#for the blatant disrespect and dishonour

[sigurism]

John Davis Chandler Barquero Dir: Gordon Douglas

[asksimonbelmont]

If you had a daughter and she said she wanted to marry a vampire, how would you react?

Simon Belmont has so rarely needed to direct anger towards his children. Even as they’ve matured into adults, Simon is revered for the calm manner in which he handles all Belmont family affairs, as the reigning patriarch.

But when his only daughter—his youngest, no less—comes to him seeking his blessing for marriage, Simon shows a level a callousness that is reserved only for his worst enemy.

“It is out of the question, Sonia, and you would do well not to entertain the idea any longer.” He concludes, voice low.

He has heard enough of her appeal. And at his resounding refusal, Selena can only watch as her daughter tenses.

Watches with growing sorrow as Sonia fights back against her father.

“Father,” Sonia’s voice is firm, having built herself up gradually against his worsening mood “I assure you, it isn’t what you think—”

“It is clear that you have been thralled into complying with him.” Simon seethes, domineering the space. “I trusted that you could handle yourself against vampires, but I see now that I have been too careless in raising you.”

Sonia opens her mouth to speak, but Simon’s rage still burns:

“You will not marry our sworn enemy. I will not give you my blessing, and should you insist on disobeying me, then you dishonour your Belmont name, and all of your ancestors who have fought before you.”

Selena watches as Sonia processes this, fists balled at her sides.

“Simon,” Selena tries, reaching out a soothing hand on his back. “You mustn’t be so callous. It has taken tremendous courage for Sonia to ask for your blessing.”

“With respect, my love, I ask that you hold your tongue.” Simon frowns, shooting her a disapproving glare. “We have been much too soft on her.”

Selena stands a little taller, mirroring Simon’s frown as her hand slips off of his back. She takes a few paces towards Sonia.

Simon watches as Selena slides a supporting hand on her daughter’s shoulders, instead. A soothing gesture. But she says nothing to her.

“He’s a good man, father.” Sonia tries, defeated, with her head still bowed.

“The only good vampire is one laid to rest.” Simon underlines with malice he didn’t know he was capable of. “You have been thralled into believing otherwise.”

“What of Alucard, then?” Sonia retorts, lifting her head. She stares towards Simon with surmounting vitriol. “Would you liken Alucard to a vampire better off dead?”

Simon’s jaw tightens at that, swallowing his building rage at her blatant disrespect towards her heritage. “Do not challenge me, daughter. This discussion is over.”

“Answer my question, father!” Sonia steps towards him, despite Selena’s attempt to stay her where she is.

In reply, Simon unwinds the whip from his hip, gripping hard on the leather.

“Unless your beloved has revoked his vampire heritage as Alucard did, I will see to it that I slay him myself.”

Selena gasps at that. “Simon, stop this cruelty!”

“Hold your tongue, Selena!” Simon roars at her, stalking towards both, and Simon doesn’t know whether to be impressed or infuriated that both women are standing their ground.

But he can see that Sonia is becoming affected. He only hopes that she might some day understand that he is only doing this out of love and desire to protect her.

By any means necessary.

“It is Alucard.” Sonia tries, at last, strength dissipating as her father towers over her. “The man I want to marry is Alucard, father.”

And that, more than anything else,

causes Simon to boil over.

“Enough! I will not hear any more disrespect!” He shouts. “You are a fool for believing such a bold-faced lie! I did not raise you to succumb so easily to a vampire’s trickery!”

“I invite you to confirm for yourself!” Sonia retorts, eyes glistening with tears. “I have faith that Alucard is strong enough to stand his ground against you, weakened by your years!”

And to that, Selena finally interjects, hoping to diffuse as she gently eases Sonia back:

“Sonia, that’s enough.”

“Bring him here.” Simon accepts the challenge, voice dark and low. “Or would you prefer I seek him out myself?”

And to that, the Vampire Killer in Simon’s hand suddenly resonates with a pulsating warmth.

Both women watch with growing unease as Simon heeds the call, bursting from the Belmont hold with rejuvenated energy.

Outside the hold, a figure stands, leather-clad and cloaked.

It does not move as Simon approaches.

It does not move as Simon winds his whip back, straight to task on snapping it forward to strike it.

[cosmicangel888]

Community of Thieves ~ 5D

The community full of thieves,

#calgary up in hate crimes over the past year 44% and how the effort, time, resources, scheming, planning plotting, the lengths that people will go through to take someone down, profit off of the innocent, by placing things in their drinks, falsifying documents, doppelgänger BS, taking your information, ideas, content, video; and however many ways, that the underground, corruption will spend time, to take, steal, trick, manipulate and theive is beyond all logical understanding -

Falsified masks, businesses, falsifying monies and who they actually belong to;

To redirect all the energy, time, resources to healing - what could they have created instead of ruining relationships, ruining abundance which is the lust devil; not healing the wounds will have the lust devil do its bidding and sacrificing, and whatever binding, spell work to bring down that thing it wants; makes no sense -

There are cycles dear ones, and none has any right to drive, take, manipulate, block, reduce options for a person not to receive or not be seen, or not to be loved; the sick and very socio-pathic things that were done to me, for me not to be me, not to express, not to continue, not to bring forth my ideas, and yet they all benefited for many years off of my light - makes no sense -

So if you choose not to be a part of their suffocating, siphoning coven, witch-sex club, or misogynist ensalvement club, you are targeted and punished for being self aligned enough to move away, and keep moving';

You will never ever receive, what you think you want ever with spell work; all that is ever received is self-imploding, negative return, debt, and owing of your soul to do what could have been done before all the destruction and suffering, loss of relationships, and health, abundance - was to go within and do the healing.

The spell work still continuing to this day, and the nerve, the blatant disrespect, dishonour that any involved; and there were many many involved in this corruption; falsifying documents, signatures, and policies or mail withheld, monies withheld that I had earned - under my name - and meant for me; and yet their life is to obsess how, why, where I am what I am doing, and then take, steal, or scheme a way for me not ever to grow, move away and grow beyond their density, hate and scheming so they can continue to leech off of you and bring more darkness, and drama to you - that is their doing -

There are groups of people that stalk the talent of the intuitives,

There are those that stalk the ones with divine missions,

There are those that use and abuse the light of the innocent, and they do not care if it is a child or a vulnerable person, and they will use any tactic mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically whatever ritual and bidding or sacrificing to 'get' and I was the one being called 'ridiculous' - makes no sense and so illogical = that is the unnecessary damage that affects all - and has no way out but truth or utter destruction;

Truth you clear karma and lighten the load

Destruction, sacrificing, bidding, spell work, schemes for selfish gain, is always a debt - and none can pay this but those that choose it

It makes no sense -

They hate you because your are different and wise, and light

They take from you because of the same

They want you gone, because of the same

They want all that they want - dead or alive and if you should make your way beyond the brain fog and fucking spell work, you claw your way out of their hell - the enslavement of satanic cult work and masonry groups gone corrupt, you will continue to be their target until you maximize your vibration enough - so that the timelines, and their own karma will bring an end to the psychotic abuse.

None will imagine what I have been through - and so glad to be now on the other side, and how unnecessary and harmful, damaging beyond repair - and any of the past that could even ever consider that a door, an opportunity or conversation besides one held with legal representatives is insane.

None can do the abuse that was done, and think there is a chance of friendship - friends, do not do such, would ever consider such; this is on the very darkest ends of slavery, abuse, and control that even to this day, they are working in the dark pressing and projecting their wants, wills, and voodoo to have me bound to their sick hellish nightmare - why this work, and spells and corruption of messing with others lives, even though the only one knowing me was my ex; none knew me, none even spoke to me in person - yet an entire community of thieves thinks they know me better than I do and will stop at nothing to see me fail, fall, get into a car accident, and do what they can to ensure I never receive happiness or validation -

It is so very obvious - all need to go and seek help, healing, and new plans - or it will be a very bleak, backfiring path - - I wish all well and hope one day, they heal the darkness and treachery that must be within to ever ever ever do even 1 spell - let alone make it your obsessive life -

It matters not how the obsessions, unhealed, controlling aspects of what you want of another, to claim them as your own, or to bring such pain to them that thinking it would be a thing for them to run back to the abuse that drove them; all is the blatant re-route spirit will do - none have any right to keep harming, derailing the innocent - when it has been noted and shown; enough is enough and Spirit will move you. RESPECT is a thing and will not waiver when karma needs to be cleared, and ascension on the path of our entire planet - it is basic common sense and held within all laws - none would surrender into clubs of darkness, spell work, manipulation and games -

No woman would ever put up with even a day of what I went through - please all go heal. Narcistic, spell work, manipulative abuse - is far more damaging that physical - #ownyouractions, #getthehealingyouneed #healingcorruption

If you do not want people to call you for the underground work you do, then don't do it.

If you do not want to get called out for your corruption - then don't do it -

Our planet Is moving through ascension - and all corruption will be bathed - we have our rights to our planet and communities to be of safe and loving, honouring spaces, not ridden with selfishly corrupt gangs and groups that bleed into cancerous threading to even the smallest and youngest of children for unnecessary pain created by the wounding that simply adults chose to not heal -

Adults that know better - when you hide, go underground, and do things that need corrupt and manipulative stories and falsify to make yourself to be something you are not - how honourable and noble is this; corruption is corruption - heal - the violence, harm, damage is not necessary - and all know what they are doing when they choose -

Spell work is damaging

Doing rituals over grave sites, and blood spells, group sex rituals on those that have done nothing to you and had 0 permissions and none offered insight - but those abusing information, energy, and power, feel the entitlement and arrogance of false titles to take from the innocent and light workers, and yet we are the ones being bullied, and targeted as 'crazy' because we seek justice on monies stolen, occult crime, and the damages done and caused -

#calgaryCrime #calgaryCorruption #healinghumanity

God, Source, would never, my soul, my spirit, would never allow any of the past #calgary - that did such harm and that watched and did nothing - ever will never have access to me or my space or my life - all will be filtered out -

Go and heal and make right - my donations tabs are on all videos' and the lowers are waiting for resolve that has been so arrogantly delayed for years to serve everyone but the victim -

What earth are you all manifesting - the damage done to an earth angel - I hope all got what they wanted;

It is simply a story of extremism - and how and why cities and communities, and systems are seeing the most corrupt come to surface -

ITS TIME TO LET GO AND HEAL; move on to new pastures - the timelines, the energy, the vibrations of who I am, will not, never ever be a match with anyone that remains underground and schemes, scams, manipulates and places illusions - to get their way - please leave me be ;God will show all the re-route

The voice of the innocent will be heard, and there will be many that will never get harmed, and derailed like I was - ever again -

Judgment was called on such groups that nefariously work in obsession to harm, take, and bind what is not theirs to do; and my hope is that they wake up before it is too late and do the healing;

It makes no sense - the level of damage done, and they simply do not care - but want to see you out - and when and if that would occur - then what - another person, another obsession, another taking body and light, there is none that will feed the empty narcistic pit that is the wounding within each that has to be healed; spirit lives on

When you harm, damage, steal, take, block psychologically deny, warp, manipulated, deceive beyond all reason - set up illusions, and vibrationally rape and siphon someone - never ever expect that person to ever speak to you again, let alone open their door to be a friend - my goodness; do you see how utterly beyond corrupt - opportunistic and abusive this is?

Anyone that is healed, would never allow the past to return; all need to go and heal and after 1000 times of saying the same thing, and the same games being done - done, closed,

Spirit nourishes,

Spirit heals

Spirit aligns and brings manifestations -

Heal with love and compassion and see what your world will look like in only 1 week - make right, and bring balance to those you have harmed and see what occurs.

Anyone doing spell work, on any, putting things in peoples drinks and those that call themselves witches, to bring the mask and excuse of the poisoning brought to the innocent for you to have your way, and the bills paid, the Gucci bags filled, and misogyny clubs filled with dominance and arrogance against any that are not white male and black male - how will your earth that you manifest look like;

Your earth will not be my earth - Your earth will be filled with others just like you - stealing, taking, thriving off lies and scams, and cheats - the waters will be what you make of the sacredness that was a gift and you will have only you to blame -

I wish all would wake up and heal -

It has been such an unnecessary brutal and overkill of a massive proportions - get right - go within and heal.

The past is put to rest and never will doors ever open, never will ever, nor was there ever any contacts, no agreements, no partnerships - nothing was ever agreed, nor signed, and alot of illusions that many ached for me to be in, forget who I was and for them to be as ignorant to think that I don't know who I am when I am the one aligned with God, speak with God, and they are not - they are bound to the devil - which also works for God -

The lack of understanding, lack of knowing will what downfall is chosen by Source and the actions of ill intent - I will say for years and years of unfortunate harm to me; it was all unnecessary - and none will ever be called nor allowed back into my life - ever.

Damage done, ties all severed and know; I have my rights to be, explore, express all that I am and I will - none have entitlement, authority, and power over me, nor ever will they -

All chose to force their way into my lane, constantly derail my life, in every day - therefore - God will now show the way for all -

Joanna

JoannaCosmicAngel@yahoo.com

DONATIONs; PayPal link here; paypal.me/JoannaLRoss

[summer-starry-dawn]

That awkward moment when you really, really, really hate orientalist paintings and all it represents with a raging passion but it’s one of the only resources that gives your an insight of what your people’s traditional clothing looked like back at the time :D

[ginazmemeoir]

hey everyone, as mentioned in my earlier post, i will be releasing chapters of my latest fic over the course of the next few days (and yes i purposefully planned it for festival season).

Kalidasa's protagonists are too romantic and ideal, while those in the Mahabharata are too pragmatic and realistic, bordering on cold. I have attempted to sort of meet them both half-way in this fic, and i hope you like it :D

tagging @rudolphsboyfriend @redirection04 @gopikanyari @aadyeah @holding-infinity-and-a-book @allegoriesinmediasres @totallyforgotyouwerehere @dragonfairy1231 @weird-u @taareginn @avani008 @wtfrroch

Dushyant.

Only one name reverberated inside her mind, as Shakuntala sat at the steps to her cottage, enjoying the winter afternoon sun even as her mind conjured up images of her lover. A full head taller than her, lean and strong, his bronze skin shining with sweat, a smirk on his face. Beads of sweat trickled down his abdomen and rolled down his sculpted figure in her imagination, as a blush rose to her cheeks. Her thoughts however were interrupted by an unexpected visitor.

A hush fell on the entire ashram. It was the fabled Brahmarishi Durvasa, known for his tiny ego, even tinier anger and an arrogance that rivalled even Mount Meru, the abode of the gods. Nobody knew what would happen in his wake – please him, and he would reward you handsomely through boons and gifts. Bring his water a little bit too cold though, and you could find yourself enduring hell on earth. The latter was far too common.

Students made way as the various elders assembled rushed to accommodate him and take them to their leader Sage Kanva, Shakuntala’s father. Shakuntala, being the woman who presided over the ashram in her father’s absence, was called upon to welcome him – after appropriately covering up her quickening belly. Pregnancies out of wedlock were no issues in the progressive, scholarly environment of the ashram – to men like Durvasa though, they heralded the collapse of society.

Fresh mats of grass were laid and attendants sent forth to sprinkle rosewater on him and fan him. Shakuntala then came forth with his meal : a pitcher of buttermilk, some roti, dal, rice and yams. Dushyant’s image however, wouldn’t leave her mind. She kept replaying that passionate night, and kept wondering when he would come to take her as his bride to his kingdom, and in the process, missed what the guest had just uttered. The next moment, all hell broke loose.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he shouted, flipping his plate over and scattering the food all around. “Is this how Kanva treats his guests? Through such blatant disrespect? I knew women could often be soft minded, but I never knew a lady could be a stranger to the rules of hospitality!” he shouted, disdain evident in his voice. Shakuntala was hastily pulled away, lest the man spring flames around himself, and comforted by one of her friends. Mustering up her courage, she retorted. Even as she said the words, her mind warned her to stop, but she couldn’t bear the insult offered to her father, or to herself. “Brahmarishi, you accuse us of dishonouring the code of hospitality when you yourself blatantly do so. Not only have you insulted your gracious host, but you have also insulted the food offered to you, and through that Goddess Annapurna. It does not befit a man of your station.” She said, chin raised, voice collected, her eyes meeting Durvasa’s. Her answer was followed by an audible gasp, and visible anger and discomfort on the other sages in the ashram. A cruel smile grew across the guest’s face, as he took in Shakuntala.

“Ah yes, of course. Pregnancy. That ought to play with a woman’s mind. But dear child, I don’t see your husband around, nor do I see you wearing any symbol of you being a married woman, except that ruby ring on your finger.” He said, his voice insinuating that which hadn’t been said. “You disrespected me while thinking of your lover. Well then, let this same lover who left you with a child out of wedlock, forget you forever.”

Her mind went blank. Surely she had misheard something. No human would ever inflict such a cruelty on anyone – for being forgotten by someone you loved was akin to a slow death. Tears welled in her eyes as she sat down, unable to register the shock of the curse, even as those around her begged the rishi to take back his curse. Satisfied with the unrest he had caused, Durvasa offered a solution to the curse. “Keeping two lovers apart is hardly any concern of mine. Show him something he gave you, and he would instantly recognize and fall in love with you once again.” He declared, and prepared to leave. However this time, he went minus his respect. The assembly of learned people all stared at him with fear, while those who like him had undergone tapas, looked at him with an expression of disapproval and disdain; and that was what got to Durvasa. Suffering disrespect at another’s hand was something that he never left unpunished, but losing it through his own deeds was unfathomable for him. Reluctantly turning around, he approached Shakuntala and sat by her feet. “I was harsh on you dear, and that surely is a mark of failure from my side as a man of learning,” he said, his tone and face both touching upon remorse as he apologized. That man’s nature was even more unpredictable than that of the Yamuna. “Mark my words though,” he continued, “the child you carry is no ordinary one. Your child will change the fate of this land, and will bring fame to itself and you of a stature unforeseen.” Blessing her so, he left as quickly as he had arrived.

Gloom hung over the ashram in his wake. The rishis and rishikas deliberated amongst themselves in quick, hushed tones, deciding the best course of action while the students milled around Shakuntala, trying to comfort her. By dusk, her father arrived and was promptly briefed in on everything that had happened in his absence. She expected her father to show the same reactions that those around him had had, but he, without saying a word, just drew her into his embrace. Shakuntala nestled her head into her father’s chest, and started weeping. Sobs racked her frame as she clutched onto him. She was like an open book in front of him; each tension, each thought in her mind erupted. Why did Dushyant leave her in the first place? Why hadn’t he come back yet? And why, of all things, did she have to get pregnant? She was barely an adult and still relied on others to look after her, how would she take care of a child? Finally, as her tears subsided, Kanva lifted her face up and kissed her on the forehead. “My brave girl,” he said, wiping off pearls from her cheeks, “everything will be just fine.”

“I want to go to Hastinapur father.” She said in a small voice, her eyes looking at her feet. “I must negate Durvasa’s curse as fast as I can, lest Dushyant forget me forever.”

Kanva’s soft gaze hardened and his mouth pressed into a thin line. After a long pause, he spoke, “Shakuntala, you are wise. I have instructed you in all the fields of academia, withholding nothing I knew. Then tell me, why aren’t you wise enough to see through Dushyant?” he asked, his eyes searching Shakuntala’s.

“Dushyant promised he would take me back as his bride. He promised…”

“When? When would he have taken you back? You were only together for a fortnight beta. It has been 8 months since you last saw him. I think we have to face the truth putri; Dushyant had forgotten you long before Durvasa’s curse.” Kanva said, interrupting her.

“No. I refuse to believe that. He wed me through the gandharva rites, we took the trees and the creek as our witness, we promised to be there for each other! Words hold meaning father, don’t they?” she cried, rebelling against the seed of doubt which had long been planted inside her.

“You’d be surprised dear at how often people throw them around.” Kanva replied wistfully.

“I am leaving for Hastinapur first thing tomorrow. I will meet Dushyant and I will make him remember me. Fate brought us together, and I won’t let it keep us apart.” She declared, daring the universe and all who thought her love was weak. Kanva drew a sigh of resignation, as he too was forced to bow before his daughter’s determination.

The girl he had found abandoned near a river, shielded from the sun’s harsh rays by a flock of cranes, wasn’t going to rest without a fight.

[im-pretending-imthere-already]

Should we re-evaluate the price of honour in the Middle East?

Trigger warning what I am about to discuss mentions themes of violence, suicide and self-harm, sexual, child and domestic abuse and murder. If in need of aid here are some helplines where you can receive it.

Close your eyes with me for a moment, feel the air the surrounds your skin wrapping every crevice and curve of your body, feel the energy that you hold as women, the energy you create, feel the complexion that surrounds this room, now imagine the walls that surround you growing closer and closer, the air becoming dense instilling chills electrifying the atmosphere with tension, the mood shifting with the room closer and closer, the air tighter wrapping its chains around you, the walls pushing onto your organs, your breathing heavier, the walls growing encapsulating you prisoner shame, shame, shame, shame, shame, shame, shame

With approximately 12 “honour killings'' per year in the UK according to the Honour Based Violence Awareness Network (HBVAN) the issue of preserving honour at any cost is highlighted, with this matter being greatly exemplified in the Middle East with at least 37% of women in Arab countries having experienced some level of domestic violence as seen by a recent report by UN Women. The Middle East has grown to develop an interconnected concept of honour that is ingrained in all levels of society which is supported and enhanced by the implementation of patriarchal norms. The preservation of honour excels beyond marriage and today is projected onto every aspect of a Middle Eastern woman's life with many regions having something as simple as a bike ride bring shame and dishonour onto the women’s family. The consequences of honour can be perceived through the outlook on abuse, the prevalence of “honour” killings and the support of these harmful patriarchal standards by the laws that value power over life.

The prevalence of abuse in the Arab world can be demonstrated in every aspect of a Middle Eastern woman's life, even before marriage is in the picture. Female genital mutilation (FGM) a common practice in Africa, the Middle East and Asia is a blatant portrayal of the recurring violation of women's autonomy. FGM is the partial or complete cutting of the female genitalia which leaves women physically and psychologically scarred for life to enforce conservative values and leave women “pure”. In Kurdistan, women don't even get the privilege of entering libraries, with them being considered a mainly male environment, even though “many young girls are “desperate for books” as explained by a member of the Sofia Society, an organisation working for gender equality in the region. This is due to a fear from families that they will rebel against patriarchal norms, raising the question of how women can truly be free if their basic rights are seen as radical? According to psychologist Dr Sarah Rasmi, domestic abuse takes on one aspect above all others- between partners. Dr Rasmi further explains that many factors can trigger domestic violence, mainly to maintain power within a relationship which is enhanced by patriarchal societies which support these attitudes. Women who go against these norms and stand up against this imbalance of power are often discarded and invalidated, left to fend for themselves with nothing as a result of the society that leads to their downfall and many end up dead, all in the name of maintaining so-called “honour”. The existence of toxic masculinity and patriarchal norms affects Middle Eastern women on every level, with honour being held in her control, the existence of this cultural code in the 21st century is frankly disgusting, there is no honour in being an abuser.

Honour killing; killing in the name of preserving honour. In September 2019 the Arab world was shaken with the news of the violent murder of 19-year-old Israa Ghayreb, who was beaten to death as her screams echoed through the dull hospital walls, a reminder of how deeply rooted and normalised women's murders is in the name of maintaining honour all for posing a Snapchat with her soon to be finance and “disrespecting the honour” of her family. While honour killings are thought to take place in only closed conservative societies, far far away from our comfort zones, the case of Banaz Mahmoud a 20-year-old Kurd eerily reflects the cases that plague the Middle East, raped and strangled to death by two of her cousins and another man on the agreement of her father and uncle. Her crime, leaving an abusive marriage and entering another relationship. Her body was found buried in a suitcase in the home garden, and her new grave was left without a headstone reflecting the unmarked cemeteries of Kurdistan full of betrayed women, just. Like. Banaz. A 2019 survey undertaken by the Arab Barometer research network portrayed the acceptance of honour killings in the Middle East with 27 per cent of Algerians, 25 per cent of Moroccans, 14 per cent of Sudanese, 21 per cent of Jordanians, and 8 per cent of Lebanese finding honour killings justifiable, a further portrayal of the invalidation of victim's experiences.

Laws within the Middle East are riddled with patriarchy that limits women from being able to reach their full potential or get justice when violated. For example, Article 153 from Kuwait’s penal code allows men to get away with the murder of a sister, wife or even mother if caught in a sexual act (Zina) outside of marriage with a maximum jail sentence of 3 years or a fine of simple 225 dinars (US $735), Jordans article 308 which allowed rapists to be protected by marrying their victims and Lebanon's article 252 which allows for the mitigation of sentences from crimes against women. The Islamic Republic of Iran is possibly the best illustration of how rampant and destructive the protection of perpetrators by law is in the Middle East. Women in Iran suffer against a system built on discrimination and inequality portrayed in the country's constitution and penal code. For example, women get 50% less of what their male counterparts inherit, are legally required to satisfy all their husband's sexual needs, and lose all child custody in domestic cases immediately as it is given to the man. Women are often left without justice for example in the case of 14-year-old Romina Ashrafi who was groomed by a 29 year-old-man then got beheaded by her father for it and the execution of Reyhaneh Jabbari for defending herself from a sexual assault which resulted in the death of her attacker, defending her dignity with her life. How do we expect women to progress and call out perpetrators if both taking action or not eventually leads to the same destination?

The plague of toxic masculinity and the heightened importance put on the maintenance of honour through the control and oppression of women which eventually leads to the abuse and deaths of all these victims is the unmistakable and blatantly obvious reason why the value of honour should be redefined. Silencing women, controlling women, killing women are not honourable acts, it is about time we shift our attitudes and speak up for all the victims that are gone and the ones to come.

- hi this was my English oral assignment :)

- btw I am from the middle east

- all feedback and criticism is appreciated

[shin-uroborus]

I said earlier that because WWX is not adopted by JFM, JC has a more stable childhood. 

Somehow it turned into “JC is as spoiled as WWX because he’s the only son” 

Not sure if the one spoiling him more is JFM or YZY

Either way because there is no WWX in Lotus Pier to tick off YZY, she and JFM eventually accept each other

JC got to keep his dogs, lived with loving parents who barely ever fight, has an amazing older sister all to himself…

…in the end he behaves mostly like canon!WWX

And thus is the one who tried to enter the Cloud Recesses after curfew with two jars of Emperor’s Smile

Possibility 1: He gets found by WWX

WWX regards the Gusu Lan rules just as highly as LWJ…

…but he’s less of a hardass about it

He does have a smiley temperament not unlike LXC or JYL…

…but once he gets mad, he gets super scary; he doesn’t even snap or anything, just a change in expression is enough

*the light red text in behind him in panel 3 is supposed to say: “What did you say // That was very DISRESPECTFUL // Shameless, ridiculous // Dishonour on you, dishonour on your sect, dishonour on your family, dishonour on your cow

Possibility 2: He gets found by LWJ

>> The same scene happens in canon except instead of canon!WWX, it’s Third Jade!JC and they fight on the rooftop

Possibility 3: WWX and LWJ both spot him

Both of them spot JC, but WWX was the one who told JC about the rules and LWJ “mn”ed afterwards

JC remarked that there were so many rules that he didn’t bother reading the wall

WWX glares, JC gets frightened, LWJ places a hand on WWX’s shoulder, WWX calms down a bit but is still frowning; he was unhappy over JC, a sect heir, showing blatant disrespect towards another sect’s rules

JC was still there and was like “can you let me off just for tonight pls” and WWX gives him a JYL-style tongue-lashing on the above point ^ and JC has no choice but to slink away

It’s too long and is not as funny as the first two possibilities so I didn’t draw it 

also yes i am practicing a new colouring style

[kuriquinn]

Meanwhiles and Neverweres [2/?]

Disclaimer & Info:

Almost two months after the end of the Third Shinobi World War, Obito Uchiha awakens in a prison cell at Konoha’s police station.

Or more specifically, on the floor of a prison cell.

It’s not the first time since returning home that he has found himself a guest of Konoha’s Military Police; nor is it the first time he has woken himself up with his own thrashing and screaming. He knows it won’t be the last, either.

Every night since Kannabi bridge, Obito dreams of Kakashi.

Minato calls it grieving, while the one time he mentioned it to her, Rin suggested post traumatic stress. Obito thinks they’re both wrong. He thinks he’s being haunted.

Despite how at-peace Kakashi seemed in death, the ghost that stalks Obito’s nightmares is anything but. It berates him for not keeping his promise, repeating the nonsense he spouted in his final moments.

Names that mean nothing to him and entreaties to listen. Oaths sworn in the face of death.

Rin said that it’s very likely that in his last moments Kakashi was deprived of oxygen, causing the speech centres of his brain to malfunction. During the day, Obito can repeat this to himself and ignore the nagging sense that he is supposed to be doing something important. At night, however, he is unprotected from the memory of Kakashi’s judgement.

Speaking of judgement…

He can feel it practically radiating from the door of his cell.

Obito squints across the room, half-expecting to see Rin standing there, hands on her hips and a disapproving expression on her face, or even Minato with a worried frown. Instead, he stares up into the unyielding, hard-jawed face of Fugaku Uchiha, the captain of the police and the head of the Uchiha clan.

“S-sir,” he mumbles, stumbling to his feet and attempting something resembling a bow.

“Obito,” Fugaku says, his deep voice worryingly neutral as he addresses him. “The Illusionist. Hero of the Kannabi Bridge. Pride of the Uchiha—or so I’ve been told.” He says all of this without any inflection, and each syllable rings with judgement. “Looking at you now, you don’t live up to your legend.”

“Uncle…”

“No. I am not your uncle here,” Fugaku reminds him sternly. “I am your superior and your clan leader. And I am waiting to hear the explanation as to why a hero of the Third Shinobi War is frequenting taverns and picking fights with his clansmen.”

Obito winces.

“We have lost enough of our people to the war, we will not have infighting here,” the head of the Uchiha continues in a forbidding tone. “Especially not from those lucky enough to return home. Others did not have your fortune. Too many of your cousins have died. Inabi Uchiha is more respectable than you, and he and his team gave their lives in the final hours of the war. You dishonour their memory with your behaviour.”

“It’s the memories of those we lost that I was trying to defend!” Obito snaps, and then adds a quick a tentative, “Sir.”

Fugaku narrows his eyes. “Explain.”

Obito scowls, wondering where to begin and how to avoid sounding like he blames Kakashi for all of this.

As the war entered its final months, Obito came into his own completely. His newly awakened Sharingan was much more powerful than he expected it to be. Coupled with the chidori he learned from Kakashi, no man who stood against him on the battlefield lived to tell the tale. He and Rin were instrumental in helping Minato end the war several months earlier than anticipated, once their squad destroyed Kannabi Bridge.

They returned to Konoha as heroes, and suddenly everything was different.

Minato was nominated as Hokage and Rin went on indefinite leave from shinobi duties in favour of working in the hospital. Obito never had responsibilities before the war, not beyond looking after his grandmother, and so he was unprepared for the welcome awaiting him.

Aunts and uncles sang his praises and children followed him in the street. One of his distant relatives asked if she could name her newborn son after him. Cousins who had no time for him before the war—who couldn’t debase themselves by being around a dead-last screw-up like him—were all suddenly clamouring for his attention. They plied him with drinks and spoke to him as if he held the future of the Uchiha clan in his palms.

And he welcomed it all.

Because the drinks numbed the pain and the memory of watching the life leave Kakashi’s eyes. And those loud voices laughing and joking in the background drowned out the cold silence that Rin treated him to since that day.

For a while, he could forget the blatant absence of his friends.

Until the good-natured conversation about the war turned to criticism, and his clansmen started to speak about Obito’s comrades. About how Minato was made Hokage to be a puppet, and how Rin obviously wasn’t strong enough to continue the shinobi lifestyle. About Kakashi maybe not dying to save them, but simply looking for a way to end his life quick the way his cowardly old man did.

That last one is the reason Obito is currently in jail and why he’s pretty sure the knuckles of his left hand are broken.

But he’s not about to explain all of this to the leader of his clan. Fugaku Uchiha isn’t known for his sympathy or patience toward emotional outbursts.

“Those guys were disrespecting the people who fought and died to ensure the peace they currently enjoy,” Obito eventually bites out. “Maybe beating the shit out of them wasn’t the best choice, but it will make them think twice before they do it again.” He pauses, then again adds, “Sir”, though it’s less deferential this time.

Fugaku is silent at this, considering Obito for several moments.

Then his mouth lifts in something that might—if it’s not a trick of the light—be a smirk.

“I imagine they will,” he says. Then narrows his eyes. “But if you do it again, I’ll have you cleaning every public toilet in the village.”

Obito gulps.

“The war is over—now is the time to decide what you intend to do in the future,” Fugaku continues gruffly. “With a little discipline and perhaps learning to practice better judgement, you could do well as an officer.”

“An…officer?”

“Konoha’s police require men of substance, not simply strength.”

Obito’s eyes widen in surprise, having not expected a job offer of all things when he woke up this morning. To be honest, he’s never even considered working for the police force. He intends to become Hokage, after all, and to do that, he needs to rise through the shinobi ranks, which unfortunately doesn’t include the military force.

“Respectfully, I must decline, Sir,” he says. “I, uh, I have other plans.”

Something like amusement twitches at the corner of Fugaku’s mouth.

“I thought as much,” he says quietly.

Then, in yet another surprise move, he opens the cell.

“Go home,” he tells him. “Get your hand seen to. Sleep it off.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He turns to leave.

“I’m not finished with you yet, Obito. I want you to meet me at this location at sunset,” the police captain orders, pressing a paper into his hand. “Don’t be late.”

His tone hints at the consequence of defying him. Considering he once sentenced an officer of his to a month of manure inspection on the farms surrounding Konoha, just for having a crooked armband, Obito doesn’t question him.

Instead, he swallows and looks down at the paper in his hand, carefully unfolding it. A moment later, he yelps as it bursts in to flames – but not before he sees the words imprinted on it.

Naka shrine.

火

Rin Nohara strides between the beds of several of her patients, making observations on their charts and scribbling notes into her clipboard. Her stomach growls, but she ignores it, used to going with meals while on a mission.

Even if this isn’t exactly the same type of mission she trained for so painstakingly.

Since the end of the war, she has worked as a doctor in Konoha’s hospital. It’s a far cry from the danger of active shinobi duty, but she tells anyone who questions her decision to be here that medicine is her true calling. It’s almost completely true, if not for the gaping hole in her life where her friends used to be.

A wound that will never heal, she supposes. It’s permanent in the same way that Kakashi’s death is. Somehow the idea of going back out in the field without such an integral part of her team—and integral part of her life and her heart—makes her feel sick.

His death should not have happened.

She goes over that day in her head over and over, walking herself through every option she could tried, every sacrifice she could have made for him to live and can’t find out how. She isn’t entirely sure what she’ll do if she ever figures it out.

In the meantime, she refuses to let some other girl go through the pain of losing a comrade in the field, and throws herself into her medical studies. She was always a good student, but now she is obsessed, delving into the most technical basics of medicine and chakra manipulation to come up with a way to battle with Death…and win.

“Don’t you ever go home, Rin?” one of her patients asks, joking tone unable to completely disguise his concern. He’s is an older veteran of the war, who lost both his legs in an encounter with Iwa’s Explosion Corps. “You have to sleep, don’t you?”

“If I slept, who would take care of you?” Rin challenges with a smile, replacing an empty IV bag with a fresh one.

“You’re too young to be so busy. Don’t you have some nice young man to keep your company? I bet he’s missing you.”

Rin schools her features into her usual defence, a smile without substance and a light laugh. “No, no one’s waiting for me. Aren’t you lucky, you get me all to yourself.”

He chuckles and agrees, and Rin leaves.

As she heads to her office, she frowns, thoughs flying to Obito.

It hurts to think of him too much, to think of either of her remaining teammates really, but him especially. She hasn’t treated him very well, and knows it; but she has no idea how to be around him anymore.

The memory of his confession—“Heh…I’d be a pretty crappy guy if I let the girl I love get killed, wouldn’t I?”— is all tied up with everything else from that day. Fear and pain, the taste of blood and tears, Kakashi’s kiss, the loss of a piece of her heart. It’s not something she can explain to Obito, or even Minato-sensei when he tries to get her to speak.

Turning the corner, she almost ploughs headlong into another body.

“Sorry,” she apologises distractedly.

“You should be,” a voice replies. “Parental abuse is a serious offense.”

Startled, Rin peers more closely at her hapless victim, and flushes in guilt as her father gazes down at her. Ryūma Nohara is a tired man in his late thirties, with light brown hair and the brown eyes she inherited, although his are ringed with more worry lines than hers.

“You’re still here?” he asks her, grave and worried. “You should have gone home hours ago.”

“I had to check on my trial results before I left,” she replies.

“Your results won’t be affected by a few hours of rest. Go home and sleep. Come back tomorrow.”

“But I—”

“Consider it a directive from both your father and your boss,” he tells her, affecting a stern frown. “You’re already past your maximum shift hours.”

“How do you…?”

“The nurses. They know everything,” he smirks, but then his expression becomes grave again. “Rin…”

She can hear the worry and disapproval in his voice, and it makes her heart twinge. She only ever became interested in the field of medical ninjutsu as a genin because of him, and now here she is disappointing him.

“Fine,” Rin sighs. “Just let me fill in the last of my charts and I’ll go.” Ryūma raises an eyebrow at her, and she assures, “I promise!”

Her father’s expression softens. “How can I doubt you when you look at me like that? It’s just like your mother.”

Rin smiles sadly. Her mother was an elite ANBU who lost her life protecting the Third Hokage. The wound isn’t as recent as others, but it still stings. She wonders how her father found the strength to go on afterward. She’s never asked, though, afraid he’ll tell her what she already suspects.

Ryūma glances around mock-surreptitiously, and then reaches over to give her a hug, which Rin returns. Then, they go their separate ways as they hear him being paged over the intercom.

Once in her tiny office cubicle, which is really more like a broom closet, Rin jots down the most recent results that she noticed amongst her trial patients. The past few days have been a string of nothing, and it’s frustrating, but it’s also better than she hoped.

No news is good news in this case, she decides with a sigh, sitting back against her chair. Maybe Dad’s right, and I should—

“Rin!”

She sits bolt upright as one of the nursing students hurries in, looking anxious. “What is it?”

“It’s your friend—the Uchiha boy. He’s here and he’s asking for you.”

“He knows better than to interrupt me at work.”

“No, that’s not…he’s in the emergency care wing. He’s been injured—”

Rin drops her clipboard and makes a run for it before the woman has even stopped talking.

Obito! Hurt!

Heart in her throat, her mind casts back to the last conversation they had. She knows he’s on the active duty roster, and Minato-sensei worried he might do something stupid, but she dismissed him and asked him to leave because she had work to do and—

Oh, gods, what if something happens before I see him again?!

She practically throws the door to the examination room of its hinges, fully expecting to one of the other healers desperately trying to grasp him from the jaws of death.

Instead, she sees Obito, eyes clenched shut and gritting his teeth while her father sets the bones in his broken hand.

“Obito?” she croaks, confused. “Dad?”

“It seems your friend here needs to learn to be more specific,” Ryūma says, sounding more amused than he should under the circumstance. “He asked for Doctor Nohara expecting to see you. I think he got a bit of a shock.”

“This is…ouch…not how I pictured meeting you, Sir,” Obito bites out.

“I wasn’t aware that you wanted to,” Ryūma replies brightly, shooting Rin a look that is both knowing and expectant. She can see a particular gleam in his eye that she’s learned to be wary of.

“Well, you look like you’ve got a handle on this,” Rin says quickly, starting to back out of the room. “I finished the last of those charts, Dad, so I’m actually going to head home, just like you said—”

“Now, now, don’t run off, this is your friend,” her father chides. “I have an idea—why don’t you finish fixing his hand, and he can repay you by walking you home? I’d say that works out for everyone.”

Obito’s eyes bulge in panic, like he’s both overjoyed and terrified at the prospect. Rin, on the other hand, feels like she can’t breathe. Ryūma watches her expectantly, like he’s waiting for her to come up with an excuse. She knows if she does, he’ll have questions, none of which she wants to talk about.

“You’re right,” she brusquely, striding forward. “I’ve got it, Dad. You can go back to work now.”

“See you around, sweetheart,” he tells her. Over his shoulder, he adds, “Come by for dinner some time, hey, kid?”

Obito makes an undignified squeak in response.

With that, her father leaves her to finish caring for Obito’s hand. Her own desire to flee warring with her training, she eventually sighs and reaches for the bandages.

They sit together in heavy, forced silence for several minutes, before Obito breaks it.

“So…” he begins. Her eyes flash at him in warning, and he swallows whatever he was going to say. Instead, he clears his throat, and mumbles, “How’s work?”

Rin nods to herself; this is a question she can answer. It’s easy to talk about work.

She checks that the bones have been properly fitted back into place, she concentrates and allows her chakra to flow outward, mending flesh and bone back together. At the same time, she relates in great detail how she’s furthering her medical education, the surgeries she’s sat in on the hours she’s put in at the lab or researching in the library.

“I don’t think I’ll ever master anything like Lady Tsunade’s Sōzō Saisei, but I’m developing a healing pill that could allow for rapid healing in combat,” she tells him. “It’s still in the test stage, though, and there are a lot of kinks to work out.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“It’s excruciatingly painful during the healing process, and there’s a long recovery time. You can be absolutely useless for days after using it while the body tries to recover from such a quick healing—kind of like a coma.”

“That sucks,” he agrees. “But it sounds like it’s a start, though.”

“It is,” she agrees, sitting back. “How does that feel now?”

Obito studies his hand, waving his fingers and flexing his palm. “A lot better. Thanks, Rin.”

“So are you going to tell me what you did?”

“Do I have to?”

She folds her arms, unimpressed.

“There was a…tiny disagreement,” he admits. “That maybe involved fists and jaws.”

“I got that, yes.”

“They were saying stuff they shouldn’t have.”

“And you decided throwing yourself into a fist fight would fix that?” she demands, smacking him not-so-lightly in the shoulder. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

“It’s not that stupid…”

“Getting your hand broken is pretty stupid! Especially when you consider what could have happened if you picked a fight with the wrong person! Just because you’re a hero now doesn’t mean that you can’t get hurt or die just as easily as anyone else!” she lectures him, voice rising out of her control with each syllable. “I’m supposed to watch out for you, which is kind of hard if you get your stupid self killed!”

“Rin—!”

“Go on, tell me what was so horrible that they said which you couldn’t just let it go and walk away?”

“They were talking shit about our team!” he protests. “About you a—”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t need you to defend me!”

“It wasn’t just—” he starts to shout back, and then his shoulders sag and he looks away. “Never mind.”

Her sudden rage stalls, sense returning to her.

She realises he wasn’t just defending her, but Kakashi.

A beat later, she exhales and asks flatly, “Do they at least look worse than you do?”

He glances up in surprise, and then a sheepish smile appears. “Well, I dunno…I ended up arrested. But I think I saw one of them in the emergency room when I came in, so…”

She stands, turning her back on him.

“You still shouldn’t have done it. Picking fights won’t bring him back.”

“No, but it makes me feel like I’m doing something,” Obito returns bitterly. “He didn’t exactly leave us with a way of remembering. Not really.”

She clenches her fists, hearing Kakashi’s voice in her head.

“Naruto, Sasuke and Sakura. Remember those names.”

“And it’s not like I can go to anyone else about it,” Obito goes on. “The only person in the world I know who gets what this feels like…and you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“That’s not true!” she protests.

“Yes, it is. You’re different than you were. Distant.”

“It’s called grieving.”

“I’m grieving too, but I don’t want to be away from my friends while I’m doing it!”

“Maybe that’s because it doesn’t hurt you to be around us the way it hurts me to be around you!” Rin shoots back before she can stop herself.

Silence rings between them, and right away she sees the agony in Obito’s eyes. It’s familiar to her because she saw it the day he said goodbye to his best friend.

“Obito, I didn’t…that’s not what I…I didn’t say that right…”

“Would you have been happier if I had been the one to die instead?” he asks, cutting of her explanation.

Rin instantly feels as if she has been turned to stone, then cracked into a million painful pieces. Her tongue is like lead in her mouth as she tries to respond to such a thing.

Obito obviously takes her silence as a ‘yes’.

“I see,” he says, getting up to go, but she snatches out a hand to stop him.

“How could you haven even asked me that?” she rasps, the words dragged from her throat as if over a bed of knives.

“Well what else am I supposed to think?” he counters. “All you’ve done since we’ve been back is shut me out. I thought it was just the grief at first, but it’s not just that. You’re hiding from something. I never thought you were a coward. You were always so brave, and good, and the best of the three of us. So why are you doing this now?” When she can’t answer, he exhales angrily through his nose. “No, you know what? Forget it.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rin snaps. “You don’t get to…to just start this, and then leave!”

“I think you’ve made it clear you don’t want me around.”

“I do want you around!” she cries. “I just don’t…I don’t know how anymore. It…it just reminds me…and it’s not fair to you when I…”

“I know you loved Kakashi,” Obito tells her quietly. “I know you always will. I’m not asking you for anything that would dishonour that. I just…I want my friend back. I want us to be like we were before.”

“It will never be the way it was before,” she whispers, entire body trembling.

“I’ll wait,” he says. “Your friendship is the most important thing left in my life. And I’ll earn it back if I have to wait forever. I just hope you don’t make us both go through that.”

The way he gazes at her then, she knows he believes that to be true. Tears well in her eyes, and she looks away.

Obito sighs.

“Thanks for fixing my hand, Rin,” he tells her, and she feels the air displace as he moves past her. “I’ll see you around. If you want.”

She waits until she’s sure he’s gone before bursting into tears.

火

The recently elected Yondaime Hokage peers across the desk of his office, considering the man in front of him. The man who, by all rights, should be the one sitting in his chair.

If it weren’t for the distrust of the Elders and fecklessness of the daimyo, he would be.

Fugaku Uchiha is shorter than him, but he still manages to be imposing, with a face like granite eyes that are sharp even when his Sharingan is not active. In Minato Namikaze’s experience, his temperament is even less welcoming.

“Will you have a seat?” he asks the head of the Uchiha clan, offering what he hopes is a disarming smile.

“I’ll stand,” Fugaku replies.

The response isn’t a surprise, but it suggests what the tone of the following meeting will be. Rather than betray his exasperation with the stubbornness, Minato simply smiles wider and stands, walking around his desk until he is a few feet away from the other man. Leaning against the desk, he keeps his eye level with Fugaku, telegraphing a message while his hands rest on the wooden edge in subtle reminder.

We may be equals, but I’m still the one wearing the impractical hat. So even if you don’t respect me, you will respect this office.

One of Fugaku’s eyebrows twitch, and for a moment he looks like he’s about to bestow a nod of approval. But the moment passes, and Minato is once more staring down impassable granite.

So much for breaking the ice, he thinks with a sigh. Out loud, he says, “There were complaints about a disturbance in the Uchiha Compound.”

“A matter which does not fall under your jurisdiction.”

“The whole village is my jurisdiction,” Minato replies, a bit more bite to the reminder than he intended. “The police are an extension of this village.”

“Perhaps on paper.”

Minato narrows his eyes now, losing a little more control over his politician’s mask in the face of this frustrating individual. Something of the elite jōnin must show, a reminder that even if it was a twist of fate that made him Hokage, he is not without the skills to back up that appointment.

“It has been handled,” Fugaku states neutrally.

“And for that I thank you.” He allows his smile to re-assert itself. In a softer tone, betraying a little worry, he asks, “Was Obito really involved?”

“Not in the way you imagine,” Fugaku says, and this time he sounds more weary than guarded. “It was a youthful scuffle. Someone forgot himself and a made a disrespectful remark concerning the dead.”

“Even a grown man could be forgiven for reacting badly in that case,” Minato suggests. “Recovering from a conflict such as we have is easy on no one. Much less so given how many we’ve lost.”

“An Uchiha should be able to better control himself. It does not do well to lose control,” Fugaku dismisses. “What did you really call me for? If it were just a question of security in the village, or concern over a former pupil, a message by hawk would have sufficed.”

No one could ever say he isn’t forthright, Minato thinks with a wince. He knows what follows will not be a pleasant conversation. Still, he decides to grant him the same candour.

“In the spirit of solidarity and to promote lasting peace in the village community, the Elders have suggested that the Konoha Military Police begin accepting candidates from beyond the Uchiha clan.”

He allows the message to set in, keeping a close eye on the clan leader. Fugaku doesn’t betray any reaction as he processes, and after several long moments, he finally says, “I would have to personally evaluate the fitness of each prospective candidate.”

“Well, yes, of course,” Minato agrees, relieved. He really did think it would be more difficult than that.

“Where would these recruits be coming from?”

“I imagine the same place you get your recruits now.”

“They are recommended by current officers based on observations they make in the community and their own knowledge of our values,” Fugaku says. “So, allow me to rephrase: who would be making the first recommendations to the force should my admittance requirements be…relaxed.”

“The Elders have a few candidates in mind, I’m sure. Danzō Shimura in particular has experience choosing capable men and women.”

“Ah. There it is,” Fugaku says, and his mouth finally turns upward in a smile, but it’s a hard and bitter one. “Tobirama’s student wishes to insert his people into the one place in Konoha where he doesn’t have ears.”

“Spying? A serious accusation, and a giant leap to take,” Minato says mildly, though it’s an act.

He’s more than aware of Shimura’s distrust of the Uchiha, having seen it first hand when he convinced the other council members and daimyo, one by one, that Fugaku Uchiha should not be Hokage. He’s even experienced the man’s scrutiny himself. Of those who voted on the position of Fourth Hokage, Shimura is the only one who refused to support Minato’s candidacy. Since then, every interaction they’ve had has left Minato feeling like the older man is looking for the smallest weakness to start chipping away at him.

“It’s better to take that leap if there’s a dragon chasing you,” Fugaku maintains stonily.

“Perhaps. But you make it sound like you have secrets.”

“Every clan in this village has secrets. And every clan is entitled to those, so long as they don’t jeopardise the security of the village. That was put into law by the First Hokage, if my history is correct.”

“And what better way to protect the village than ensure its security is being maintained by the entire village and not a simple few?” Minato points out, returning to the issue at hand.

“If that were truly the case, the police would never have been assigned to the Uchiha,” Fugaku snaps. “It was Tobirama Senju who enacted that as a means to isolate our people. We knew this, but accepted it so as to keep the peace in Konoha. Over the course of generations, we have made it an honourable and worthy institution in Konoha. And now you would take it from us?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then please, enlighten me as to what you, in your naivety, think it is,” Fugaku growls. “Generations have passed without Konoha’s leaders paying any attention to the police force or the men who serve. And now suddenly, a war ends and they decide it’s the best time to stir the pot? The distrust was always there, Lord Hokage, but attempts were made to keep it under wraps. This is blatant and unapologetic.”

By the time he finishes speaking, his shoulders heave with anger, and Minato suspects it isn’t often that the leader of the Uchiha loses his temper in that way. His own anger simmers beneath his calm façade, because there is nothing wrong in what Fugaku has said.

“I am not naïve,” Minato states coolly. “I know the history, and I can only guess at the motivations behind this move. But I also trust in this village. The will of Elders is not the will of the people, and the only way to ensure that the people are served is through cooperation. And I will need yours.”

Fugaku frowns at him, calculating.

“You really don’t know what they intend, do you?” he eventually realises.

“No.”

“But you have suspicions.”

“Yes.”

The Uchiha leader raises a challenging eyebrow. “Care to share?”

“A naïve man would say that in light of the recent war, with so many of our heroes hailing from your clan, it’s simply an attempt to extend the proverbial olive branch. A forgiveness of past distrust and a hope that in the future, Konoha will be less divided.”

“If that were the case, restructuring the police is not the way to do it. What do you really think.”

That they’re afraid of you, Minato thinks but doesn’t say.

There were so many heroes among the Uchiha, ninja that are spoken of with awe both inside of the Compound and outside of it. If they become popular enough, there’s no reason why one day, an Uchiha might not become Hokage. It’s something Danzō and the Elders want to stop happening at all costs.

Revealing that to Fugaku, however, would be unwise at this juncture. Not while it’s still only suspicion. It’s better to not sow resentment and suspicion where it isn’t yet warranted.

He flashes an edged smile. “It’s too soon to say. And you never know who may be listening.”

“Well, at least you have some sense,” Fugaku snorts.

“In the meantime, I do have to relay something to the Elders,” Minato says, returning to his chair and sitting down. “If they decide I’m being ineffective, they’ll make running this village difficult. And not just for you or I, but for everyone.”

Red tape, I’m learning, can be a bitch.

A muscle works in Fugaku’s jaw, and it appears like he is doing some rather quick thinking.

“Tell them I will take their suggestion under advisement at the next clan meeting after Konoha’s official period of mourning ends.”

Minato’s mouth tugs upward. “That’s a year from now.”

“Then I suppose you have a year to give more substance to that suspicion of yours.”

“You know they won’t be content with just that, though. They’ll want evidence that I’ve got you well in hand.” Fugaku raises his eyebrow again, the expression somewhat mocking, and Minato feels his cheeks darken. “You know what I mean.”

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Some suggestion that the Uchiha are willing to put the village’s needs first.”

“I take it you have a recommendation.”

“A change, perhaps, to that clan law of yours,” Minato says. “The one where anyone who marries outside of the Uchiha has to live outside of clan boundaries. Is that something you might perhaps…relax?”

“So the village doesn’t just want to put their people in our police force, but in our homes as well,” Fugaku snorts.

“Now that is beneath you,” Minato retorts. “Especially since I know you’ve been considering amending that law on your own.”

“And what is your interest in it?”

“Let’s call it personal experience,” he suggests. “My parents chose to marry against their clans’ wishes. I grew up with a name, but no connection to my family on either side. It’s not a feeling I would wish on my child, and I doubt you would wish it on your own.”

Fugaku folds his arms over his chest. “And how does this convince the villagers of my cooperation?”

“It’s all in the manner it’s presented,” Minato points out. The other man makes a gesture like he should continue. “How do you expect the children of your clan to have a connection to their family and their village, when from birth they’re told they’re outsiders? You may see no benefit in the military police opening its doors to outsiders, but surely you can see some in value in allowing your clan to do so? Or do you intend to follow the example of the Hyūga?”

“To live amongst the Uchiha, one must be Uchiha,” Fugaku retorts, and Minato stifles a groan, until he adds, “Any individual who married into the clan would have to renounce their name if they intend to live with their spouse within the compound.”

Minato winces. “That’s…not quite what I meant.”

“It’s the most compromise my clan elders would be willing to accept.”

Minato considers him for a long beat, and then sighs. “It’s a start. I can work with that.”

Fugaku nods in return.

“Alright,” Minato exhales, feeling a little relieved. That wasn’t as completely painful as he thought it would be. Perhaps this meeting can end on a good note, after all. “Now, on to another matter: I was thinking we could have dinner sometime.”

“No offense, but I believe I can do better,” Fugaku replies with neither expression nor intonation.

Minato blinks, realises what he just said, and then sputters.

“That’s not…not what I…what I meant was…I’m not—!” He sees the glint in the other man’s eyes, something merciless but amused at the same time, and he scowls. “Hey…” Fugaku’s expression remains maddeningly unchanging while the Hokage clears his throat, embarrassed. “I only meant that Kushina would like you and Mikoto to come over for dinner. And bring Itachi. Since our wives are already friends, I think we should be as well.”

“Why?” The leader of the Uchiha sounds as if he genuinely can’t fathom a reason for it.

“Well…why not?”

“Hmph. This is not the Academy, boy.”

“You’re like seven years older, that hardly gives you the high ground to call me boy.” Minato grumbles, but when Fugaku continues to look expectant, he says, “Alright, if you have no interest in friendship for friendship’s sake, how about as a means of promoting unity in the village? If people can see the two of us getting along—”

“Ah, so it’s a political ploy.”

“Would-you-stop-twisting-things!” Minato hisses. “This is an olive branch, so stop being a stubborn asshole!”

Silence rings between them, and Minato’s eyes widen in horror. He’s never lost his temper like that before, not least of all while sitting in the Hokage’s office where diplomacy and patience are meant to reign. And in front of a man whose support he’s trying to garner…?

“Forgive me,” he bows his head stiffly. “I only meant—”

“And here I thought you were just the spineless puppet they stuck in a hat to look pretty,” Fugaku interrupts, and that’s definitely something bordering on approval in his eyes. Possibly even respect, if Minato were desperate.

Whatever it is, I’ll take it!

“Blame Kushina,” he says, laughing nervously. “I think she may be rubbing off on me.”

“It’s a poor fool who doesn’t learn some of his wife’s habits,” Fugaku agrees. For a brief moment, they exchange a glance of companionship, the one beleaguered husbands with strong-willed wives always share. Then the other man’s expression turns serious again. “But friendship won’t change generations of distrust.”

“Well, I don’t know if I agree with you about that…but it’s a start, don’t you think?”

Fugaku thinks about this, and then says, “One of many, I suppose.” He turns away. “We’ll see in the coming year, I imagine, if that has any bearing.”

He pushes open the door and disappears, leaving Minato staring at the door.

“So…is that a yes to dinner?” he calls after him. “You didn’t exactly answer me…” There is no response and he sighs. “Uchihas…”  

I was actually going to write more for this chapter…but it is sooooo long already. Besides, let's leave some stuff to be done for next installment. Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Thanks for your interest in my work!

クリ

[casualarsonist]

Son of Saul review

When it comes to harrowing stories from World War Two, you can take your pick really - would you like to talk about the slaughter of seventeen million people, including six million Jews, during the Holocaust, or the Japanese mass-murder and mass-rape of up to three hundred thousand Chinese civilians known as The Rape Of Nanking, or the subjugation and enslavement of entire countries such as Poland and Czechoslovakia at the hands of the German army? If these aren’t to your liking, there are plenty more to choose from, but no matter your choice, it’s beyond a doubt that the event is one of the most uniquely harrowing and well-depicted catastrophes in human history. And whilst some films have gone to lengths to portray the disturbing inhumanity of it all, few have delved into what might arguably be one of the most horrific stories of all - that of the Sonderkommando. Literally meaning ‘special unit’, Sonderkommando was typical Nazi doublespeak that applied to two separate and unrelated groups, the first a unit of the SS, and the second a work unit of Jewish men picked from the ranks of those imprisoned in concentration camps specifically for the purpose of disposal of the corpses of victims of the gas chambers. 

Yeah. 

They were forced on pain of death to work, with no warning in advance nor right to refuse the task given to them. Their first duty was usually to dispose of the corpses of their predecessors - an activity that clearly defines the Nazi’s keen mastery of creating an atmosphere of utter fear and hopelessness. This cycle of extermination was due to the fact that they held intimate knowledge of the terrible secret of the gas chambers, and thus they were kept separate from the rest of the camp and then killed when they had outlived their immediate usefulness. The Sonderkommando occupy one of the most terrible places in human history. Their stories were rarely shared outside the walls of the camps, both due to the Nazi’s effectiveness at disposing of the ‘evidence’ of their crimes, as well as the fact that survivors often wanted nothing more than to forget what they had experienced, but over time and through the thorough and relentless dissection of all aspects of the war a picture, a glimpse, of the hell they went through came to light. And here, in László Nemes’ film, Son of Saul, we are given a most personal insight into what that experience might have been. 

Hold onto your hats children, because this isn’t going to be fun. 

Son of Saul follows Saul Ausländer (Géza Röhrig), a Jewish-Hungarian prisoner and Sonderkommando in Auschwitz. The film begins amidst the action with a strict focus on Saul alone. In the background, blurred just beyond the peripheries of the camera’s eye we see the concrete walls, the incandescent bulbs in metal cages, the barking Nazi officers commanding herds of terrified and naked people into cramped rooms as they tell them that they’re just going in for a shower, before shutting heavy metal doors on them. Through it all, Saul keeps his eyes to the ground, or on the task before him. We hear the wailing, then the banging at the door, then the silence. We see the Sonderkommando collect the clothes that were left for collection under false pretences, and we see Saul scrubbing the floors of the chambers, washing blood and faeces and vomit away. We see him carting bodies out from the piles in which they fell. And we see a Nazi doctor as he coolly suffocates a child - a boy that accidentally survived the process. Without explanation, Saul offers to take the boy’s body to the prison doctor, a fellow Hungarian, who agrees not to perform an autopsy so that the boy may be given a Jewish burial. Thus begins Saul’s journey to offer one last act of respect to this boy. What instigates this compulsion, and why this child, of all things, is the one thing that compels a man dealing every day with the horror and despair of his work to risk his life is largely left hidden, and even when a reason is revealed it’s uncertain as to whether it’s true. But regardless of the reason behind his actions, the question at the heart of it all is simply this - what price does one put on retaining their own humanity? 

Röhrig’s understanding and portrayal of a man in unimaginable circumstances is an utter triumph of truth in cinema - both he and the film eschew all melodrama, offering nothing but discrete and sober emotion fighting against a world in which the only thing left to feel is despair, and as his journey progresses we are exposed to the minimalist sight of a human trying to claw his humanity back from a world that only exists to shred it away from him. Throughout the film Saul is largely impassive, but Röhrig doesn’t hide from the camera the decay of his character’s soul through his experiences, and through him we begin to learn the language of life in the camp and we see how these men hold on to (or in some cases, let go of) the little they have left in order to simply get through another day.

Through all this though, it never feels like the film is being dishonourable or disrespectful because in many ways Son of Saul is a horror film without gore, a war film without war, and a Holocaust film in which the Holocaust is barely seen. Don’t get me wrong - this film is relentless - but through much of it, Saul is one of the few agents in the camera’s focus, whilst the rest of the camp exists just outside of the frame or semi-obscured in the background. Most of what we experience of the outside world is forced on us by the incredible and devastating sound design, or hinted at in the periphery of the shot, something that would almost be more digestible if it were right there in front of us and we were able to accuse it of being exploitative. But like Saul himself, as much as one would wish to be able to shut out and ignore the things going on around him, the best one can do is divert their gaze. This method of training the audience’s focus is employed to its greatest effect in the opening scene, and allows the film to maintain a minimalist style elsewhere. We get no view of the greater goings on as we do in Schindler’s List, for example, but to be honest, had this isolated, focused, and personal story been diluted by extraneous attachments, Son of Saul wouldn’t be nearly as effective or as necessarily shattering. 

And I mean ‘necessarily’, because this is a rare and unflinching portrayal of one of the humanity’s worst moments inside of one of humanity’s worst moments - it should never, ever be forgotten that we did this to one another in the not-so-distant past. My girlfriend asked me what I was writing about, and I described the film and the details of the Sonderkommando to her. The look of disgust on her face said enough, but above everything it said ‘why would someone watch this?’, and Son of Saul is obviously not a film for everyone, but it remains one of the most important films that I have ever seen, as well as the hardest I have ever had to watch. But despite all that, it’s not gratuitous; it’s not brimming with violence or spectacle (like the utterly disingenuous Hacksaw Ridge), and it doesn’t stoop to depicting explicit suffering simply to elicit reflexive horror from the audience. Instead it depicts something worse - the true and internal degradation of a person’s connection with life through their forced participation in acts of unfathomable inhumanity. And this is harder to watch than something more blatant because rather than showing your eyes a crude recreation of a person dying, it forces its depictions upon senses that you can’t switch off - through sound, and through your imagination as you unconsciously create in your minds eye the things that are happening out of your field of view. And in this way the film shunts into into the position of the character you’re watching - someone who can’t simply close their eyes and be removed from the situation. 

This was the brutal cunning of the Nazis and the key to the true horror of their regime: in every way, their weapon of choice was terror - the complete immersion of their victims into lives of fear, and pain, and degradation, and death. And of course it does an utter disservice for me to compare, in any way, the experience of someone watching a movie to the experience of the men of the Sonderkommando, but of all the attempts to translate the unimaginable experiences of those that suffered in the concentration camps of World War Two, perhaps this film comes the closest to helping a modern audience understand. 

Son of Saul is devastating and invaluable. I’m compelled to say that it ought to be essential. As this world of ours travels further down a path towards enabling capricious leaders to make decisions that threaten entire countries and cultures and ethnicities, Son of Saul is a reminder of what we are when we stray towards the end of that road. For anyone who wishes to understand this sobering and terrifying reality, Son of Saul is more than worth watching - it is unforgettable.

Outstanding

9/10

[alfiehsmith]

About Last Week...

When footage of the murder of George Floyd, a 46-year-old black man, at the hands of a Minneapolis police officer while three other officers looked on, emerged, I didn’t know what to say. I was horrified and saddened, but it wasn’t the death itself that horrified me. It was the fact that it seemed nothing was coming of it. No charges were being laid. No suspensions-pending-investigation announcements were made. There wasn’t even discussion of SIU getting involved or anything. And it’s not like this was a criminal/cop he-said-he-said debate; the video evidence was right there. It wasn’t a shaky camera, it wasn’t taken from a ‘incriminating angle’ or anything like that. Clear as day, there it was: white cop kneeling – quite comfortably – on the back of the neck of a clearly-restrained black man, calmly observing his surroundings. The only thing missing from the image was the officer having a smoke, like he was taking his mid-afternoon coffee break or had just finished having sex. People – black people especially – have been sentenced to death with far less evidence against them than this. (To be fair, historically, black people have sentenced to death on what amounts to speculation, so…) I told myself I wasn’t going to respond right way; in a sickening cocktail of morbid curiosity and political intrigue, I decided to “see how this plays out”. Turns out, things would only get worse.

 I’m not talking about the protests or even the riots. (I will later.) I’m talking about the reactions to those protests and riots. Buildings were burned, shops were looted. I watched footage of a cop car frantically peeling away from a group of protesters in Los Angeles, after its windows had been smashed. And, again taking another sip of that cocktail, I looked at what online commentators said. Naturally, there were those in support of the protests and even the riots, but there were others. Many others. Others who said the actions of these rioters was disgusting, criminal. They called them terrorists, said these were just thugs taking advantage of the opportunity to loot, and that the police should be using all available force to shut them down. Many people argued that the 1st Amendment doesn’t include torching buildings and smashing cars, and that these people didn’t deserve any mercy. And, of course, the conversation inevitably turned political. This was clearly a leftist agenda, put forward by Liberals and AntiFa, to further attack the current administration.

 And then the social media posts began. Every celebrity worth their Instagram page posted image after image highlighting the oppression of black Americans, article after article explaining the systemic oppression, and tips on all things related to the movement, from a list of black-owned stores to charities and charitable organisation which support black initiatives to lists of political strategies one can initiate to foster change. And these were great. They were overwhelming very quickly, but they were great.

 I ended up getting into a discussion with several people about the riots (that cocktail must’ve been really tasty). They said the rioting, the destruction of property, the looting, all of it was not only not helping the cause of racial equality, it was actually hurting it. Those rioters are dishonouring Mr. Floyd’s memory, they said, and that this will only result in further police brutality. My response to this was simple: what exactly should be done instead? Protesting hasn’t work. Remember when some guy named Colin Kaepernick knelt during the playing of the national anthem? Remember how he was raked over the coals by the company he worked for, the NFL, by government officials, and by ‘patriotic Americans’? Remember how you could almost feel the spittle on your screen as you read the president’s furious rage-tweets about how Kaepernick should be fired from the NFL as soon as humanly possible? Remember how quickly conservative (white) America switched the narrative from protesting police brutality to disrespecting the flag/servicemen and women/veterans faster than switching gears in a Ferrari? And then there’s the ‘All Lives Matter’ response to the Black Lives Matter movement. (More on that later, too.) So, protesting hasn’t gotten the job done. What about getting black people into political office? Did anyone else notice that, in the days following the outbreak of the riots, most of the elected officials and representatives who went in front of the camera to denounce the rioting were black? (Don’t get me wrong; I fully understand why they said this. As the Mayor of St. Paul, Minnesota, of course Mr. Carter is going to tell people to stop rioting. You really expect the mayor of your town to say, “yeah, keep burning stuff down! Stick it to…er…me, I guess?”?) And there’s no doubt those elected officials are just as outraged and infuriated by police brutality against black people as anyone and everyone else, and no doubt they’ve done their level best to weed out system discrimination as much as they can. But, clearly, their efforts have left us wanting. To drive the point home as much as can possibly be done, the United States just finished a back-to-back presidency of a black man. We have literally reached the most influential position in the most powerful country in the world, and yet here we are. One of the few responses I got from my opponents at this point was to vote. Are you serious? Vote? First of all, such a glib response is condescending, naïve to the point of utter ignorance, and horrendously indicative of white privilege, a concept which many white people not only don’t understand, but refuse to understand. Black people have been voting since the day they received the franchise, despite all the obstacles put in their place in order to do so. Clearly, anyone who subscribes to that solution thinks that perhaps Black people aren’t smart enough to have come up with that solution? Next, such a response is completely devoid of historical understanding. From denying the vote to ridiculously arbitrary tests needed to register, tests so hard than no normal person could pass them; to establishing voting stations as far as geographically possible from black neighbourhoods and providing no publicly-funded transportation system, thereby forcing black Americans to trek by any way they can just to exercise their constitutional right; to gerrymandering districts to ensure black voters or – let’s face it – liberal (read: Democrat) voters were always in the minority; America has a laundry list of strategies, legislation, and illegal manoeuvrings all focused on one specific, inescapable objective: making the black vote nonexistent and, failing that, count for as little as possible. Voting hasn’t worked. Black people in politics hasn’t worked. Protesting hasn’t worked. I also pointed out to them that the denouncing of rioting was more than a little hypocritical, considering America was literally born out of rioting. I reminded them that this wasn’t a piece promoting violence; it was simply a statement that every other alternative has, by this point, been exhausted, and it would be impossible to count how many American media sources romanticised the notion of taking up arms and rising up against an oppressive force in far more violent and bloodthirsty actions than anything the rioters have produced.

 Another topic which came up was the “All Lives Matter” counterargument to the BLM movement. Clearly, this stems from one of two positions: a complete ignorance of what “Black Lives Matter” means, or a willful dismissal of the plight of the black person. So let’s clear this up right now. Everyone, including the black community and the members/supporters of the BLM movement, agrees that every life matters. There is no dispute in this. In fact, it’s the whole point of the BLM movement. It began because people realised that society must be reminded that black lives do indeed matter, just as much as all other lives, because, in light of case after case of blatant brutality by “boys in blue” on blacks, it seems that society has forgotten this particular subgroup. Saying “All Lives Matter” completely dismisses and marginalises the pain and suffering the black community has endured, completely nullifies the hurt black people have to bear in their hearts, and says to them, “oh, you’re in pain? So is everyone else!”, which is the last thing a person wants to hear after watching their brother being murdered in broad daylight on a busy city street, knowing his killers walked away without even the threat of punishment or investigation. It’s flippant, it’s personally insulting, and it’s disgusting.

 Eventually, the conversation switched. They asked me what my solution to this was. I said I didn’t know, but this isn’t exactly true. It’s just that I lacked the energy to get into the long list of must-sees to effect social change. But I’ll try and throw some ideas onto the table. This will not be a complete list by any means; in fact, they’re just the most immediate thoughts. But they are, in my humble opinion, the foundational changes which must occur.

 As with many of the issues in the United States and Canada, the first area where change must happen is education. After observing for the last week, I am amazed at how little is known of the systemic discrimination against the black community. I myself still don’t know everything, but I know enough to know that the problem goes far beyond police brutality. And it’s not enough to simply put in a police-brutality history course in school and call it a day. This is information everyone needs to know. It should be woven deeply into the fabric of our children’s education. The willful ignorance of this history shouldn’t be permitted. And it’s not enough to simply know that black people are targeted by the police; children should know why they’re targeted. The discussions of opportunity and privilege; social alienation and poverty; power and control; and the connections between crime, poverty, and education must be had. The solution isn’t here, but it must begin here.

 Simultaneously, the United States and, to a lesser extent, Canada need to dissolve the notion of competitive existence. The polarising me-vs.-the-world mentality is a parasitic virus at the heart of Americana. Symptoms may include a complete distaste for social assistance, the belief that having unrestricted access to potentially life-saving medical aid a disgusting un-American notion, a refusal to tax the Americans with the most at all, while expecting Americans with the least to empty their pockets, and a propaganda machine which puts the likes of Hitler and Kim Jong-un to shame constantly emphasising the idea that anything America isn’t doing is backwards and stupid. If you experience health complications because your socioeconomic position won’t let you stay at home during a pandemic and your government doesn’t care about helping you out, talk to your doctor. Bring your wallet.

 Free speech, like any other right, should not be absolute. There must always be reasonable limits. This is a point I’ve been making for years, and the current president has proven that point far better than I ever could. His lies – and his latest trick: race baiting – have finally forced social media outlets to step in and censure his work. But what about free speech, right? As president of the United States, his “free speech” has real world impacts. On multiple occasions, the stock markets have tumbled as a direct response to something that was tweeted by him. And his latest outraging statement, that Mr. Floyd would be looking down on him and smiling at what a great economic record this month has produced, is, I’m certain, boiling the blood of many a black person, myself included. Discrimination cannot be tolerated, plain and simple. Words lead to actions, and actions got us to where we are now. As long as racism and systemic discrimination are allowed a defence behind legal loopholes like freedom of speech and freedom of religion, nothing will change.

 Next, we need to start calling out discrimination apathy as we see it. Here are some of my favourites:

 -          All Lives Matter. Claiming that you’re in favour of all lives means you simply won’t acknowledge the oppression of one group or another. Trying to address the various inequalities of the world in ridiculously broad strokes is insulting at best, and racist at worst.

 -          I don’t see colour. A convenient head-in-the-sand approach to combating racism. You say you don’t see the differences in skin colour, so therefore you can be blissfully ignorant of the social inequalities based exclusively on that skin colour. Again, dismissive and ignorant.

 -          I have black friends/a spouse/coworkers/employees. Standing next to a black person with the two of you smiling in a photo doesn’t absolve you of a responsibility to understand social inequities and try to do something about them.

 -          Everyone is so sensitive now! You can’t say anything anymore! People aren’t more sensitive; they’re just realising they don’t deserve to put up with discrimination anymore. The fact that you feel threatened by the changes means that it’s your attitude which needs to change, not theirs.

 -          I’ve watched Roots/Selma/Malcolm X. Really?! Moving on…

 One last discussion point: privilege. For the purposes of this discussion, only white privilege will be referenced; it should be noted, however, that there are many other forms of privilege: male, Christian, able-bodied, and so on. In my experience, those who refuse to acknowledge white privilege seem to equate privilege with ease in life. They believe that, because they’ve had hardships in life, that white privilege doesn’t apply to them. Because they grew up in a lower-income environment, they’re just as disadvantaged as their black neighbours. Let me be as clear as I can on this next point. White. Privilege. Doesn’t. Mean. Your. Life. Is. Easy. Or. Obstacle-free. It. Means. Your. Skin Colour. Isn’t. One. Of. The. Obstacles. Holding. You. Back. Again, an ignorance of history or societal mechanics is to blame here. Education is the key.

 The argument has been made to disband the police. After seeing the events recently – Mr. Floyd’s brazen murder; the police beating not only protesters but also news crews (Australia’s still looking into that one); Buffalo police pushing a senior citizen to the ground, causing a massive head wound, and leaving him there to bleed out; and the president ordering police to use tear gas and rubber bullets to disperse a group of peaceful protesters, all to walk to a church and take a pathetic picture while holding a bible, among myriad others – it’s hard to refute that argument. In fact, no one seems to be refuting it; the questions that come up focus on the manner of execution of such a left-turn in society, and what should be done afterwards. As with everything that’s been said here, there is no simple solution to these questions, or to the many more when discussing such an action. All that’s known at this time is that small, cosmetic changes will only do what the term implies: they’ll alter the surface of the subject for a while, but time will eventually erode those face-lifts, leaving something far uglier when all said and done. Real, fundamental change must take place. It must be a unified effort, not one from a subgroup of the population. It must branch out into all institutions of society. It must be unequivocal; this can’t be a half-assed operation.

 For the sake of Mr. Floyd, and the many, many people who have been victimised by systemic discrimination and police brutality, we can’t let the status quo remain. We can’t resign ourselves to “keeping on keepin’ on”. We not only need to change the system, or the laws, or the people in power; we need to change the dynamics of power that exist right now. And we need to change the way we think about ourselves and each other.

[kutee-boutique-fan-blog]

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt

Do you love it? https://kuteeboutique.com/shop/like-stay-car-peopley-outside-shirt/

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt

Dottie Cooper that is how I feel, I would everything again for my mom if she was still here. I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt. My mother was a great mom and she meant the world to me and she was a great woman and a excellent example to me. I love my mom and miss my mom with all my heart. My Mom, passed when I was 13. I will be 70 next month, and I still miss her, and wish my children, would were closer,, 2, of them I haven’t seen for years, they have know Idea, how much It hurts in my heart, I have know idea why, they choose to ignore me, but that’s the way it is..It doesn’t change, how much I love them, and pray for them everyday.

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T-Shirt

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T Hoodie

I also have a son who never has anything to do with my side of the family he never calls or ans.his ph or calls back but, I can only pray for him.i love him an I am proud of him.I will let God take care of this.  My mom was most hard working woman aĺways busy doing all sorts of work for us. Although she is no more but still I feel she was the greatest woman. My heart goes out to you, I know how sad & at a loss you must be, I’m in a similar place, if only we were told why we deserve such treatment, maybe we could move on a bit.

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T Sweat Shirt

What a heartbreaking contrived story designed to manipulate your emotions. What was the little girl doing alone? Why did she get in a car with a perfect stranger? Your sending the wrong message here. And why did it take that dumbbell who was offering rides to little girls a revelation to go see his own mother? Okay, I know many of you will be thoroughly moved by this post and will be so anxious to disagree with me. I don’t care! i was moved by the sadness of what the little girl was feeling there are some people that dont think like u only wanting to hurt a vulnerable little girl. how do u know he didnt take her home b4 he went to see his mother. you only thought ofthe negative side.

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T Ladies Tee

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, V-Neck, Tank-Top, Long Sleeve T-Shirt

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T Ladies V Neck

I’m surprised how some people are so easily pleased and emotional over this over the top phony story which if you think about it ( sorry for the suggestion to think ) is just trying to tug at your heartstrings. Many of you bought into it and even attacked me in the process. If this is how your mind works, then fine, but think! Again I use that terrible word. You are advocating children getting into vehicles with strangers. I guess he just should have offered her candy and you would say ” how nice “.  The story is phony and you should look at what is being conveyed

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T Unisextanktop

You could be right David, but if you have the slightest emotion or compassion it should give you something to at least think about unless you have something to feel guilty about. Like not visiting, being attentive enough while they were still, or may be still alive. If your mom is still alive you still have time. Agnes don’t be swayed by the sentiment. That’s all you see. Please, for your own sake and those of your children, if you have any, look at the whole story being told and try to understand the blatant dangers and ridiculousness being told. This is just eye candy for the gullible.

I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Ladies T Unisex longsleeve Tee

Ou probably would tell your children to take candy from strangers. I Like To Stay In The Car It’s Too Peopley Outside Shirt. That’s what brainless people do. You know nothing about me to make an accusation like that. Too bad you are incapable of understanding what I was saying and yet you bought that phony irresponsible story. This is a simple story of how to love, respect and honour your mother to awake those who are disrespectful, abusive, dishonour children out there. Thank you Lesley, some don’t realize that I do understand the message that is trying to be delivered. It’s just, well, trying.

[senjuofthesea]

The female Elder's face turns scarlet at Izuna's blatant disrespect and behaviour. She's fed up with him, that's for sure and he will hear from her after the dinner is over.

For now, she casts a look at Mana, silently apologising to her before allowing the others to eat.

The Uchiha won't be dishonoured like this.

Izuna Appreciation Week Izanagi | Secret Relationship

@diedbeforeturning25

    They say there is a fine line between love and hate.

    Tobirama would disagree if you had asked a few years ago. maybe even months. Any point of time up until something in him broke and he and Izuna went from wrestling on the training grounds to kissing in a matter of seconds.

    Now, Tobirama is usually a rational man. Logical. But all of that was lost in a matter of minutes and  from then on, things went downhill. And yet, their strange arrangement (which he is afraid to call a relationship) makes him…happy. Or content. It is still a  strange concept to him in the times of peace, ending up trailing after an Uchiha like a lost puppy.

    It is unusual, alright. He is not one for public displays of affection so hiding their relationship was easy. Sure, sometimes he wanted to reach over and bury his face in Izuna’s neck or wipe the blood and sweat from his face but he has always managed to restrain himself.

    There is no way in hell that Tobirama would have ever considered this love. At least he doesn’t think so. He’s not one for much of affection or showing the way he feels - that is Izuna’s specialty. And yet he finds himself anticipating the moments when Izuna breaks into his office after work.

    “You are early today. Has your brother started another shouting match with mine?”