#hiroshima will burn

[degeneratedworker]

'Hiroshima Appeals’ Yusaku Kamekura & Akira Yokoyama Japan Graphic Design Association & JAGDA for Hiroshima International Cultural Foundation 1983

[memecatwings]

everyone talks about The Terror but i only ever see people discussing season 1 where are the posts about how season 2 chews you up and spits you out it shook me to my core and ive thought about it every single day of my life ever since

[hussyknee]

TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHILD AND FATHER BURNING ALIVE + DEATH OF INFANT + DEATH BY BONE MELTING RADIATION SICKNESS

Barefoot Gen introduction by author Keiji Nakazawa, from the 2004 English edition.

[ravcnism]

HEY uhm.. i've been having this idea.. like imagine kenji sato x m!reader athlete as well? help, i just thought the dynamic would be cute. it could be a rival team on the baseball league or another sports. I just thought it would be cool!

STRIKEOUT. — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: The Hiroshima Toyo Carp may have a new player in town, but his name is nowhere near unheard of. The prized star pitcher of The States takes the country by storm when he spontaneously shows up against the Yomiuri Giants. Ken Sato’s career is given a run for its money.

# # TAGS: Longform, Enemies to Lovers but like Still Enemies as Lovers, A LOT of Tension, Sports Anime-Level of Ridiculous, Star-Athlete!Male Reader, Author Doesn't Actually Know Anything About Baseball, Sort of a Slow Burn? No Beta We Die Like Onda

# # WARNINGS: Mild Violence, Mature Language, Eventual Smut if I’m Brave Enough, English is not My First Language, Around 2000 Words, Part One of ??

Night fell promptly upon the Sato residence. The sun had tucked itself into the sea and left a trail of gold in its warm, glistening wake. From afar, the ever-lively city of New Tokyo lit up street by street.

Beneath the water, in the basement, a newly-bathed Emi waddled towards her corner of the house; smelling of fresh sakura petals, and cuddling a half-crushed Nissan Skyline GT-R. Full from dinner, and satisfied by her shower, she felt the gentle arms of sleep coaxing her to a nap. With a squeaky yawn, and a stretch of her arm, she succumbed to its calls and laid on her spot on the ground. A very amused Hayao Sato came walking after her. “Silly girl. The bath and snack combo never fails to knock you out, huh?”

Kenji Sato, well-dressed for a night out, entered after. He was preoccupied by his sleeves, fingers fumbling to button them shut. “Remember, Dad. No videos after 10 pm. We can’t ruin her sleep schedule again.”

“Of course, Kenji.” His father waved him off with his cane. “You act as if I don’t know her routine like the back of my hand.”

“I’m just making sure.” He was fixing his hair, then, gelling it into place. His eyes narrowed at his own reflection, trying to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “And of course you’ve got Mina to help.”

“Definitely, Ken.” As if on cue, the round hovering bot came floating in. “We have everything under control. You needn’t worry about us here.”

Professor Sato chuckled at his son, leaning on his good foot. “You seem to have a lot of nervous energy in you, Kenji.”

The batter sighed, tugging on his collar one last time. “I’m always nervous when I’m not playing.” Deciding he looked alright, Ken left his reflection alone. “No idea why. Might have something to do with my dislike towards things that I can’t control, but I’m not gonna get into that right now–” He shuffled about, searching frantically for his jacket. “Mina, where did I put my–?” An extended robot arm appeared from the floor and handed it to him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Try to enjoy yourself anyway, Kenji.” Professor Sato had walked over to Emi, who was fast asleep, snoring slightly. He lifted a hand and rubbed her head. “I think it’s good that you go to these games even when you’re not scheduled. I can tell it lifts your team’s spirits.”

“Yeah, well, honestly I’m still trying to get used to it. The whole sportsmanship thing.” Ken sprayed his cologne on. He made a quick jog towards Emi and kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight, Sweetie.” He looked at his dad. With his motorcycle keys now in hand, he walked backwards to their glass elevator. “If anything happens, call me. You know the drill.”

“Yes, Ken,” replied Mina. “We do. Rest assured, there will not be a repeat of last time.”

“Right, right. Last time.” Kenji forced out a laugh. “Look, if she wakes up and I’m not home yet, try to get her to tire herself out. Load up a park. Throw some balls. But no flying outside, please? You know she gets carried away.”

“Understood.”

With a final glance, and a reluctant sigh, he stepped into the lift. “I’ll be back soon.” Leaving her 20-foot Kaiju-of-a-daughter never got any easier — no matter how many times he had gone and done it. He waved his family a quick goodbye, before disappearing from their line of sight.

His dad was right. It was good that he was going. The Giants had a game to win.

"Good evening sports fans! Ladies and gentlefolk, we welcome you to the highly anticipated matchup between the Hiroshima Toyo Carp and your Yomiuri Giants.”

The stadium was bright and buzzing with excitement. Ken was used to the energy, but he never grew tired of it. There was something almost magical about having this many people in a stadium together. Something electrifying about hearing their collective voices. Whether or not he was set to play, the crowd was what grounded him into focus. He adored their cheers, regardless of who it was directed to.

“We’ve got an intense start to the game so far, the home crowd doesn’t look too happy with Tateoka’s second strikeout.”

“How's it looking?” Ken appeared beside his teammate, Yuki, who was watching the game by the barriers.

“Bad. We're dying out there, Sato. Tateoka's our second batter. We're down one strikeout.”

Ken's brows knitted together, intrigued. He had gotten here a little late and missed a good chunk of the first inning. He had missed most of the commentary, too, so he was pretty much left in the dark. All he knew was that the home crowd didn't look too cheerful. And neither did Coach Shimura. ( Though technically, he couldn't remember a time when Shimura looked anything less than disappointed. ) Ken settled into his spot, nursing a canned soda.

The pitcher’s back was against him, his jersey name too far for him to read. He couldn't see who it was. Ken took notice of their form. Their figure. “Wait, who's throwing again?”

His teammate dropped a name so familiar it sent Ken choking on his drink.

“Fucking, who?” He dropped the name of a famous star-athlete. A name he saw on billboards, news reports, articles. A name so expensive it put his vintage cars to shame. A name with a strikeout rate so disgustingly high it had the best teams falling to their knees. A staggering 1.75 ERA. Almost zero walks. Your name, sent a shiver down Ken Sato’s spine. You, the Mets’ notorious Bullet, now a surprise player of the Toyo Carp.

He watched as you turned around. Your face came into view. You were frighteningly calm. The Giants’ batter was one strike away from an out. Kenji swallowed thickly. “When the hell did he get here?”

“Yeah. Apparently they traded him to Carp a week ago. Didn't get much buzz for some reason.” Yuki scoffed. “Think they covered it up? Element of surprise? It was a pretty big move.”

The fact that Kenji had never been put up against you before was sheer dumb luck. That's what he thought, anyway. Despite the fact that the both of you had been celebrities in The States, the seasons just never aligned well enough to get the both of you to play at the same park. But he hadn't dreamed of it. Who in their right mind would? Like a bullet from a gun, your pitches were unstoppable. You had a mutant-like control over the ball. There were studies on the physics of your technique. Even the best batters would miss your throws. And at that moment, as he watched his teammate strike himself out, Kenji wondered if he'd miss, too.

He wouldn't have to keep wondering. Understanding the weight of your presence, the Yomiuri Giants opted to bring in the calvary.

“Sato.” Ken flinched at Shimura’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, facing him. “Locker room. Get dressed — I'm calling you up.”

He laughed, nervously. “You sure that's legal, coach?” He wasn't scheduled to play today, and spontaneously entering a non-player into the field was only allowed upon certain circumstances. Like an injury, for example.

“Of course it is.” Shimura grumbled. “Tokuda just broke his arm.”

The mentioned Tokuda stood behind him, sipping on some soda, with his obviously not-broken arm. “You heard the man, Ken. I just broke my arm.”

Ken grimaced, heading for the door. “The press is going to love this…” Japan's finest batter, versus The States’ fastest pitcher. Oh, this would make the headlines for sure.

Kenji did as he was told. He walked into the locker room, then walked out in full-attire. The speakers crackled to life. There was a steady rise in the crowd’s demeanor. People were slowly piecing the situation together. The announcers were losing their minds. “And It looks like — oh my goodness, folks. I don't believe this. Ken Sato has been called up into the field!”

The stadium went alight. Ken walked into the park and wondered if the lights were a little brighter than usual. He was doing his stretches, rolling his shoulders. His bat was handed to him and he flipped it in his hand. He allowed the cheers to boost his energy, and perhaps a bit of his ego.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we might be witnessing baseball history tonight! Two of the opposing team’s star players have come face to face for the first time ever. And it's happening right here, right now.”

You met his eyes. Ken’s breath hitched. You were so… intense. He couldn't properly describe it. You watched him move into position like a lion stalking its prey.

“Will Sato stop the Toyo Carp’s brand new Bullet? Or will he walk out of this game bleeding?”

The trick was to look them in the eye. A pitcher was no different from a batter when it came to a game. They shared the same weight of responsibility. The only time a stadium is silent is when they're standing face to face. Like a duel. One of Ken’s techniques was staring them down and reminding them that he was a force to be reckoned with. He was Ken Sato, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately for him, you were unshaken. Which he would’ve been offended by, if he were younger and more immature. No matter, he had other things to look for. Like the cues. Each pitcher had their own cue; a sort of tell that told Ken what kind of throw they’d be going for. He didn’t hit those pitches out of pure luck. Contrary to popular belief, he was actually thinking these games through. There were a plethora of things to look at. A pitcher’s stance, their position, which hand they were using. In an easier game, Ken would be able to read these pitchers like an open book.

But if you were a book, then you would've been written in a different language. He could find no such cues. He didn’t really have anything to calculate. You were as unpredictable as you were quick. None of his usual techniques seemed to be working on you.

The last resort: keep your eye on the damn ball, and freakin’ swing.

You held your hand outward, fingers pointed at him. There was a kind of hunger in your eyes, an expression that made Ken’s heart skip a beat. Your focused glare made him feel as if a red dot had appeared on his forehead. Like you had marked him for prey. It felt… personal. Like it wasn’t a part of the game, and you were only pointing at him. A threat. A dare.

You pulled your pitching arm back. He swore he heard a gun cock. The stadium went quiet. The crowd held its breath. So did Ken. He tightened his grip on his bat. He waited, eagerly, for you to make your move. He was counting the milliseconds, watching you, anticipating your throw, waiting for you to shoot.

And you did.

Ken blinked, and the ball was gone from your hands. He released the breath he was holding through a disbelieved scoff. He turned, and the catcher had stumbled slightly, holding your ball. The crowd grew into disarray, a rising cacophony of cheers and boos. They just couldn’t believe it. Ken Sato not only missed your pitch, but wasn’t able to move at all. He couldn’t even swing. You were too fast. Too abrupt.The ball was a white blur, there a moment, then gone the next. It wasn’t an issue of the curve, nor the direction. It was just too fucking fast.

His teammates couldn’t believe their eyes. And neither did his coach. Ken craned his head to look at you. You stared back at him, stone-faced.

He took a breath to regain his composure, resuming his earlier stance. He would never admit it, but he was rattled. He was trying to understand how that throw was humanly possible. How he had somehow forgotten to move. He could do nothing more but stand haunted as he heard the resounding “strike one!” from the umpire. This wasn’t the first time he’d missed, but it was the first time he froze. It was a spectacle to all, and a moment of horror for his fans. Did the Unstoppable Ken Sato finally meet his match? Even if he did, he was determined not to lose a second time.

“Okay,” he whispered. He took a deep, focused breath, slightly shifting his stance. He kept his feet firm on the ground, bat at the ready. “Okay, Hotshot. Bring it on.”

You kept your eyes on him and him alone. You stared at him as if you were the only two people in the stadium. The crowd went silent once again. The Giants fans were desperate to give Sato the focus he so-terribly needed, but the Carp fans were just curious to see how the second pitch would go. The air was thick and heavy with tension.

Like before, you threw your hand out, fingers pointed at Ken. You drew your pitching arm back, like an archer, and there was that sound in his mind again. The cock of a gun. Ken waited. He counted you down. He was a hunter dressed in camo, waiting for a deer to move.

Then, for the first time since he’d seen you, your expression changed. You grinned at him.

Then you winked.

Shit.

You threw the ball. Ken swung.

But he missed.

The crowd erupted into chaos. There was an indistinguishable pandemonium of disdain and celebration. People screamed and jumped and waved their banners as high as they possibly could. A number of them had already entered a state of acceptance — the Giants would lose to a perfect game. No batter would ever get through the wall that was you. But a lot of them kept their faith in the ever-notorious Sato. He could hit the last shot. He could pull this off. He might have been struggling to match your speed, but he would figure it out. They believed in him like he was a god.

And at that moment, as Kenji heard the echoing “strike two!” he certainly felt the anger of one.

Did you just fucking wink? Did you seriously have the audacity to wink at him? Kenji took it personally. Who did you think you were? Though his lips spoke nothing of the foul words he wished so eagerly to shout, it was clear on his face that he wanted you gone. It was one thing to embarrass him with a fastball, but another to rub it in. He wouldn’t let that slide. He wouldn’t allow you to strike him out.

Yoshimura was gripping the barrier so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.“Eyes up, Sato!”

Kenji breathed. Through his nose, this time. He drew a long breath into his entire body and blew it out through his lips. He wouldn’t miss. He couldn’t miss. While he might have already taught himself the humility that came with losing, he hadn’t taught himself jackshit about losing to you.

“If looks could kill,” whispered Ami Wakita, the reporter who watched the game from the press booth. Typing into her laptop, she wrote: “There seems to be obvious tension on the field. Nothing new for Ken Sato, yet, significantly different. Japan’s star player has finally met his match. This game has been a long time coming.”

This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Kenji raised his bat, and narrowed his eyes. You weren’t blind to his added efforts, and smirked at him again. Oh, how it made his blood boil.

Point.

Pull.

Throw.

Swing.

This time, the ball made contact.

The crowd blew up once more, exhausting their lungs as they watched the ball fly across the field. Kenji had hit it. Kenji had managed to catch your bullet-of-a-pitch. He dropped his bat to the ground and ran for his life. Base to base, corner to corner. Kenji leapt across the field and jumped for home.

“Safe!”

The crowd went wild. He had heard stadiums cheer for him before, but he didn't think he had ever heard anything this loud. With a relieved laugh, Kenji got up from the ground, and finally caught his breath. His teammates ran to greet him, though they had only passed the first inning. With a round as intense as that one, they felt it was only right to celebrate a little early.

And then he looked at you. Your eyes met. You were smiling at him again. He didn't like the lack of concern on your face. He didn't like that you didn't seem challenged. And he especially didn't like the fact that he was out there playing for his life, while you seemed to have played for a weekend game at the park.

Kenji was glaring at you, as if he was burning holes into your head. You lifted a hand and threw him a casual salute, flicking two fingers towards his direction. Dammit, he thought. That wink really threw him off. Which it shouldn't have.

Unfortunately for him, the game was nowhere near the last time you'd interact.

And there'd be the after-party to boot.

[10zitten10]

Do you like to use the Mushroom Cloud as a fun Barbieheimer meme? If you do, it's fine so long as you know what the cloud caused and what it symbolizes. If you don't know the circumstances of the mushroom cloud, please search ''Hiroshima Nagasaki atomic bomb people (with your safe search off)' on Google Images. *The images are very disturbing. Please DO NOT try it if you are sensitive to extremely disturbing images.

I'm Japanese. In Japan, unfortunately, many people have never seen the old pictures of the real effects of the mushroom cloud. We learn about the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki (both are cities in Japan) in primary school or junior high, when we are about 10-14 years old. Many adults think it's too risky to show children the pictures because it shows human bodies, which look like human charcoal. Living people got severe burns on their faces, their backs, and their whole bodies looked like melting wax (additionally, most of the people in the pictures are citizens, not soldiers. There are many kids, babies, and old people, of course.) Even though it happened in our land, many people (including me, I'm ashamed to say though) don't feel it was an actual event because it seems very unreal and it happened almost 80 years ago. Fortunately, I had a chance to learn about the atomic bombing and see several pictures of it. Now I know what happened in 1945. I think some people here/outside of Japan realize it as well.

I don't blame people born outside of Japan who have never known/learned about the effects of the atomic bombing. I want to ask you to learn and understand what happened under that iconic mushroom cloud before you make a meme with it. If you think 'So what?' after that, I will have nothing more to say to you.

I've not seen Barbie or Oppenheimer because they are not released here yet. But I feel they are both very interesting. I'm looking forward to watching them. I wish I could have fun watching them without any distractions before going to the theatres.

Don't get me wrong. I know that during World War II the Japanese government did tons of terrible things to people outside and inside of Japan. I just want people to know that atomic bombing is a very serious issue, and using the images of the mushroom cloud as a meme/design is like using a symbol of the Nazi/KKK as a fun meme. It's not fun. Atomic bombing should never happen anywhere in the world.

[eucanthos]

The poems of this collection are grounded in the quotidian—ashtrays, handkerchiefs, the timbre of a village accent “good for reading, singing, and seduction when I drink.” Emanating from these artifacts of dailiness, Zaqtan poses the question that best defines his poetics, captured in the epigraph to The Heroism of Things, which is included in this collection:

“I’m mystified / how do I / rearrange the poem / everything’s been said.”

https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2018/january/silence-remains-ghassan-zaqtan

Ghassan Zaqtan (غسان زقطان), (2017), The Silence that Remains. Selected Poems 1982-2003, Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah, Smokestack Books, Ripon, 2018

Cover Art: Mona Hatoum, Remains of the Day, (wire mesh and wood; detail), 2017 [installation view at Hiroshima City Museum of Contemporary Art. © Mona Hatoum. Courtesy Hiroshima City Museum of Contemporary Art. Photo: Ken Kusakari]

[storiesfromgaza]

It is very important to read this and share it

Today the Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor Observatory stated that Israel dropped over 25,000 tons of explosives on the Gaza Strip as part of its ongoing extensive war since October 7th, equivalent to two nuclear bombs.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory, based in Geneva, highlighted the Israeli army's acknowledgment of targeting more than 12,000 objectives in the Gaza Strip, setting a record in the number of bombs dropped, surpassing 10 kilograms of explosives per person.

With the advancements in bomb quantity and effectiveness, while maintaining a consistent amount of explosives, the quantity dropped on Gaza could be equivalent to twice the power of a nuclear bomb.

Additionally, Israel deliberately employs a mixture known as "RDX" (Research Department Explosive) commonly referred to as "the science of complete explosives," with a power equal to 1.34 times that of TNT.

This means that the destructive power of the explosives dropped on Gaza exceeds what was dropped on Hiroshima, taking into account that the city of Hiroshima covers an area of 900 square kilometers, while Gaza's area is no more than 360 square kilometers.

Furthermore, Israel has been documented using internationally banned weapons in its attacks on the Gaza Strip, particularly cluster and white phosphorus bombs. White phosphorus is a highly toxic incendiary substance that rapidly reacts with oxygen, causing severe second and third-degree burns. The Euro-Mediterranean team has documented cases of injuries among the victims of Israeli attacks that resemble the effects of dangerous cluster bombs, as they contain small high-explosive submunitions designed to penetrate the body and cause internal explosions, resulting in severe burns that melt the victims' skin and sometimes lead to death. These submunitions also cause peculiar swelling and toxin exposure in the body, including transparent shrapnel that does not appear in X-ray images.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has emphasized that Israel's destructive, indiscriminate, and disproportionate attacks constitute a clear violation of the laws of war and the rules of international humanitarian law, which stipulate the obligation to protect civilians in all circumstances and under any conditions. Killing civilians is considered a war crime in both international and non-international armed conflicts and can rise to the level of a crime against humanity.

The 1899 and 1907 Hague Conventions, along with the 1949 Geneva Convention in its latest formulation, established fundamental human rights during wartime to limit the deadly health consequences of internationally banned weapons, some of which could lead to the "genocide" of civilians.

Article 25 of the Hague Regulations concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land prohibits "attacking or bombarding towns, villages, dwellings, or buildings which are not defended."

Article 53 of the Fourth Geneva Convention states that "any destruction by the occupying power of real or personal property belonging individually or collectively to private persons, or to the State, or to other public authorities, or to social or cooperative organizations, is prohibited, except where such destruction is rendered absolutely necessary by military operations."

According to Article 147 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, the destruction of property that is not justified by military necessity and on a large scale is considered a serious violation that requires prosecution. Such practices are also classified as war crimes under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has called for the formation of an independent international investigative committee to assess the magnitude of explosives and internationally banned weapons used and continue to be used by Israel against civilians in the Gaza Strip.

This committee would hold accountable those responsible, including those who issued orders, made plans, executed actions, and took measures aimed at achieving justice for Palestinian victims.

[thelostdreamsthings]

On this day in 1945, the US dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.

It was a brutal & inhumane act, but was considered essential by globalists who wanted to establish an American empire.

⬇️This photo was taken after the US dropped the 2nd nuclear bomb on Nagasaki, on August 09, 1945.

Joe O'Donnell, the photographer, describes:

“I saw a boy about ten years old walking by. He was carrying a baby on his back.

He was wearing no shoes. His face was hard.

The boy stood there for five or ten minutes.

The men in white masks walked over to him and quietly began to take off the rope that was holding the baby.

That is when I saw that the baby was already dead.

The men held the body by the hands and feet and placed it on the fire.

The boy stood there straight without moving, watching the flames. He was biting his lower lip so hard that it shone with blood.

The flame burned low like the sun going down. "

[theoutcastrogue]

A handful of people in Pompeii that were killed by the devastating eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 are not who experts thought they were, according to a team of researchers that recently collected DNA from the individuals’ remains. The team’s findings—published today in Current Biology—spotlight previous incorrect conclusions about relationships between the residents of Pompeii and reveals new insights about the demographics of the Ancient Roman port city. “We show that the large genetic diversity with significant influences from the Eastern Mediterranean was not only a phenomenon in the metropolis of Rome during Imperial times but extends to the much smaller city of Pompeii, which underscores the cosmopolitan and multi-ethnic nature of Roman society,” said Alissa Mittnik, an archaeogeneticist at the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology and Harvard University, and co-author of the study [...] Demographically, the team found that five individuals in Pompeii weren’t so genetically associated with modern-day Italians and Imperial-period Etruscans as they were to groups from the eastern Mediterranean, the Levant, and North Africa—specifically North African Jewish populations. Pompeii was an important port in first-century Rome, so it’s not a huge surprise that it had representation from across the Mediterranean—but the genetic stories of the studied individuals verifies it. [...] “This study illustrates how unreliable narratives based on limited evidence can be, often reflecting the worldview of the researchers at the time.” One particularly famous set of remains revisited by the team is that of an adult with a golden bracelet and a child—the child being on the adult’s lap. Long interpreted as a mother and child, the remains actually belong to an unrelated male and a child.

"Unrelated." This gutted me, for some reason. Reminded me of Watchmen and what I think are some of the most memorable panels in the history of comics.

There's a catastrophe, a colossal explosion, a disaster that we know claims the lives of millions. We know it's happening, we know there's a "psychic shockwave" involved. And there's two people we've been casually following from the start of the story, ordinary people in the street, unlike all those costumed heroes running around. They're not very good and they're not very bad. They're just people. One is an old man running a news-stand, the other is a young kid who reads pirate comics. They don't like each other. They're rude to each other, generation gap and all. Two minutes ago they learned they share a name, and managed to share an almost kind word, and they're about to start fighting again. They're just people, right? And then the disaster happens. We don't see it yet. The blood and gore will be witnessed in the next issue. For now, the background fades to white, and we only see them.

They drop what they're holding, they hug, the old man puts his arms protectively around the young kid, and they fade. They fade into the shape of the Watchmen logo, ubiquitous throughout the comic, and then they fade out. White panel. There's nothing left. And off-panel, the Ozymandias quote.

Watchmen primarily aimed to evoke nuclear war, and the "psychic shockwave" clearly stands for the blast of a thermonuclear explosion. What makes the sequence gut-wrenching is the hug (so tender and so futile), the fade-to-white (a negative space so understated and so enormous), and the penultimate panel: an after-image frozen in time, declaring forever "once there were people here". Just like the plaster casts of Pompeii, just like the stones of Hiroshima.

Hiroshima, August 6th, 1945: the shadow of a person who was disintegrated at the moment of the blast. The steps and the wall were burned white, except the portion that was shielded by the person's body. (These steps were cut out and are now inside the Hiroshima Peace Park museum.) Photo by Yoshito Matsushige, whose films were confiscated and didn't get printed until the U.S. occupation ended in Japan in April 1952.

[apoemaday]

Here’s a Poem

by Susan Sherman

to the poets who die unknown who live their poems day by day bare the chaos of lost words Here’s to the poems that never get published that lie fallow in someone’s veins that burned in Hiroshima and Nagasaki Vietnam New York City Portland, Maine Here’s to the poets in Nicaragua Cuba South Africa El Salvador in the southern countryside of all the Americas and in the northern cities too Here’s to the women and men who never even knew they were poets had no one to tell them didn’t know how to tell themselves Here’s to the millions of words buried in a million places all over the globe the mouths and hands silenced forever Here’s to all that magic music beauty surprise that died unsung that dies everyday that blood that moves us forward that holds back the tide

[anshelsgendercrisis]

You condemn antisemitism at every turn, but then you turn around and fully support a colonial regime that does nothing but exterminate Muslim and Christian Arabs, or anyone from the Middle East who isn’t aligned with your agenda. They brand them as inferior, uncivilized, barbaric, and even less than human—animals. Yet, you conveniently ignore the systemic violence and ethnic cleansing being committed daily. The irony is astonishing. How do you manage to stay silent on the massacre from yesterday? People being burned alive while attached to their IV machines, hospitals bombed, children murdered in cold blood—yet you remain too afraid to call out your own soldiers, the real terrorists here, the ones whose hands are soaked in the blood of innocent civilians.

But of course, you'll find another excuse, right? Was KHHHHHamas there ? Isn't that the tired line you always use to justify these atrocities? Is that the excuse you'll use for shelling homes, schools, and hospitals too? Zionism is not just an ideology—it’s a racist and colonialist sect bent on domination and erasure. It doesn’t matter how you try to twist it; the fact remains that your system is rooted in supremacy and the subjugation of others. And don’t think we haven’t noticed the growing global awareness. The world is waking up to the truth, despite the propaganda you hide behind.

Even a survivor of Hiroshima, a man who knows what it means to witness mass death, broke down in tears over the horror happening in Gaza. The suffering of children, civilians, families—and yet, instead of empathy, Israel attacked him, proving once again that anyone who dares to question your narrative is immediately branded an enemy. Doesn’t this only solidify what we’ve been saying all along? Your ideology is rooted in racism, colonialism, and oppression, and no amount of excuses, fear-mongering, or manipulation can hide that anymore.

The hypocrisy is glaring: cry foul when it comes to your own suffering, but endorse and enable genocide when it serves your cause. You can’t have it both ways. Justice and humanity cannot be selective. The blood of Gaza’s children is on your hands, and no amount of justification will cleanse it. The world is watching, and no longer buying into the endless cycle of excuses, deflections, and lies.

sorry chief not reading all of that.

[blueiscoool]

Remains of Three New Pompeii Victims Discovered

The remains of three new Pompeii victims have been unearthed beneath the towering shadow of Mount Vesuvius - almost 2000 years after its catastrophic 79 CE eruption.

The skeleton remains are believed to have belonged to two women and a child, aged between three and four years old.

The trio are believed to have died while seeking shelter in what is suspected to be a bakery, during the first stage of the eruption.

"In these last rooms the bone remains of three victims of the eruption have surfaced," a statement from Pompeii Archaeological Park said.

"Three Pompeians who had taken refuge in search of salvation and who instead found their death under the collapsed attics.��

"The individuals were found in an already excavated environment, where only 40cm remained of intact stratigraphy (earth).

"They rested in direct contact with the floor, and presented - together with evidence of important postmortem settlement processes - a series of perimortem traumas due to the collapse of the attic above."

A structure with two intact fresco walls were also discovered as part of the ongoing excavations in an area called Regio IX, a commercial part of town.

One of the walls depicted the sea god Poseidon and Amimone, the other portrays the sun god Apollo and his first love Daphne, who swore to remain a virgin and spurned his advances.

The discoveries come weeks after the remains of two victims, believed to be men, were found beneath a collapsed wall.

The ancient Roman city was destroyed when Vesuvius roared to life the morning of August 24, 79 CE.

By lunchtime the volcano had sent a towering ash and debris cloud into the stratosphere, which rained pumice down on the town as earthquakes rumbled foundations.

This is known as the Plinian phase, which lasted for about 20 hours, and is thought to have been when the three victims perished.

Destruction came for Pompeii in the second eruption stage, known as the Pelean phase.

Pyroclastic surges of molten rock and hot gases surged down the volcano's slopes, burning and asphyxiating people before they had a chance to flee, burying the city.

The eruption is said to have released 100,000 times the energy of the Hiroshima-Nagasaki atomic bombings in World War II.

It's estimated 2000 people died in Pompeii.

However, the exact death toll from the eruption is not known as casualties also occurred in the nearby settlements of Herculaneum, Oplontis, and Stabiae.

[headspace-hotel]

Musics

Casey Sabol- Flora and Fauna

Jonsi- Stars in Still Water

Philip Lober- Clockwater

Crywolf- Abbadon

Autoheart- Factories

Hauschka- Subconscious

Mr FijiWiji- Thought Police

Paraphon Tree- Macro Worm

Tender- Handmade Ego

M83- Walkway Blues

Badflower- Move Me

Mat Kearney- Ships in the Night

EDEN- 909

The Postal Service- The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

Crywolf- Fallout

Halocraft- Chains for the Sea

Thomas Bergersen- Into Darkness

Message to Bears- Two Finds Two

Needtobreathe- Prisoner

Sadistik- Gallows Hill

Bloodywood- Dana Dan

Oh Hiroshima- Holding Rivers

Leonard Cohen- You Want it Darker

Twisted Jukebox- The Witch and the Butterfly

Astronautalis- The Wondersmith and his Sons

Koste- Satellite

Oceans of Slumber- To the Sea

Roy Blair- California

Nothing but Thieves- Afterlife

OMN- In Quiet Rooms

Everything Everything- The Wheel is Turning Now

Zack Hemsey- Nice to Meet Me

If Only the Trees- Disappear

Lost Society- Stitches

Stormzy- Dreamers Disease

Vancouver Sleep Clinic- Unworthy

ODDKO- Disobey

Sadistik- God Complex

Def Leppard- Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad

Joywave- Nice House

Example- Midnight Run

In This Moment- Half God Half Devil

Des Rocs- Suicide Romantics

Missio- Cry Baby

In This Moment- Mother

The Pretty Reckless- Absolution

Missio- Sing to Me

Crywolf- Fawn

Grandson- Stigmata

Freelance Whales- Broken Horse

Hammock- Things of Beauty Burn

Koda- Angel

Nothing but Thieves- Tempt You

Needtobreathe- Wasteland

Apashe- Fake News

Crywolf- Anachronism

Induction- Queen of Light

The Crucifix- Cursed Birth

Poison- Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Powerwolf- Sanctified with Dynamite

Hammock- Wasted We Stared at the Ceiling

The Correspondents- Inexplicable

ODDKO- Censorship

Nita Strauss- The Wolf You Feed

Cats Never Die - Field

Two Steps from Hell- Away with Your Fairies

DROELOE- Lilypads

Greybloom- Sage

NEFFEX- Bite Me

Cosmo Sheldrake- Wriggle

The Black Dog- Neither/Neither

Dan Deacon- When I Was Done Dying

Marcus Warner- Liberation

Rage Against the Machine- Calm like a Bomb

Arizona- Nostalgic

The Animals- House of the Rising Sun

Nine Inch Nails- The Hand that Feeds

Crywolf- beauty is not a need, she is an ecstasy (respirate)

Two Steps from Hell- Amaria

These have nothing in common except that I like them. Have fun

[hall-of-the-pyromancer]

Once again, Tumblr fandom never ceases to amaze me with the lack of reading comprehension regarding Endeavor. Let’s count the ways

“Endeavor failed at another thing. He’s gonna get people killed because he apparently drew Touya to civilians”

Did people seriously forget that Endeavor was trying to lure Touya away from people so he wouldn’t burn anything? He just learned that Touya was gonna explode in a matter of minutes. Also its like people keep overlooking that Endeavor has this uncanny coincidence to be near the point of exhaustion and passing out when he encounters Touya. He just came out of a battle with AFO that took his arm and part of his torso. He had no way of taking him farther away.

“Endeavor still doesn’t care about Touya”

Man is not throwing hands with his own son, he’s pleading for him to turn off his flames so he doesn’t blow himself and everyone up nearby.

“Touya was the perfect child all along. Endeavor failed again”

Did people miss this? Endeavor knows he didn’t awaken here. He’s about to die and the ice trait manifested like so. Endeavor’s horrified that Touya had ice powers all along but he could only do so by being pushed to near death. That’s pure irony.

“He still hasn’t accepted responsibility for what he’s done”

Fucking perfect. Endeavor, no matter if he fumbled here or there during his arc, knows he fucked up. He never once tries to blame any of his victims for what he did despite people thinking he’s like abusers out there who try to gaslight, deflect, etc. No, fuck you. Man here is accepting that the shit going down is his fault. Idc if you hate him, man here has my respect for accepting that the consequences are hitting him here and he doesn’t turn away. If you still think he’s the same hate-filled man from the Sports Festival I’m sorry but you don’t accept character growth it seems.

“He’s taking the coward’s way out”

My “friend”, did you miss the part where he’s 800m away from the other heros and who knows how far away from nearby cities? He has no method of cooling his son off. Shoto’s not here and he has no way to reach Rei, Fuyumi, or Natsuo who might have a way to cool off Toya. All he knew, he’s effectively alone here about to see his son turn into Hiroshima 2.0. He’s willing to die with his son all while making sure no one gets killed. How is that him being a “coward” and not shouldering responsibility? If he was truly a coward, he’d say fuck everyone and fly away while Touya blows up. This is him being a father right here.

And finally Rei...

Do people seriously think she’s willing to only save one of these 2? The same woman who while still being in the psych ward said that she knows her husband is changing and knows he wants to make amends. The same woman who went to her injured husband and not only told him to stop pitying himself but also gave him the strength to not quit and get back out there to save their son and civilians. Why do people still have this headcanon that she wants her formerly abusive husband to die? She wants Enji and Touya both to live.

I swear, every week on here it's like the takes for Enji just tank and tank so hard its not even funny anymore. Its sad. 

[fuckin-pistol-whipped]

drawing by Sagami Ogawa (age 28); Hiroshima survivor

“Three days later, the burned bodies in the fire cistern had turned red, like demons. I instinctively turned away.” — Sagami Ogawa

the drawing depicts victims after the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. desperate to soothe the burns they had sustained, many victims jumped into nearby water, not realizing it was extremely hot from the blast. many boiled themselves alive

[xappetites]

idk why i keep thinking that Frank Woods would have a ranch somewhere? like there’s no animals or anything it’s just land and a comfortable little house dead in the middle of it

so of course he tells himself that it’s logical that afab Bell shows up at his doorstep like a beaten dog two months after the last time he saw her in Solovetsky, with less than ideally healed gunshot wounds from her second assassination attempt. Of course, it’s just that here’s a lot less likely that anyone would find her

And he takes her in, because it might’ve been fake for Adler but she’s fucking tore through hell right at Frank’s side with ample opportunity to either kill him herself or just let him get turned into mincemeat by the reds. She’s ended up under him more than once too, shaking and clumsy and laughing against his mouth in the residual adrenaline rush. More chances to off him, or to try and leverage his attraction to her, that she didn’t take. That Frank’s now convinced she wouldn’t take, not because she isn’t capable of it, she just likes sex too much to use it as a weapon.

She likes Frank too much for it, he realizes in the couple days it takes for her to stop looking over her shoulder with every creaking floorboard. When she asks him to drive her into town to exchange the small fortune in Swiss francs she smuggled into the country all the way from Zurich. He can’t fucking help it, the question that stumbles out of him without more than a second’s thought: ‘Why didn’t you go back to Perseus?’

Bell shifts, looks from Frank to the copy of John Hersey’s Hiroshima he’d given to her after a comment on nuclear armament even he thought was tasteless, the same book he caught her crying over months later and now sits in her bag, half buried in foreign bills.

‘I couldn’t,’ she says, then a minute later, as if it just occurred to her, ‘he’d kill me anyway, after Solovetsky’.

It takes a few more weeks for her to end up in his bed again, and she still smiles as soon as he nudges his dick inside her, still laughs at the burn of his beard on her neck. She still comes clutching onto him like he’ll disappear or leave, discard her as soon as he fills her. Bell mumbles out his name and Frank feels his heart caught between her fingers as much as his hair is at the moment, because for her that’s the most reasonable fear to have.

So he doesn’t. It’s not like he was gonna leave his own fucking house, which in a way feels like the only thing he’s ever really owned, but he won’t kick her out either. And he doesn’t mention her to a single soul who knows her, not even Mason. Especially not when she starts going out, more fearless each time; when she starts to teach a self defense class in town on Fridays or taking drives to the next county over whenever she has a nightmare, just to convince herself that she’s not in a fake town, and she comes back with a cheeseburger for him each time.

Cause then she starts to become his Bell again. The one capable of dead devotion, who chose to do the right thing in the end. The Bell that died twice and came back better every time, that saw an old worn fuck like him and called it home.

Bell, who he accidentally wakes one night when he comes sweating out of his own bad dreams and offers to join him for a cigarette out in the front porch, who convinces him to put on a sweater and settles on his lap in silence, blowing little smoke rings into the gold light of dawn.

The woman who cries against his shoulder when he lets spill that he loves her like horrible word vomit, and tells him she loves him too.