old man like dad". Jack called out: "hey, I must have heard wrong?"

"Good morning!"/ "Good morning, Ethan…"/ "Didn't Lisa come home last night?"/ "No, she's coming today…"/ "Did she get to sleep over at VJ's again? Hey, when can I let Holly spend the night here?"/ "hh, you know I'm not on good terms with her parents," Judy replied. Ethan reacted somewhat irritably. "but Holly's not like her parents, you know that!".

Of course, Judy also knows that, unlike her parents, Holly is a very helpful and nice person. "hh, well, fine, you can bring her. "/ "Thanks, mom"/ "I want to stop by the hospital today and see if there's anything I can do for the people there"

"Don't forget our other plans. What Boyd suggested to us yesterday could be a good idea". Boyd Wainwright had visited them the night before and told them about the suggestion Zelda had made. That all the inhabitants should gather in front of the Alto mansion and make their displeasure known. "Do you really think it will help if we all stand in front of their house and demonstrate? You don't believe that yourself, Jack. We may outnumber them, but they still have the upper hand. I have to go now".

When Judy arrived at the small hospital, Jamie was already there. "Hello, how are you, it looks like there's not much going on today? What's with this bone egon?". Jamie had to smile. "hnhn, today everyone who wants to can learn a bit about anatomy and the musculoskeletal system. "/ "I want to learn something too!"/ "Oh, Malcolm, hello".

"Good morning, Morgana, nice to see you"/ "Hello, Judy. Oh, good, she found him after all"/ "Where was he?"/ "In the cellar under the collapsed hospital. We were able to find an entrance and get a few things out that were stored there. Now if we jast had a powerful electricity generator…".

"What do you need it for?"/ "For the X-ray machine. It's one of the newer models where you can stand in it - if you can stand…. We'd have to add a small room that's dark…"/ "But you need a generator… I'll talk to Jack, maybe he'll have an idea"/ "Really? That would be so nice, thank you!"

.While Judy helps a little at the hospital, her son has been to the Altos in the meantime and brought his girlfriend in his home. "You're always the savior in times of need. I can hardly stand it at home"/ "hnhn, always happy to help. What's going on with your family?".

"well..they always think I don't notice… and actually I should have thought about it much earlier… I mean, we always have some food at home, actually more than enough that we could give away… It doesn't come from a supermarket. And it's not cheap either, the quality is very good… I don't know where my father always gets it from".

"Your father?"/ "I don't know what he does in the background, but it's certainly nothing good. And he's always totally stressed, like he's under pressure somehow…"/ "Who or what would put him under pressure?"/ "I don't know… I've spoken to my parents so often that they should help you and the others…".

"We got off the best here. Our house is completely unscathed, except that all the green stuff is growing on the roof now…. Dad's trophies didn't even fly off the wall in the crash. "/ "hnhn, must be karma. You're a good family"/ "hn…yeah, but we can't support everyone on our own".

"I know, that's why it's so unfair, I just don't understand why you're all being left in the lurch like this… At some point your supplies will run out too"/ "don't worry about it… I found some seeds the other day, I think something good will come of it. And we need meat again… I think VJ made himself some arrows and a bow"/ "a bow?".

"Yes, he wants to go hunting…"/ "You mean… He wants to kill animals?"/ "Well, how else are we going to get meat, eh? He definitely wants to share it with everyone. I know you don't like meat"/ "No, I love animals too much for that. You're welcome to it. Do you think he can handle it?"/ "definitely".

------------------------------------------------------------------------

end of part 1

@greenplumbboblover😊

[handeaux]

From Grocer’s Itch To Milk Leg: Here Are 17 Antique Diseases That Once Tormented Cincinnatians

If you practiced medicine in Cincinnati during the 1800s, you encountered some nasty and mostly fatal germs like typhus, diphtheria, smallpox, and dysentery. In the age before antibiotics, your therapeutic options might involve anything from leeches to opium to a big dose of hope. Cincinnatians endured many diseases we don’t hear about anymore. Here are a few of them.

Black Water Fever For a good portion of its first century, Cincinnati saw regular infestations of malaria, usually identified then as “bilious fever.” In extreme cases, malaria transformed into the usually fatal Black Water Fever, characterized by extremely dark urine caused by red blood cells bursting and releasing a flood of hemoglobin. It was just as nasty as it sounds.

Bronze John Cincinnati was largely built on commercial relations with the American South and consequently we adopted a lot of Southern terms. One was “Bronze John” as a name for Yellow Fever. That term seems to have originated in Memphis. Cincinnati newspapers watched Memphis intently. If “Bronze John” appeared in Memphis, it was almost certain that Yellow Fever would erupt in Cincinnati.

Catarrh A multitude of ailments, from the common cold to asthma and hay fever were lumped together under the name Catarrh. Almost any condition that involved a stuffy nose or chest congestion got diagnosed as such. Amazingly, the most commonly prescribed treatments for Catarrh involved smoking aromatic herbs or grinding such spicy plants into powder and inhaling them as snuff.

Chin Cough Today, we call it whooping cough or pertussis. We vaccinate children so they don’t get it. Back in the day, it was sometimes called “Chin Cough” and was among the maladies certain to be banished with a dose of the patent medicines promoted by fly-by-night hucksters passing through town. An 1822 editorial in the Cincinnati Gazette so enthusiastically supported universal cowpox vaccination that the writer claimed it not only prevented smallpox but “effectively cured scrofulous swellings [inflamed lymph nodes], ophthalmia [conjunctivitis] and chin-cough.”

Collywobbles Although this is the name of a real disease, namely a nervous or upset stomach, hardly anyone ever used the word in a serious situation. Adults suffered from dyspepsia. Greedy little kids who ate too much candy got the collywobbles. The term was also used humorously in political commentary to satirize politicians who feigned distress on learning about the machinations of their opponents.

Cooties It was a schoolyard taunt for those of a certain generation: “Stay away from girls because they’ve got Cooties.” Or it was a game – still manufactured by Hasbro. Long ago, Cooties were no laughing matter; it was a nickname for lice. Although lice infestations were not rare in Cincinnati, “Cooties” usually referred to lice endured by soldiers in various wars, especially World War I.

Dandy Fever Today, we think of Dengue Fever as a tropical inconvenience, but it was once fairly common in Cincinnati, generating a number of nicknames including “Bucket Fever,” “Broken Bone Fever” and “Dandy Fever.” The tendency of this mosquito-borne disease to cause severe joint pain led sufferers to adopt a very stiff-jointed mode of walking in which they appeared to imitate the gait of a dandy.

Dry Bellyache Sometimes known as “Painter’s Colic,” the disease called Dry Bellyache is essentially lead poisoning. It is one of the symptoms of exposure to heavy metals such as lead. Some of the first described cases were traced to consumption of cheap rum, which accumulated a hefty dose of lead from the solder holding distillation coils together.

Grippe Usually referred to as “The Grippe” or “La Grippe,” influenza was a dangerous infection then and now. The term comes from the French word for influenza, hence the “La.” In an attempt to Anglicize the French term, some newspapers used “The Grip.” Death resulted so often from The Grippe that newspapers alerted travelers to avoid cities in which it was rampant. The Cincinnati Gazette of 18 April 1837 carried the news, for example, that The Grippe was raging in Constantinople.

Grocer’s Itch In the days before packaged goods, grocers sold a lot of bulk staples such as flour, lard and sugar. An occupational condition known as Grocer’s Itch was common among Cincinnati’s shopkeepers and was caused by a type of mite, Acarus sacchari, known as the “sugar insect” although it was not an insect; mites have eight legs. Anyone devoting any amount of time to measuring raw sugar was likely to see their arms and hands infested with mite bites.

Jail Fever When sanitary conditions in Cincinnati’s finest homes were iffy at best, the city’s prisons were positively deplorable. Among other diseases, typhus was endemic and so common among prisoners that it gained the nickname “Jail Fever.” The Cincinnati Gazette [25 January 1876] emphasized just how serious the situation was: “A case was mentioned of a jail prisoner who was brought into court to receive his sentence while suffering with typhus fever, and within one week every member of the Court, judge, jurors, Sheriffs and all were dead.”

Milk Leg The Cincinnati Semi-Weekly Gazette of 14 October 1873 carried a letter promising quick relief from Milk Leg. The remedy, involving chamber lye and boiled mullein leaves, appears to be more trouble than it was worth, but the correspondent claimed it cured her after she “had lain from in December till the next corn planting.” Today, we would call Milk Leg phlebitis, a condition in which the veins of the leg become inflamed.

Salt Rheum If you were afflicted by Salt Rheum in 1853, an advertisement in the Cincinnati Enquirer offered sure relief: “Salt Rheum, (or Tetter), Scald Head and Ring Worms positively cured in every ninety-seven cases in a hundred, by the use of Gridley’s Salt Rheum Ointment, which is justly ranked by the most learned physicians as one of the most important discoveries of the nineteenth century.” Salt Rheum, Tetter and Scald Head were all various forms of skin disease including eczema, psoriasis, and some forms of herpes. Another dermatological affliction, involving small whitish patches of itchy skin caused by cold weather was known as Chilblains.

Scorbutic Fever Almost unheard of today, except among adherents of extreme diets, scurvy is a debilitating disease caused by a shortage of Vitamin C. In extreme cases, scurvy could produce elevated body temperatures variously known as Scorbutic Fever or “Camp Fever.” The “camp” in question was not a vacation getaway but a prison camp and reflected the abysmal food provided to the inmates.

Scrivener’s Palsy There are not many scriveners employed these days, so think of poor Bob Cratchit in Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” Hunched over a poorly lit desk, scribbling away all day was bound to have an effect, and so it did, in an affliction that we might call “Writer’s Cramp” today, if there were any writers who still used a pencil and paper. The Cincinnati Gazette of 8 July 1875 reported the emergence of a similar affliction, “Telegrapher’s Palsy.” Also caused by clerical work was “Typewriter’s Disease,” but this was a mental condition in which over-concentration on transcribing verbiage led to a sort of psychosomatic blindness in which the victim was unable to read at all.

Scrumpox The malady known as Scrumpox is still around today but, since its cause is now known, it goes by a different name – Herpes Gladiatorum. As the older name implies, it is a skin condition, a form of herpes, passed along by athletes rubbing exposed skin together, as in a rugby scrum. In fact, the first attempt at a scientific name for the disease was Herpes Rugbiorum. It also shows up as “Wrestler’s Herpes.” The Enquirer of 12 April 1896 listed scrumpox among some other athletic disorders including “Golf Arm” and “Cyclist’s Back.”

Sinking Chills The Cincinnati Gazette of 30 April 1874 reported: “Andrew Palmer, a pioneer citizen of Butler Township, died yesterday, of sinking chills, aged 70 years.” Mr. Palmer may have been the victim of any number of pernicious or intermittent fevers, the most common of which were a symptom of malaria. Sinking Chills also described a sort of general malaise targeted by a lot of the spring tonics and nostrums concocted by the patent medicine industry. Another antique term for malarial fevers was Ague, usually called The Ague.

[rose-arwen-padme]

Suppression: Sneak Peek at the next chapter

Hello there! I haven't been nearly as active on tumblr as I've wanted to be lately, but I thought I might make up for that with a sneak peek at one of the final chapters of the fic. This a flashback, and experienced readers know the text of flashbacks appear in the story in italics. Because the segment is on its own here, however, I'm changing it to regular font for the purpose of this post.

For those unfamiliar with my fanfiction story, Suppression, it follows the canon/legends AOTC story of Anakin and Padmé's courtship-- with a lot of extra scenes added in. Here are some links if you'd like to check it out!

AO3 Link and Fanfiction.Net Link

A galaxy's worth of gratitude to those who have found/followed me on tumblr. This sneak peek is meant as my sincere thanks to you all.

Hope you enjoy!

IX. NABOO

Chapter 57. The Holy Man Returns

O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. ― Alfred Lord Tennyson

“Don’t hold back,” I stated firmly. “I want them to be able to see it from the other side of the chamber.”

Rabé silently followed my instructions, drawing the makeup brush in the red pigment before reapplying it to my top lip. She was careful to mind the established lines so the effect did not bleed— ironic, as the color of the cosmetic was meant to symbolize spilled blood. The Scar of Remembrance deepened under her expert hand. The ceremonial markings represented the suffering my people endured before the Great Time of Peace. Since the day my term began, I’d donned the lipstick, face coat, and twin dots to solemnly remember an ancient history I had no personal recollection of. Today, it was my war paint. History took second-standing to contemporary threats. My pacifist home had an enemy… and we were losing.

I squinted at the blinding light coming through the window’s horizontal shades, but I didn’t move. Rabé had asked me to stand in the bright path of Coruscant’s sun so that she may better retouch my makeup. I obeyed the rules of my handler as devoutly as she obeyed the decrees of her Queen.

The tip of my tongue and the juices in my mouth captured the flavors. The red pigment tasted like almonds, as it always did; the white like sour candy. At least, to me. Sabé often insisted the white tasted how her aunt’s “nasty perfume” smelled. After a minute more of ministrations, Rabé retrieved a mirror the size of a datapad for a final check. She held it up from a meter away, and a ghostly white face interrupted by dark hues stared back at me. There was the red, of course, but she’d also filled in the brown of my eyebrows well— not that I used them much to convey expression when I adopted the Amidala persona.

Today had to be a careful exception. An exception to the usual brand of stoicism because I was here to plead a case, and I would seek to touch the emotions of those listening. Careful, because the Senator for the Trade Federation would be there too. For the sake of my home world, I could not afford to look unbalanced in front of him.

“Does it please you?” Rabé’s accent enveloped her question in its lovely way.

Weary of the weight of the horned headpiece, I only slightly dipped my chin in approval.

It was an ingenious trick— Eirtaé’s suggestion— to wear the ornate horns for the all-important event, as it added a significant amount of height and authority to my petite frame. The red and gold layers of my wide dress helped greatly as well. But although the adornments of arched hair and many tassels were counterbalanced by the full train of sectioned hair going down my back, I was still getting reacquainted with having such a massive embellishment on my head. Just three days on Tatooine allowed me to fall back into the comfort of being a regular girl again, with a regular girl’s braids. If I hadn’t worn the medium-sized, fanned headpiece during my strategy meeting with Senator Palpatine— easing me back into the physicality of Queen— the transition from simple handmaiden garb to this might have given me whiplash.

With my styling complete, Rabé stashed the mirror and went to help the others. Sabé and Eirtaé were storing the rejected wardrobe options back into my upright trunks.

The silence as they worked was deafening.

It was unnerving for all of us— to be a group of four, instead of our usual six. The compensating rhythm was awkward and… sad. There was too much space in the opulent room. Too much empty air. Fear for Saché and Yané fueled my growing impatience. It had been gracious of Palpatine to offer rooms to his Queen in his own apartment, but I was restless to trade these red walls and black statues for the audience I’d traveled here for— the audience I’d abandoned my people and run a blockade to be seen by.

{Our only hope is for the Senate to side with us.}

“How much longer must we wait?”

“Senator Palpatine promised he will be here to escort you before the special session begins.” If Sabé’s voice had an accent, it was one of lingering regal authority. Similar to me, albeit in the opposite direction, my decoy was still adjusting into her alternative-self. Her vocal cords were finding their way back to her natural tone after using the Queen’s voice, in which she’d been meticulously confined ever since we’d switched roles in the palace. It had been, by far, the longest she’d ever had to use it.

Rabé’s voice rang with concern. “Do you think it is as he said? The Supreme Chancellor does not have the power to help us?”

“Chancellor Valorum called for this special session so that I may address the Senate. I cannot believe they will allow the injustice to continue once they’ve learned of it.” Surely, the state of the government couldn’t be as bleak as Palpatine claimed. His idea of calling for a vote of no confidence had to remain a last resort. Even if Valorum was ineffectual, it was far better for Naboo to have an ally in a weakened Chancellor than for me to make an enemy of one. I fought back a nervous fear flooding through my chest. This would be the most important speech, not just of my political career, but of my life. “I have one chance to get this right.”

“The truth is on our side,” Sabé affirmed. “All you need to do is tell the truth.”

I dipped my chin in agreement, though I knew the theatrics of politics made it more complicated than that. My eyes dropped to the floor. After a moment, I closed my lids completely in order to concentrate. I hadn’t been in the Senate Rotunda since my time as an Apprentice Legislator. I pictured the unparalleled magnitude of the chamber. Its thousands of identical hoverpods. I would need to convince as many of their occupants as I could. “Esteemed representatives…” I lowered my voice into the Queen’s register. “Esteemed representatives of the Republic.”

I was fortunate the tone we’d chosen to hide our voices behind was pitched so low. It wasn’t unusual to the Naboo to elect fourteen-year-olds into sovereignty, but I was aware that many other planets— even with cultures populated by humans— did not share such a respect for their younger generations. Wardrobe, word-choice, timbre, posture, expression— I needed to broadcast the maturity of someone twice my age.

Wardrobe was complete, posture and expression were second-nature, and I was already successful at tapping back into the trademark voice. That just left the speech.

Back and forth, I paced across the blush-red carpet in my slowed, weighted walk. Three pairs of piercing eyes watched me work through the very best selections of Basic. I did not feel the gaze of doting handmaidens, but of frightened daughters. Sisters. Nieces. Each of them, just like me, had families and friends left to unknown fates. Each of them was as invested as me in the outcome of this nightmare— but their loved ones’ lives were solely in my hands, not in theirs.

The weight of monarchy had never felt so heavy on my adolescent shoulders.

I bit down on my lip without thinking and tasted the white pigment. Doing so made me realize how much Sabé must’ve thought about her aunt these past days.

{The Senate is full of greedy, squabbling delegates.}

“Esteemed repre… Honorable representatives of the Republic. Distinguished delegates.”

{There is no interest in the common good.}

Every sentence would be an opportunity for a catastrophic stumble.

“Chancellor Valorum— Your Honor, Supreme Chancellor Valorum. I have come to… I come to you in a time of great peril for my people.”

{The Chancellor has little real power. He is mired by baseless accusations of corruption.}

“I come to you under the most perilous of circumstances.” I shook my head. “That’s not it.” My stomach twisted in the hand of anxiety’s grip.

Sabé’s voice came from somewhere behind me. “What about, ‘under the gravest of circumstances?’”

But my attention had been caught by Rabé. She was speaking into a comm. “Let him in.”

As she left our room and moved towards the circular atrium, I felt a rush of irritation. There wouldn’t be a need for a security-comm check if Senator Palpatine had arrived. Until I felt comfortable with my heartfelt-but-not-hysterical, emphatic-but-not-weak plea, I didn’t want any visitors. I made eye contact with the others. “If it isn’t Captain Panaka, an escort arriving to take me to the Senate, or the Viceroy himself coming to announce his retreat, I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Eirtaé suddenly looked hopeful. “What if it is Chancellor Valorum?”

I appreciated her optimism but knew the odds of it being right were slim to none. I heard the entry door close. Soon after, I was sure I heard my name— my real name, the name my parents gave me— spoken. I made my voice loud. “Who is it?” My feet carried me the steps it took to pass the wall barrier and see the visitor for myself.

Rabé announced the answer just as a scrawny arm and a matted head of blond hair came into view. “Anakin Skywalker to see Padmé, Your Highness.”

Our eyes connected. I waited a half-second— just a half-second— to see. It was strange, that though the success of the decoy switch was a life-or-death matter, I wanted Ani to see through it. But the funny little boy who knew so much— who gave me his bed while he slept next to it on the sandy floor; who blushed when I embraced him after he victoriously risked his life to help us— regarded me without any sign of recognition at all.

Good, I reminded myself, papering over the unexpected disappointment. That’s a good thing.

He bowed like any nine-year-old without practice at it would. Ani wasn’t going to be a critical news-bearer or an escort. I wasn’t as annoyed to see him as I might’ve been by another interrupter, but I didn’t have time for this. My voice was curt. “I’ve sent Padmé on an errand.”

I inwardly— never outwardly— flinched at my blunder. Eirtaé and Sabé were behind me. Rabé stood next to Ani. Three handmaidens had come to the capital with the Queen of Naboo. Three handmaidens and a Queen stood within his sight. Luckily, Ani didn’t seem to count or care. It only mattered to him that the angel he sought wasn’t here.

There was something about the way he nervously twitched his hands that pulled at my heart. This child had snuggled into my arms in the ship’s booth just hours ago, looking up at me with trust while he cried for his mother. I’d sung him lullabies until he’d fallen asleep. Now, he was clearly intimidated by the imposing figure— the stranger— before him. “I’m on my way to the Jedi Temple to start my training, I hope.” He became crest-fallen. “I may never see her again, so I came to say goodbye.”

Never see each other again?

No, no, not now. Not like this.

He’d burst into my life so recently, and at such a desperate hour, but the concept of a final goodbye between us was surprising in its discomfort. And yet… was it? Anakin Skywalker had been the only person or reason why I’d smiled— even laughed— since the moment Federation starships arrived in Naboo’s orbit. He’d been my eye of calm in the center of an overwhelming storm. He’d become my friend. Now, I was supposed to look at him as if I barely knew him— as if this was the first conversation we’d ever had.

I’d never wanted to wretch away the Amidala mask so badly before.

See me, Ani. Give me a sign that you see who I am, or even that you suspect these words are coming from me.

“We will tell her for you. We are sure her heart goes with you.”

It was as much emotion as I dared to infuse in my voice.

He bowed respectfully. Again, there was no indication Ani wondered if he was talking to the person he’d claimed just days ago he was going to marry. If anything, I detected an emerging smirk at my headpiece, like he found it a tad much. Padmé would have agreed with him. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

I turned away, fearful that my mask would not hold much longer. Fearful he would finally recognize me, which I knew couldn’t be allowed. I kept my eyes on him until the last possible moment, dreading and hoping for the flash of awareness that never came.

And then he was gone.

After I heard the exterior doors slide shut, I stared down at the floor, as immobile as Palpatine’s polished statues. When I eventually looked up at the two handmaidens studying me, I saw surprise in their expressions. It didn’t matter. My eyes were already scanning the room for something precious.

“There was a gray, drawstring pouch. I put an amulet in it. Is it here, or was it left on my ship?”

Rabé walked back into the room and looked between the three of us. She’d heard my question, but she, too, shrugged along with the others. “I am not sure.”

“There are designs carved into it. It’s strung on a thick, brown cord.”

Eirtaé apologetically offered, “I didn’t see a gray pouch anywhere.”

I told him I didn’t need the Japor snippet to remember him by, but I couldn’t have lost it so quickly!

“It’s of great importance to me.”

Rabé looked perplexed. “Do you require it for your speech?”

The speech.

The hooded trio were scrutinizing me, clearly confused. They didn’t know if this amulet was a lucky token of some kind I wanted for a superstitious cause, or perhaps a literal bargaining chip important to a secret strategy known only to their Queen.

I opened my white and red mouth to explain, but no words came out, except, “No… I don’t need it for the Senate.”

Sabé accepted the situation for whatever it was. She nodded and declared, “We will find it after.”

Once again, I heard the endowed authority that was supposed to be in my voice instead present in hers. I clung to it. On a rational plane, I knew the level of wrongness I felt under my skin was absurd.

But somewhere very deep within— some ancient part of my young soul that spoke a language I was years away from understanding— grappled with the poisonous idea that I’d never see Anakin Skywalker again.

“Yes. Make sure it is not lost.”

[happi-speech]

Last week I was on Wikipedia browsing UNESCO's Atlas of the World's Languages in Danger and got a little sad at how many languages are teetering on the brink of extinction because of the historical and ongoing effects of colonization and imperialism, particularly of Austronesian (especially Aboriginal Australian) and Northern and Southern American languages.

But I was relieved to see many efforts to either document or revitalize many of the languages, and was happy they were ever even reconized in such a collection. I'm in awe of the diversity of the human cognitive faculty, and humanity's versatility in the diversity of language. And I'm proud of everyone who takes the effort to keep their ancestral languages alive and evolving via acedemic study and immersion learning.

One day, hopefully not too long from now, I will know where my people came from in Africa and honor them by learning to speak the way they did originally. But I'm happy to know there are many American and African disaporic dialects, creoles, and pidgins I can learn that encapsulate the histories and memories of my anscestors that still show up today in the way my family speaks.

Languages have been lost to time since we first learned to speak. We will never know the many languages that existed in prehistory nor any language beyond theoretically reconstructed proto-languages. As perverse as that may sound, it was a little relieving knowing that while looking at the sheer amount of languages becoming lost to the events of today. And it tremendously helped to remind myself that languages never truly "die" as they evolve and grow all the time. We're at a point where we can not only create conlangs to learn to speak fluently, but put lost pieces of natural languages together and add onto them through the lens of our current lives and ways of speaking.

Its just very nice to know that languages leave so many traces of human history that can only be as lost in the day and age as we continue to suffer under social and economic oppressions.

[mystryxx]

BENEATH MEMORIES OF A LOVELESS SKY // THE FALSE PARADIGM OF PREDATION

"make your heart so soft

even the most careless of hands cannot break it"

— L.E. Bowman

The larval moth, molts almost continuously until it reaches its adult form. As such, we should compassionately allow so much more room to accommodate our respective Fluxes, to bend and to breathe and to flex with each other as we metamorphose— so long as our unique personhoods remain respected. After all, our growth is indeed dependent on our proximity to each other; nothing is truly isolated in its coalescence. Even a cocoon is but an ecosystem of delicate compounds, dependent on a stable environment to exist; within which we are then safe to utterly liquify for our transmutation. 🦋

Yet it's just so strange to me, this pro-domineering culture with tailored defense mechanisms to keep its shitty, festering self intact. And now we have nothing but a rube goldberg machine of tedium and suffering, with the stewardship of basic resources tied up and inaccessible globally but to a proportionate few.

In my experience, no seedlings emerge robustly healthy under forcefully preened, extremely manicured circumstances. The illusion of complete control can never truly account for the chaos of the Unknown. If anything, the monoculture of the tyrant fosters immense weakness in most of its upholders, facilitating fragility especially of the spirit— hence why it cannot survive even gently targeted critique, and is quite sure to try to attack or shut down anything divergent from itself out of pure thoughtless reaction.

It's amusing to me, how conformity reveals itself to be an innately antisocial behavior. In reality, a hallmark of effective social survival is actually diversity and adaptability. It's a healthy willingness to cooperate as well~ understanding that true freedom for the individual, lies in the rich soil of all of our needs being met.

As a child, in becoming aware of my own queerness, I can only define it as understanding early on that I am incapable of being pigeon-holed into pre-established molds (a lot of which have been artificially manufactured anyway). I just needed a safe realm to nourish myself and to "liquify", that is, to explore my ever-unfolding being, without judgement and shame. Today I still feel a profound ache over having missed out on that.

Meanwhile, to my shock and grief, I've watched over and over, fully grown adults bullying and ostracizing their own child, oddly feeling threatened or insecure by their uniqueness. I see parallels of the culture I grew up in, which was far more preoccupied with fitting in and executing control than embodying compassion, or treating others with basic respect and decency. It commodified the young, it loathed the different, and it certainly never even saw us as human and having intrinsic worth.

By the time I met people who humanized me, I had been so psychologically monsterized by my differentness, that it was a long slow crawl through the trenches to cognitively rewire myself as lovable. And the wrong people took advantage of those wounds until I found my ability to diagnose their behaviors and defend myself from their predation. Since predators rely on their victims to remain broken in spirit, anyone occupying oppressed space needs to excise any such impressions within themselves; to take root in their own wholeness and Belonging which was always there, in order to turn back the tides of the damage done.

At any rate, this is why it's important to love and hold sacred our children's expressions. I'm so completely exhausted by the cruelty of others. Now is seriously the time to be softly true to our hearts, honest and sensitive, fostering better for this era and for those who will come after us.

"His gentleness was uncompromising; because he would not compete for dominance, he was indomitable."

—Ursula Le Guin, "The Dispossessed"

Safe journeys unto you. 🌱🌹

[self-loving-vampire]

I realize that: disliking antitheism, antinatalism, transhumanism, veganism, and technological advancements; worshiping pain/suffering, insiting that there is a core human nature/people were the exact same for millennia, acting like death and suffering give life meaning, not wanting immortality, anachroprimitivism as a whole and various conservative pushback against any sort of rights. ALL of them stem from the idea that humanity is inherently good and to try to change it is bad because it can change our "nature" which is bad because humanity is good. Don't ask why, it just is according to many people. And what does humanity mean, I don't know, they sure don't either. And humans are more important that literally anything on earth and to suggest otherwise is fascist for some reason.

But the thing is that how we live now would be incomprehensible to people just 100 years ago let alone 1000+ years ago. People alive today have to deal with smallpox as a daily threat when they were kids. I think its silly to be afraid of humanity drastically changing. Like you are descended from Australopithecus. They probably didn't care how you turned out, so why care if your descendants aren't human as we know them. I think to embrace that humanity is everchanging and that change might be drastic is a key part in any progressive movement so to reject it is counterproductive.

Earlier I was reading more about the devastation of war on civilians, and how even friendly armies advancing through an area were basically a poison upon the world in terms of the effects they had on the local population.

It wasn't exactly new information for me but the details and scale of this misery are still something that is just not discussed or portrayed very often. Overall I get the impression that even people who already believe that war is bad dramatically under-estimate how bad it is and are unaware of entire dimensions of suffering involved.

And I thought about how, just like "natural" death (or murder, or child abuse), war is something that humans have been doing essentially since forever. It is just as "normal" as getting an age-related cancer and dying.

But despite that, war is clearly bad and we should do less of it. Something seemingly being an unchanging part of human nature does not mean we should just accept it as is and never try to be better.

Though note that I do think people are more constructive than destructive on the net (although not for any essential reasons or anything). My reasoning for this is that destroying things is so much easier than creating things that if the balance was much closer to the destructive side the world would look significantly different.

And yet there's still obviously a lot of... let's say "sub-optimal" things people do to both non-human animals and each other. Things could be worse but they could definitely be better too, and not just in ways that require dramatically revolutionizing humanity or anything.

I am actually optimistic that the future can be better than the present, too. Not smoothly or without obstacles, but we can do better.

Fuck accepting things we "cannot" change. We should be changing the things we cannot accept instead. In practice many of them seem to be more tractable than people realize and it is worth it to fight for them even if a perfect or ideal solution was out of reach.

[ha-youwish]

This is not a vent post, it’s a book recommendation and self-analysis kinda. Please consider reading this, I won’t blame you if you don’t.

Last year around this time, my granddaddy passed away. Usually, online and in formal spaces I would call him my grandfather, but that’s not what I call him and I will not limit myself for this post.

Last year around this time I was beginning my second semester of college ever. I was not doing so well. My grades were low because my attendance was abysmal and my work outside the class was shit. However the previous semester I had taken a class that I was able to stick around for more than the rest.

This class was studying how different major religions and cultures coped with death and how they thought of the afterlife. I bought the books for that class with financial aid and never read them.

Just now I got done reading one of the books, When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Harold S. Kushner, never read it until I found it sitting around today.

It’s a relatively short book, under 200 pages, about how Kushner deals with the question “Why do bad things happen to good people?” from his place as a rabbi.

Now I don’t have any sort of relationship with god. i’m not strictly atheist or anything but i tend to believe in whatever religion people want me to believe in if they ask me to pray for them or a family member.

when grandaddy died, i had nothing to fall back on. granddaddy was extremely religious and generous, i am so incredibly grateful he was involved in my life and there for me. but people from his church said it was a part of god’s plan or that there was a reason he passed when he did and when i was in such a low state at college already.

i moved away to college and the landlord sold my home. i was in an unfamiliar uncomfortable place where the only place i felt fully comfortable was now completely inaccessible. my mom moved in with grandaddy and took care of him before he passed. it was tense. he was kind but old and stubborn and so is everyone else. the drain of taking care of someone can be worth it, but that doesnt mean its not there.

i was, and am, dealing with severe depression surrounded by other gloomy people who didnt make it much better. i never went to class and i had, and have, crushing guilt that i was wasting the time and money of my family.

and then granddaddy went to the hospital. and then he died. and its unfair.

all of it is unfair, and if it was a part of gods plan then hes fucking unfair too.

now, i have not necessarily moved on. my fingers shake still if i think about it too long. i dont even know if im going to post this because of how exposed and raw i feel. but its important to me that somehow in some way this gets expressed and that someone other than myself will read it.

your suffering was unfair, whether it was a lot or a little. the world is unfair. we all know it. i hope you know that you will never be able to look into the eyes of someone who has never known suffering, and i hope you can find some comfort in that connection.

this book is from the point of view from a religious man. it talks a lot about a god i dont believe in. but the way it talks about suffering and how it effects people makes it helpful for me to parse my own feelings and thoughts.

so feel free to replace god with whatever you want, with humanity and spirit and the universe and everything good. here are some quotes, alt text included:

- sometimes i convince myself that what i feel is nothing more than chemicals, that the regret i feel from not driving home the day before and visiting before he passed was just something my mind is doing.

i once stayed up late at grandaddys house after he passed and i was shoved right back into school like my life hadnt just gotten its shit rocked.

my mom was in her room asleep, but i really couldn’t take it anymore. we stayed up late just talking through how we felt after i had cried to her. and to be completely honest, hearing that she had regrets and wished for just a little more time fucking sucked. knowing the people around you are going through it sucks, even if it was to be expected

but we connected over that long early morning. we resolved almost nothing. i felt the same as i did before and granddaddys still dead and buried. but it was easier to go on after that.

another quote, a tldr if you don’t want to read the book but want to understand what he gets at, in the end of it all.

i dont think i can forgive other people for being unfair, not without effort. but i think i can forgive the universe because the unfairness is proof that people have choices. shit happens, you choose what to do after it.

for a lot of people, mourning and religion bring them the strength to move on, as he talks about in the book. things dont get better because of prayer that god will fix everything or the universe will set itself right again or you can escape through fantasy books to another world,

they get better because something gives us strength to get up again and keep moving. to kushner, thats god and people who came together to support him. to me, i dont know yet, i dont know if i’ve really started to pick up my life yet. but i think this book helped me start to see the bigger picture