#pass away law Australia

[davidjhonsblog]

When I pass away, who inherits my assets? | Michael Vassili Lawyers

At Michael Vassili Lawyers, we understand the importance of planning for the future. Our team of experienced lawyers provides comprehensive guidance on estate planning and asset inheritance. We help you navigate the complex legalities surrounding your assets and ensure your wishes are respected. Whether it's creating a will, establishing trusts, or organizing your estate, we are here to assist you every step of the way. With our expertise and personalized approach, you can have peace of mind knowing that your assets will be handled according to your wishes. Contact Sydney Law Office today to protect your legacy and provide for your loved ones after you pass away.

[batshit-auspol]

I really enjoy this blog so much. Gimme your most favorite batshit auspolitics moment from the 2000s to 2010s. please. i am morbidly curious.

2007: The APEC conference, where all global leaders converge in one city to pretend like they're doing things, is to be held in Sydney, Australia. With the war on terror in full swing, security is at a maximum, and large swathes of the city are placed behind a giant multi-layered steel fence to keep the world leaders far away from the unwashed masses.

Attempting to ward off trouble, organisers of the conference hold a meeting with notorious political comedy prank group "The Chaser", to tell them they are, under absolutely no circumstances getting anywhere near any world leaders, and to not even bother trying.

"The whole perimeter is secure," security forces told them sternly. "The only thing getting through that fence is a motorcade."

24 hours later The Chaser were on their way towards the fence with a motorcade.

Now a few things should have tipped off security guards that this fake Canadian motorcade was not a the real deal. Number one: Canada wasn't at the conference, number two: no country has actually had security running alongside cars since the 60s, and three: most security guards don't carry video cameras with them or passes that read "this is fake".

Nevertheless the ruse was more successful than anyone had anticipated, and The Chaser team were happily waved into the most secure area on planet earth by police, who informed the incognito comedians that "the road is yours."

Reaching the outside of George Bush's hotel, the pranksters now began to worry that they were never going to be stopped by police and decided to get out of the car and walk back to the fence.

While dressed as Osama Bin Laden.

At this point all hell broke loose. Snipers were locked on. Confused police scrambled, and immediately arrested the whole group, only breathing a sigh of relief when they saw the words "Chaser" on the fake security passes.

Bizarrely the police opted to give a full escort to the guy dressed in a suit, and allowed the other man cosplaying as the world's most wanted terrorist to just casually walk out on his own before booking him at the perimeter.

The Chaser team said that while being put in a cell overnight wasn't fun, they were less stressed after police started visiting to ask for photos and signatures.

The prank group were later hauled before the courts and threatened with a massive fine, but the case was eventually dropped after they successfully argued that it's not technically breaking-in if the cops happily wave you into a high security zone.

Needless to say they have changed that law for future APECs.

Making light of the situation, the prank group also returned to the site a few days later dressed as carboard cars, to see just how flimsy a disguise could get past police.

This time at least, they were not let in.

[korpuskristae]

Verdict

Warnings: 18+, Smut, public sex, blowjobs, slight femdom, language, mentions of past injuries

Pairing: Fem Reader x Judge Turpin

Word Count: 2600+

Summary: Once Turpin's whore, you find yourself in the position of his wife, although with your new status as Lady Turpin, you find yourself still lacking the manners usually expected of a high-ranking Lady such as yourself. AKA: I had too much fun writing this and got carried away...

AN: I started tweaking at a concert I went to last month because the guy in front of me had long hair and a big nose... I have a type, to say the least... Anyway, I make do with my promises, even if it takes me three whole months. Requests are open, so feel free to drop something in my requests, keep in mind I write at my own discretion. Be wary of spelling and grammar errors! Point them out so I can fix them :) !!

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the eyes of Victorian London, Lord Turpin and you, Lady Turpin, were amongst London’s most unusual couples. Your relationship came not long after Richard lost his ward, Beadle, and nearly his life after a brush with Benjamin Barker, a lowly barber he sent away on false charges who miraculously, found his way back even after being sent to Australia to serve out a life sentence of harsh manual labor. Richard emerged from the events, not as the man London had once trusted implicitly, but as a man teetering on the edge of mania, grasping at what little fragments of sanity he had left. Returning to the bench a mere three weeks after his attempted assassination, the subjects of London couldn’t help but notice a change in their infallible judge. Almost every circle in London was whispering about the shift in the judge’s demeanor and it didn’t take long for the doubt of his competency to reach his ears causing his already harsh sentences to become even crueler and unpredictable, casting a further darkening shadow over his once-certain judgment.

 Most people expected everything to return to normal once the judge’s attacker had been brought to justice, after all, as a judge of the high court in service to her Majesty the Queen, he reserved the right to convict and sentence whoever dared to cross him, or the law. He was by definition, untouchable… Yet in the case of Sweeney Todd’s attempt on his life, it seemed that Lady Justice had already dealt her hand, taking Todd for herself, depriving the judge of the cruel justice he so desperately desired to feel in control. Spiraling further into a dark path of retribution that bordered on obsessive, Richard was a mere shell of the proud man he once was, seemingly falling further into the clutches of insanity with every passing day.

After being compelled to step back from the bench due to mounting public concern for his mental health and well-being, he was granted a month to rest and recover. One whole month—a dangerous opportunity to ruminate on his unexamined consciousness that Richard was not eager to take. By no means had Richard attempted to fix his wrongdoings, he was a bad man, an unjust, and cruel man who wielded the law as a weapon of his desires. He was a sinner, a liar, and a reprobate. He attended church only to enjoy the company of a whore the very next hour, he knew his life was one big contradiction. And still, he clung to the illusion that as a judge, he stood above the law and public opinion, he was a judge who answered to no one but himself, believing his actions bore no consequence beyond his own scrutiny.

 In the wake of Richard’s recovery from the attempt that nearly claimed his life, your relationship, and subsequent marriage, seemed to unfold at lightning speed. The fact that Richard had forsaken many a beautiful, and no doubt rich, highborn lady for you, irked the British aristocracy who were all throwing their daughters at the judge to have even a chance of marrying into the esteemed house of Turpin. It would’ve been one thing if you two were young lovers but your scandalized affair only grew more scandalous as people started to frequently draw attention to the fact that you had, practically, in the eyes of the public, not existed at all, prior to your engagement. 

The last woman Richard had shown any interest in was Lucy Barker, but even then, it was public knowledge he merely lusted after her, his longing for her was based not on feelings of love but ones of conquest and control, seeing her as a prize to be won. But his feelings for you seemed to stem from an unknown source… one that was less centered around himself and his personal motives.

In a society that prized status and reputation above all, Richard’s marriage to you, someone deemed “lowly” in the public’s eye, sent shockwaves through the cobbled streets of London. Unshaken by the public’s doubt of his choice of wife, Richard managed to pull out all the stops for your wedding, wasting no expense on the extravagant affair, with nearly every citizen near and far from London clamoring to attend the wedding. As guests observed the warmth in his gaze, they began to piece together a narrative that suggested genuine love that transcended societal boundaries. It wasn’t long before the public, hungry for scandal, sought to uncover the mysterious story behind your unusual romance.

The story given to the public was that you were one of the nursemaids who had so gracefully nursed him to back him to health, lovingly tending to him and eventually falling in love with him. While that story couldn’t be further from the truth, every tall tale had some grain of truth to it, certainly no nursemaid, granted, you did tend to him, in a much more… intimate way than originally specified, you two were indeed a rare occurrence of genuine love. Initially, you were just a contract—an arrangement for the night, a whore, to put it crudely. Once you, rather, he finished, you had noticed him wincing in pain along with the stiff movements of his neck, originally wary of the notoriously foul-tempered judge, you, strangely enough, found yourself hesitating to leave. Despite being expected to leave as soon as you two were finished, you couldn’t just leave him to suffer like that. This man, one who commanded London’s High Court with an iron fist now laid bedridden, his physical wounds matched only by a wounded pride. His growls and biting remarks about you staying to offer him help sounded more like thinly veiled pleas for help, revealing a side of the judge that he himself even resented, one that was weak. 

Not even half a year later you were the highly feared and equally esteemed, Lady Turpin. While the fear came from your husband’s reputation, you yourself were quite the opposite of him. Instead of intimidating people to get your way, you often made use of your snarky wit and cleverness, a trait that Richard himself found endearing and discovered proved far more useful from time to time when intimidation wasn’t a viable option. 

Seated at his bench, high above the court giving him the illusion of an almost godly appearance, Richard sat, tall and rigid. Dressed in his black robes, the long wig he wore—an obligation of his station—itchingly reminded him of the traditions he had little patience for. Leering at the people entering his courtroom he huffed uninterestedly. While his wife had managed to salvage his sanity and coax a flicker of gentleness from him, she could not penetrate the fortress he built around himself in public. Fixing his posture, he moved only to accidentally bump something underneath his bench with his knee, seeing you, his wife there, he glared at you kneeling between his legs. Smirking up at him with a lustful haze in your eyes, you placed your hands on his knees slowly parting them as you winked at him. 

Grumbling, he snarled at you without any real venom behind his words, “What the devil are you doing?”

Currently sat in front of a fully occupied court he had to preside over, you clearly had no sense of decorum when it came to respecting the authority that Richard had, slowly parting his robe at his waist, you placed your hands over his pants, palming his already growing erection. The ruthless judge, so quick to condemn others, quite literally, was nothing more than putty in your mere presence.

“Taking care of my husband, of course, you must be so stressed, huh? All those responsibilities… my dear judge, my poor, poor judge,” you purred softly, your fingers tracing languid circles on his thighs. The heat emanating from his arousal was unmistakable and he was clearly getting impatient but you ignored him for the time being keeping the tension high.

Growling lowly, he narrowed his eyes at you grabbing your hand and placing it on his clothed cock, “Do not play games you little minx, if you want to act like this then carry through with your teasing,” he demanded gruffly.

“Oh, my…” you gasped, feigning shock, “right now? Dare you disrespect the sanctity of this here court?” God you were such a tease, how was he ever expected to behave around you when you acted like this? So clearly reveling in your role as an unrelenting tease… if he was in hell, you were most certainly the demon sent to torture him till the end of his days.

Snarling at you, Richard tangled one of his hands in your hair, a firm grip that asserted control without causing discomfort. “Careful now, love. Keep with that insolent tongue of yours and I'll put it to far better use," he growled with an arch of his perfectly manicured eyebrow, his threat laced with a hint of desire.

Laughing lowly, you slowly dragged your fingers up his inner thighs before reaching his zipper and freeing him from the confines of his awfully tight trousers. Already rock hard, his cock was thicker than your wrist and his tip was an angry red color with a small bead of precum leaking from it, a testament to his undying lust for you. “So impatient and rude… you’re supposed to be a Lord, my love, one with manners who treats ladies with respect,” you chided dramatically not caring to whisper considering the courtroom was still settling in.

“Last time I checked ladies don’t terrorize their husbands multiple times a day for sex,” he grumbled letting out a low sigh of relief, feeling the pressure lessen on his aching cock. Eyeing you, he huffed in amusement as a smirk played at his lips, watching you blink up at him innocently. A little actress you were, one who was anything but what she pretended to be.

Grabbing his cock, you slowly stroked it, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, not explicitly as he was still seated in front of a room full of people, but enough for you to get the satisfaction of seeing him unravel slightly. Exhaling a long drawn out strained sigh, he spoke gruffly, evidently, trying to have some restraint. “What a naughty little thing you are, playing with your husband's cock so brazenly in a courtroom full of people…” 

 Running your thumb over the tip of his cock, you heard his breathing hitch and felt him cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb over it lovingly. Letting out a small whimper, he felt you take him into your mouth and swirl your hot tongue around the edge of his tip, tasting his salty precum on your tongue, savoring its slight musky taste. “Yes, mhm… just like that my love…” he hissed, his grip on your hair growing tighter as he pushed you down further onto his cock, forcing you to take him deeper.

Letting out a strangled squeak, you glared up at him with a mouthful of his cock as tears pricked your eyes. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he teased slowly bobbing you up and down his girthy shaft.

 Hearing the thunderous boom of the courthouse doors opening, Richard glanced up to see the defendant being ushered into the courthouse by a guard from the jail. He barely glanced at the list of accusations before re-establishing his cold, detached expression. As if he wasn’t being serviced by his wife at that very moment.

Richard raised his eyes and immediately the court fell silent, making the usage of his gavel redundant. He struck it lightly for the sake of formality before he cleared his throat, resting his hand atop your head to signal you to stop your ministrations. “You are being charged with petty larceny and the garrotting of several women, what say you in defense of these charges?” he said, his booming voice reverberating through the courtroom, fixing a cold glare at the defendant. How dare he ignore you! Use you for his pleasure and tell you to stop at his own convenience? God, he was way too privileged!

Glaring at him, as you kneeled on the floor, your eyes flashed with anger and defiance, Richard, ever so oblivious didn’t seem to notice the anger radiating from beneath him. Ignoring his wishes for you to halt your movements, you started to bob up and down again, swirling your tongue around his shaft just the way you knew he liked it, feeling him throb against your tongue, you glanced up at him cheekily as he glowered at you. Consequences be damned, you were no convenience, and you certainly weren’t controlled by him!

Barely stifling a moan, Richard’s thighs tensed as he fought to keep his composure. Watching the defendant bow his head in defeat, he heard him profess his guilt, “I plead guilty and ask you for your mercy, your honor.” If he didn’t have a little minx between his legs he’d sneer at the fool in front of him for even thinking he’d be merciful. 

Feeling you take him deeper, he watched as your hand reached up to wrap around the base of his shaft to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth, with his breathing growing ragged, he only hoped that nobody could see his very obviously flustered state. His grip on your hair only grew tighter as he tensed further, his muscles pulled taut as he felt his orgasm approach rapidly.

Realizing the entire courtroom was awaiting his verdict, he coughed, trying to cover up any of the obvious hints of his arousal, “The jury will deliberate and your fate will be announced at a later court date, this court is adjourned.” He said banging his gavel before watching everyone file out of the courthouse in confusion. 

The Esteemed Juge Turpin, widely revered and equally feared, had rarely relied on a jury—his rulings were law, laws he often wrote without deliberation. Murmurs filled the courtroom as the gallery began to question whether or not even Richard was second-guessing himself. The reason behind his stalling was, in truth, much simpler than what they suspected. Richard was merely just a pawn in his wife’s new uptaking of mischief and suffering the consequences.

After everyone filed out and left, Richard’s head fell back against his chair as you continued to suck him off. “You are so dead-” he groaned, not even able to finish his snarky comment as he felt his cock throb with his impending orgasm. With a strangled gasp and a deep guttural groan, Richard’s hips bucked into you as he came hard, his seed spilling down your throat in thick, hot, spurts that even you struggled to keep up with. After his orgasm subsided, you released his cock with a wet pop, the sound reverberating through the empty courtroom.

Slumping back against his chair, you watched with a satisfied smile as he struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving. Tucking him back into his pants, you heard him hiss, his cock was incredibly oversensitive after that mindblowing orgasm no doubt. Standing up, you dusted off your dress, looking at him with a wicked smirk, “Hmph, what was that love?” 

Sneering at you with half-lidded eyes, Richard huffed, unable to punish you for the time being, “Your arse is going to be so red when I get my hands on you,” he rasped out, watching you saunter away. He was so going to get you back tenfold, despite his mostly playful annoyance, deep down, he couldn’t deny the obvious satisfaction he got from surrendering his control to you…

AN: First time writing smut, how'd I do? ;)

[fanaticsnail]

Donquixote Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

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Donquixote Rosinante:

Despiértame mi Corazon (Dance Series) (Gift One-Shot)

You have been on the run from Donquixote Doflamingo, sheltering and caring for a young, sick child. Your emotions catch up with you as you process the change your life has led you to. You’ve left it all: family, career, friends - all to support Rosinante in his quest to cure the boy. Upon seeing you in this state, your Corazon will do anything to see you smile again. 

Donquixote Rosinante's Journey with Modern Slang (crack dialogue)

Mild background context: Law's skills as a doctor saved a person with the devil-fruit with the ability grant a single wish. Law used that wish to bring back Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante as he was: lying in the snow and unresponsive. He wanted the chance to use what he's learnt to save him, and save him he does. Both now in their 20s, Rosi is adjusting and attempting to learn the current slang to relate to his grown son.

Rosinante's Trip Down Under (one-shot)

Modern AU, Rosinante visiting your hometown in Queensland Australia. He is overwhelmed by the cultural differences, but loves to learn the slang.

I Like Matching (NSFW One-Shot)

Returning home from an away mission for your boss, you are immediately spirited away to the nearest unoccupied space and met with the lips, hands and grasp of Corazon. He missed you, and it was showcased in his neediness in every kiss and motion planted against you.

A bit of both (NSFW One-Shot)

You and Rosinante take your trust to a new level, engaging in two levels of weaving you had yet to use in sequence with one another. Kink-fic: bondage, gagging, praise (reader receiving. Gender neutral terms)

Close your eyes and breathe (One-Shot)

Struggling to find rest, you decide to take yourself to the kitchen in the marine base. You stumble upon your commander slouched over his desk and asleep on a pile of papers. Taking him to his quarters, he wants to help you find rest in slumber.

"Mine" (NSFW One-Shot)

Upon viewing you and your boss, Doflamingo, get a little too close to one another, Corazon feels the urge to finally state a claim over you. He loves you, and now wants you to understand one thing and one thing only: you belong to him. You are his, completely.

A day is all I need (One-Shot)

Serving as Trafalgar Law's chronicler aboard the Polar Tang, he convinces you to finally cast aside your former love for a man long since passed. In a bid to move on, you find an intriguing figure in the market who bore a striking resemblance to the man who held your heart.

Donquixote Doflamingo:

Pretty Red Ribbon (One-Shot)

After your birthday was ruined last year at the hands of a certain pink-feather-donning, glasses-wearing gentleman who you love to hate, your fellow warlord, Sir Crocodile, gives you a little gift you did not expect to darken your doorstep.

Play Stupid Games Win Stupid Prizes (NSFW 1/2)

Doffy is attempting to gain the upper hand against you. He's longed for you, yearned for you - in his own unique way. Considering you never give in to his flirtatious advances, he takes matters into his own hands and attempts to spike your drink. The problem? Your quick wit and nimble fingers switch whisky glasses with him, causing unforeseen problems that he has no cure for…

Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes (NSFW 2/2)

Doflamingo has been sending you gifts of flowers and trinkets over your time apart, but he refuses to acknowledge you in public. Attending a gala held at marine headquarters. He attends with two concubines on his arms, and you arrive with your friend on the arm of a marine. Doflamingo attempts to make you jealous, but you decide to play his little game by using his own methods against him. You invite Sir Crocodile to play this little game with you.

She Was Mine (One-Shot)

A new transfer is tasked with guarding Doflamingo as he visits the world government headquarters. Doflamingo becomes intoxicated and reminisces about the love of his life to this new transfer, confessing he still loves her and wants to be with her.

Doflamingo's Childhood Friend (Imagine)

Mini-fic of what it would be like to be promised to Doflamingo in his youth, only for that bond to sever when Homing defects.

Seat Number Four (One-Shot NSFW)

You are stuck on an eight hour flight between two gentlemen you have never met before. Unaware of their prior history and dislike for one another, you attempt to relax and watch a new series your friend recommended. The series was a little more raunchy than you had anticipated, and you become a little uncomfortable in your seat between the two attractive men. Doflamingo reassures you your need is nothing to be ashamed of, and he would be more than willing to help you out if you allowed him to teach the younger blonde how to best please you. Doffy x f!reader x Sanji

Teach Me (NSFW One-Shot)

As a Dressrosian concubine, you were accustomed to receiving all kinds of clients. The one you looked forward to the least was Doflamingo. Not because of who he was or what he's done. Simply for one reason. He was bad at sex, and you were bored.

Doflamingo Undergarments (NSFW mini-fic)

Doflamingo x reader x Rosinante

Doflamingo walks in on you, his administrative assistant, wearing nothing but his face plastered on your ass.

Happy Birthday Doflamingo (One-Shot)

Donquixote Doflamingo was in his own little world within the warlord meeting at the world government headquarters. Suddenly, an uncommon source reminded him what day it was, and he was left perplexed and pleasantly surprised.

Forge in Gold (Sapsorrow Au)

Two brothers and a young slave girl are bound now by the metalic band atop her unity finger. A spectral ghost, the promises of love, and lies and deceit have the three of them tangle in a bed of lies. There is no happiness to be found at the end of this tale, only sorrow and heartbreak.

Regrets (drabble)

Donquixote Doflamingo is on the sidelines for once, never learning the skill to woo you to the beat of a drum or swell of a melody. Rosinante had, and Doflamingo is regretting that decision.

Between Two Dragons (NSFW Alphabet and mini-fic)

As the bride of Donquixote Doflamingo, it was your role to satisfy your king. He would not allow a single hand to be laid on you other than that of the pure blood of his Donquixote celestial heritage. When Rosinante returned home to the Donquixote Pirates, and expressed interest in you romantically, Doflamingo was the first to suggest a non-conventional unification between the three of you.

Caesar Clown

It's not what it looks like! (NSFW One-Shot)

The ship has taken on a few more guests, the overcrowded Straw-Hat vessel now struggling to accommodate the number. Offering your room to the prisoner, Caesar Clown, you returned to find a sight you were ill-prepared to meet. Caesar had found your secret, and had them over his nose and mouth while chasing his high into his gloved fist.

Misc Drabbles:

You're Angry at the Tall Men: Drabble (One-Shot)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo.

Dreaming of You (Drabble) NSFW

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Doflamingo, Caesar, Rosinante "Corazon".

[someone-will-remember-us]

Tickle vs Giggle has placed the delusions of trans activists over biological reality and women’s hard-won rights.

The courts Down Under have gone topsy-turvy. At 9am Sydney time, a judge handed down a ruling that eradicated the category of sex in law, finding in favour of a man who was denied access to a women-only app. Justice Robert Bromwich stated that according to Australian law, sex is ‘changeable and not necessarily binary’. The case, known as Tickle vs Giggle, has set a dangerous legal precedent that the world may now follow.

The legal row started when Tickle – an angry man in a frock who changed his name to Roxanne – saw some posts on social media that annoyed him. He is a trans activist who has gone to some lengths to ‘pass’ as female. He had so-called gender-affirmation surgery in 2019 and changed his birth certificate to obfuscate the fact that he was, to use his words, ‘assigned male at birth’. His sex obviously remains male, as perfectly illustrated in photos by his five o’clock shadow, even if on paper he is legally a ‘woman’.

The tweets that upset Tickle were posted by Sall Grover, founder of the women-only social-media app, Giggle. Giggle, a small tech start-up, used facial-recognition software to screen out men. Tickle put this to the test, and initially was accepted on to the app. But after seven months his picture was clocked, either by Grover or the screening function, and his access was restricted.

Tickle then responded in the way that unpleasant, petulant men do when they’re spurned. He huffed, puffed and sent numerous emails and made phone calls to Grover. When that failed to get him reinstated, he took her to court.

Tickle argued he had a right to use Giggle because he is a woman on paper. The judge agreed, noting ‘the imposed condition of needing to appear to be a cisgendered female in photos submitted to the Giggle app had the effect of disadvantaging transgender women who did not meet that condition’. (‘Cisgendered female’ is trans-speak for ‘real woman’, while ‘transgender women’ refers to men.)

For their part, Grover’s legal team agreed that Tickle had been discriminated against – but on the grounds of his male sex, not his claims to have a female gender identity.

The judge went on to explain that although the science of sex difference was not in dispute, ‘the issues in this case involve wider issues than biology’. He considered and then dismissed expert opinion from evolutionary biologist Colin Wright, author and philosopher Kathleen Stock, and campaigner Helen Joyce. Remarkably, he declared Joyce, author of a best-selling book on transgenderism, as having ‘no recognised expertise in any of the areas in which she expresses an opinion’.

Reading the ruling, it is clear that Justice Bromwich understands that blokes can’t become Sheilas; he just didn’t think that biology was relevant to the case. Instead, he stuck to a narrow, administrative understanding of sex and gender, stating that ‘Tickle is a legal female, as reflected in her updated birth certificate issued under Queensland law’ (sic).

Strip away the robes and legalese, law is supposed to uphold what we collectively agree as a society to be right. But trans activists have broken that covenant. They are twisting justice itself to meet the desire of an entitled few to be affirmed as something they are not. Perhaps Justice Bromwich ought to consider the words of the great Australian feminist, Germaine Greer: ‘Just because you lop off your dick and then wear a dress doesn’t make you a fucking woman. I’ve asked my doctor to give me long ears and liver spots and I’m going to wear a brown coat but that doesn’t turn me into a fucking Cocker Spaniel.’

What ought to send a shiver down the spine of all right-thinking people is that this ruling could have huge ramifications for those in other countries across the globe. The Convention to Eliminate All forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) is an international treaty adopted in 1979 by the UN. It is an agreement that recognises the specific needs of women. Giggle’s defence argued that Australia’s ratification of CEDAW obliges the state to protect women’s rights, including single-sex spaces. That Justice Bromwich rejected this will have ramifications for the 186 countries that have ratified CEDAW, as judges across the world look to landmark rulings like this to inform domestic decisions.

The real cost of Justice Bromwich deciding that ‘female’ is a legal identity rather than a biological reality is likely to be felt by those in CEDAW signatory countries where violence against women is highest. Judges in countries including Pakistan, El Salvador (the femicide capital of the world) and South Africa (which has the highest reported rate of rape in the world) are now likely to take their lead on the interpretation of CEDAW from Australia. Even if misogynist imans in Pakistan, woman-killers in El Salvador and rapists in South Africa all know which sex they are targeting, there is now a real risk their nations’ judges will follow in the heavy tread of Australia in abolishing the category of woman.

The human rights of the most marginalised women in the world have been put at further risk – all because an angry man in Australia wasn’t allowed to play with the girls on a social-media app. Despite the comical name, there is really nothing funny about Tickle vs Giggle.

(archive)

[ohtobeleah]

Why the fuck do you care so much about a country you don’t even live in?

Because going off statistics alone and the fact we are a nation of immigrants, what the U.S. does directly impacts us here in Australia. Abortion rights are already on the chopping block in Queensland after the overturning of Row. It's no secret that the Australian government is a joke itself that likes to follow in the footsteps of its stupid older brother.

If you don't care, you should. And we can go back and forth about what party had the better policies all day if you want. But at the very end of the day...at the very basic level of understanding. The people of the United States just voted into office a convicted criminal and rapist who will now go on to pardon himself for all his past actions.

All while taking your rights away...

But that's okay because he's gonna increase tariffs for imported goods (That you as a consumer and the businesses importing those goods will have to pay, not the foreign entity) and lower the cost of gas.

I said it on my personal blog last night. While that man is surrounded by right-wing Christian Nationalists, he will always give them the policies that they need to make Church and State one. While Trump himself may not agree with the extent of abortion bans and other laws/restrictions in some states, he still paved the road for those decisions to be made, passed and enforced. Because those are the people that surround him and remain loyal to him.

[ovwechoes]

‘Home’ Headcanons - Tank Edition This is a continuation of the headcanons I made a while ago about what the supports would say home means to them, and what that would look like for them but this time with the tank heroes! My asks are open and any/all requests are welcome - enjoy <3

Akande Ogundimu / Doomfist: If you asked Akande where home was for him, or what he thought of when he hears the word home itself, he would tell you it doesn't yet exist. For him, in order to feel at home, he would need total power and domination. On the other hand, the idea of home is for the weak, in his eyes. Akande views the concept of having somewhere as a safe or comforting place as an acceptance of weakness, and he doesn't want to indulge on such pitiful endeavours. 

Hana Song / D.Va: Hana's home is with the MEKA squad back in Korea; she misses them and the work relationships she had before joining Overwatch. Sure, the connections she has now might be up to par or better than the ones she had whilst working with the MEKA squad, but there's something comforting about thinking back to that time when she was mainly concerned with protecting Korea as part of their first lines of defence. She misses the culture in Korea too, the spotlight of her celebrity status there, and misses the connections she had whilst working there. It's always going to be her home, even if things have changed since the last time she was there.

ORISA: Orisa's home is Numbani, it's all she's ever truly known and where she was created. She likes to imagine herself there, when she's away. She takes great pride in her country, often gloating about it to others when they try to speak ill of it. Numbani will always be important for her and, if she had it her way, she would die protecting it.

Odessa Stone / Junker Queen: Home for Odessa has been long gone since she was barred from Junkertown, maybe even before that. She misses the outback of Australia, before the riots and the Omnic Crisis. She misses being a young child, able to explore the streets of her home town without worrying about toxic gases or nuclear explosions going on nearby. She wishes sometimes, that things were different and she could return to that state in time. However, she's learned that without that happening, she wouldn't be the woman she is now, so Odessa's grown to move on and learn to love her new home. She values Junkertown for the experiences it gave her, but she'll never truly feel at peace or comfortable knowing how she was treated as a child by the king previously.

Maugaloa Malosi: For Maugaloa, his home is American Samoa - it's more than just a destination for him, and he'd tell you that if you asked him this question. Samoa, for Maugaloa, is important to him and makes him feel accepted, seen, loved and welcomed. The traditions, family connections, cultural values, etc. all are things he truly appreciates about his native country. On the other hand, he might tell you he feels most at home in the wrestling ring, and if he could have it his way he'd still be competing while working for Talon even with his genetic alterations. Being able to show off his physical prowess makes him feel unstoppable, and wrestling was where he was able to do this the most.

Ramattra: Ramattra would tell you point blank that Earth will never have a home for him. He knows that even with laws and regulations passed that would encourage humanity to open their own homes for Omnics to reside with them, there would still be prejudice, power imbalances, and a general feeling of discomfort knowing that humanity could switch at any second regarding their standing on omnic rights. Ramattra is willing to make a home for him and his people, though, even if he has to force humanity to give them one. No one deserves to feel like they aren't safe or comfortable anywhere, and Ramattra will use any means necessary to create a world where him and his people don't feel this way any longer.

Reinhardt Wilhelm: Reinhardt's home is with the crusaders, it's where he felt his most confident and most able in life. He misses his youth, and often looks back on the fonder memories he has of his time with the crusaders. It's important to him, and ever since his mentor, Balderich van Adler, passed away he hasn't been able to feel at home since. The closest he got was when first working with Ana, learning to let someone into his life again, spending nights dancing under the moonlight with her. Otherwise, he would tell you that he's too old to consider such nonsense now. 

Mako Rutledge / Roadhog: Similarly to Odessa. Mako would say his home was the outback before the omnic crisis. He's an indigenous Australian, and so he misses being able to visit places that have cultural significance to him without the after effects of the omnic crisis lingering over those places. It's not something he concerns himself with anymore, and it's something he's grown too stubborn to thing about. He likes to consider himself a nomad, having no specific place that ties him down anymore. It's something he thinks to cope with the fact that a lot of his cultural roots are gone, and all that's left is wasteland.

Siebren de Kuiper / Sigma: Siebren's home would definitely be in the stars, analysing their behaviours and watching as they move through space and time with admiration. Siebren has always had a fascination for space, and has always looked to the stars and galaxies for explanations that Earth itself cannot answer. He enjoys thinking about when he dies, that he'll be within the stars at last and fully comfortable to be himself. It's something he's happy to talk about, so long as something doesn't distract him in the process.

Winston: Winston's home is with Dr. Harold Winston on the moon when he was an infant. He misses Harold a lot, and wishes to have that father figure around still who could be proud of the work he's completing with Overwatch. It's something he looks back on with fondness, but he still considers Overwatch his home as well. Winston feels as though his purpose that Harold helped him realise and grow into is finally realised through Overwatch and the work that's being done on missions. It helps motivate him, and remind him of where he came from vs. where he is now.

Hammond / Wrecking Ball: Hammond's home is in the fighting ring, showing off his skills and his expertise in destroying other opponents. He finds the limelight incredibly fulfilling, and it helps motivate him and feel integrated into the world. He'll never admit this, claiming he doesn't know what home is or what humans consider home. Hammond certainly doesn't consider Lunar Colony his home, after what Winston did to him.

Aleksandra Zaryanova / Zarya: Aleksandra's home is Russia, and always will be. She loves the culture, the way her country fought so fiercly against the omnics during the crisis, and loves to tell people who've never visited the best places to go. Sure, she's not happy with the corruption in the government, and how her brute strength was manipulated far after the omnic crisis, but she still feels as though Russia is where her heart belongs, and she values the life lessons that her experiences there brought her. Like Orisa, she would happily die protecting her country, and that's something Aleksandra would always believe and feel.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

I have to start this one with the sad news that the hero who saved others by stopping the terrorist yesterday, despite being stabbed in several places (including in the neck), has passed away. His name was Uri Moyal, he was 51 years old, he leaves behind a wife and three kids. Yesterday, the number of wounded was still not fully clear, today it's confirmed that in addition to Uri, the terrorist managed to injure 2 more people. In the pic below you can see Uri holding up a lifetime achievement award. At his funeral today, his daughter Sapir mourned him: "Thank you for being a dad, who was also a teacher for life. There is no one who knew you and didn't fall in love with you."

The German press has reported (so far I've only managed to find this English source) that this week, the antisemitic, genocidal slogan "From the river to the sea" has been found painted in Arabic on the site of the 1972 kidnapping and massacre of 11 Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists. I'll point out that recently, the grandson of one of the murdered athletes was attacked (he had several bones in his face broken) in Berlin by an Arab anti-Israel activist.

A terrorist attack was prevented from happening, when two Palestinians, carrying a big knife and a sword, were arrested on their way to a Jewish community in the middle of the night. They're currently being questioned.

After Canada and Sweden, now Australia has also announced that it will renew its funding of UNRWA. I may sound like a broken record, but this is morally broken. They KNOW that UN agency is complicit in countless crimes of helping anti-Jewish hate and violence, the IDF evidence uncovered thanks to the war are just the tip of the iceberg when we're actually talking about decades of complicity, and resuming the funding without any changes, without even an investigation into this being completed, means these countries don't even care about looking as if they care about Jewish and Israeli lives. It's beyond ccontemptible. So. Canada, Sweden and now Australia, whenever these countries' heads tell you that they care about human rights, know that this includes, "but not for Jews."

And because I mentioned the long, long complicity of UNRWA (and many in charge of or dealing with it), here's the CEO of the NGO UN Watch explaining it better than most can, because they have been working for years on calling attention to the wrongdoing of UNRWA:

There's this common lie spread by the anti-Israel crowd, that everything was just peachy between Jews and Muslim in the Middle East, until Zionism came along. This is a blatant erasure of repeated discrimination, persecution, forced conversions, expulsions and massacres perpetrated against Jews living in Muslim majority countries for centuries. The ethnic cleansing of the entire Middle East of Jews (other than in Israel) is only the climax of that long history of antisemitism under Muslim rule, exactly like the Holocaust is just the climax of the long history of antisemitism under Christian European rule. And yesterday, I came across another reminder.

I was listening to an interview with Rabbi Abraham Cooper, an American rabbi, about the discrimination he had recently suffered during a trip to Saudi Arabia. I'd read the headlines, but hearing him tell it in his own words (in amazing Hebrew, might I add) really drove it home. He was heading a US delegation meant to inspect the state of religious freedom in Saudi Arabia, when he gets a phone call from the Saudi Ministry of Foreign Affairs, telling him that the Saudis have laws which must be respected, and which dictate that no one but "the members of our religion" (meaning, Muslims) can walk around publicly displaying signs of their religious identity. In other words, Rabbi Cooper was told to remove his kippah (the head cover religious Jews wear). Rabbi Cooper asked the official on the phone, whether he was sure, and tried arguing against this decision. When the demand was reaffirmed, Rabbi Cooper responded that he wouldn't take off his kippah for the Soviets decades ago, and he wouldn't be taking it off for the Saudis, either. That meant he had to leave, and so the delegation had to end its visit. This isn't a small incident of anti-Jewish discrimination in the 1930's, in an Arab country where no one would even bat an eye at that. This is a Saudi official, speaking to an American Jew, in 2024, during an official visit, meant to check the state of religious freedom in that country, while Saudi Arabia is doing its best to present a more tolerant, modern and progressive image for the world. And this still happened. There is a long tradition of antisemitism in the Middle East, it doesn't simply disappear even when Jews were forced to, and the attempts to deny it with the excuse of "But Zionism!" are antisemitic, too.

This is Hadar Gadol.

He's an Israeli author, a practitioner of alternative medicine, and as a reservist, he serves as a casualty officer (an army official who lets a family know that their loved one was killed in combat, in Israel a casualty officer also continues to work with and support the family after the initial notification, kind of like a social worker appointed by the army). In January, IDF soldier Mark Kononovich was killed. A few weeks ago, as party of taking care of the family, Hadar took Mark's dad Alex on a tour of the last army post where Mark and the friends who died with him had slept. In the middle of that, Hadar got a heart attack. Alex happens to be a doctor, he recognized the signs, administered some first aid, and made sure Hadar would be taken to the hospital to receive the treatment he needed. This is Hadar after being released from the hospital, visiting Alex to thank him (you can also see Mark's younger brother in the pic):

During this visit, Alex told Hadar, "You took our case as very close to you, you felt it like we do, very close to the heart." I have no doubt their bond is gonna be there for years to come. Hadar is actually not the first Israeli casualty officer I've heard of, who collapsed and was in need of hospitalization since Oct 7, just the latest. I think that in a way says something about how acutely Israelis feel the pain of the massacre, whether we personally lost someone or not.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

well, shit is getting straight up untenable in Australia!

that's why we got a new bio, also because we are sick of the anon's just block us damn.

but no legit, they are fucking up the NDIS and THAT IS BAD, it's literally the only governmental support for all disabled people in Australia by the way it's the "national disability insurance scheme" aka NDIS.

so uh BAD, real bad, extremely bad, uber bad.

there's more, uh so yeah!!!! FUCK MAN.

I do hope people don't die, because this is just going to lead to people seeking help from the gov't dying in the meantime.

or if the gov't says "yeah your not disabled (is disabled) get zero accommodations loser" then well that's BAD.

I already know like tons of people who couldn't get NDIS money and they were straight up disabled, and people who desperately needed those accommodations and couldn't because the government just straight up would not listen and help them.

it's pretty fucking telling that more than half the disabled people I know in Australia literally could not get on the NDIS.

this is just making a already shit situation worse, I haven't been able to go to the dentist, GP, or the eye doctor people in more than 5 Years!!!!

FIVE FUCKING YEARS, I know people who are straight up 2 seconds away from being homeless due to not being able to work and not being able to apply to the NDIS.

like it's fucking bad, if your parents won't boot you off your centrelink you can't get your own centrelink and can't access any accomodations or disability money, if your blak (aka aboriginal) your just extremely fucked already now times that by 4.

like dude, THIS IS SHIT.

and I know disability ally's are mostly American based, but by fuck WHAT THE FUCK, THE ACTUAL FUCK MAN.

the NDIS is not perfect there's shit ton of corruption and scammers-

(I actually know a family who's like legit scamming the NDIS lol no I don't mean like "oh those physically disabled's" I mean like they are using the money on like 3d printers and shit lol they are assholes and racists)

but like, it was barely working for people before. this is going to take the people it was barely working before and fuck them over too.

it's gonna fucking suck man, I am fucking scared for everyone.

[harrisonarchive]

John and Julian Lennon with George Harrison at Kenwood in 1965 (photo by Henry Grossman); George and Julian backstage at the Natural Law Party concert on April 6, 1992 (photo by Richard Young); more from Kenwood in 1965 (photos by Henry Grossman).

Happy 60th birthday to Julian Lennon!

“Paul [McCartney] was around more as an uncle, but in retrospect the most kind, gentle and open and observant of everybody was George. The sad thing was that we were becoming closer when he passed away. We hung out together from time to time in my 20s.” - Julian Lennon, The Times, via The Advertiser, November 12, 2011

“George — George was always a sweetheart to me. I loved him dearly. I miss him dearly.” - Julian Lennon, Connect The World, CNN, September 20, 2013

“Julian happens to be very talented. He’s really good. He’s got a lot of good tunes. He’s only just started to try and do lyrics. Apart from physically looking like John a bit, with glasses and long hair, he really isn’t anything like John. He’s more like his mother [Cynthia]. He’s a much gentler, softer person.” - George Harrison, Good Morning Australia, April 1982 (x)

[acphengene]

Darling - Profiles

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jay x fem!reader

₊ ⁺ genre: brothers bestfriend!au, college!au, neighbors/strangers to lovers!au, fluff, mild angst, smut

₊ ⁺ warings: mild angst, lowkey parent manipulation, strong and suggestive language, smut

₊ ⁺ synopsis: you move from sydney australia to seoul to get your degree, what will happen when you spill coffee on a handsome stranger?

₊ ⁺ taglist: open - updates every monday and friday at 20:00 CET

NOTE: I'm not really one for making 'real' profiles, i feel like it takes way to long to do, and in the end of the day i can get more done with a little text, so that's what you're getting!

<- previous - masterlist - next ->

Park Jay: straight A-student at Seoul university, class president, guitarist and a business major. Only son of his mother and father, and stands to inherit their business. An absolute gentleman. Besties with Sunghoon, Heeseung and Jake.

Sim Y/N: Australian, have lived there her whole life, sometimes visit Korea to see her brother and mother. Were mainly raised in the high societies of Sydney. Straight A-student, and a STEM major with a secret passion for fashion design. 

Sim Jake: Australian, but moved to Seoul 10 years ago with his mother after his parents split. Raised under far humbler conditions than his sister. Almost a straight A-student, adores baseball and a business major with an amazing singing voice. Besties with Heeseung, Sunghoon and Jay

Yang Jungwoon: straight A-student and medicine major, wanna be a doctor like his parents one day. Has a love for iced americanos and work at a cafe, but only to get free coffee. Best friends with Y/N.

Park Sunghoon: Not a straight A-student, womanizer and a law major. Is filthy rich with no interest in his family business, he just wanna have fun. Heeseung’s his older half brother. Calls Jay his platonic love of his life, and very protective over him. 

Kim Sunoo: Almost a straight A-student and marinebio major. Is on a scholarship, working at the cafe with Jungwon, not a trust fund kid like the others. Has a love for champagne and food with his besties. 

Lee Heesung: Sunghoons halfbrother, took his mothers last name after she passed away. Is in training under their father to take over the family business, and has promised to always take care of his baby bro. Besties with Jake. 

Nishimura Niki: In the same group as Y/N, Sunoo and Jungwoon. Unlike the rest, does not go to uni, is an idol instead. Spoils his besties with everything from concert tickets to iced coffee and loves to take them out. For the sake of the story he’s around the same age as his friend group.

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: August 6, 1990

Lyrics:

Calling up the promised land

Johnny Seven's coming over the sea

He's taking your time

When you want to be free

Holding out a helping hand

Are you ready for a real career

Will you be so cool

When it's happening here

It don't say nothing that I haven't heard

If what I hear is true

You won't keep the law with a broken word

So what are you gonna do

Heart like a wheel

Turning away

From anything that's real

Heart like a wheel

Changing in time

Beating colder steel

Pass the message around the world

The medium is in retreat

The power is here

And packing some heat

Sell your soul to a holy war

Set the captive free

We make no promises anymore

But it isn't fooling me

Heart like a wheel

Turning away

From anything that's real

Heart like a wheel

Changing in time

Beating colder steel

Ohhhh

You can't keep the wheels turning anymore

With anger, blood, and fear

Or make any friends with an M16

When you blast your way through her

Heart like a wheel

Turning away

From anything that's real

Heart like a wheel

Changing in time

Beating colder steel

Heart like a wheel

Turning away

From anything that's real

Heart like a wheel

Changing in time

Beating colder steel

Songwriter:

Heart like a wheel

Turning away

From anything that's real

Heart like a wheel

Driving the world

Is gonna be a steal.

Jo Callis / Eugene Reynolds

SongFacts:

"Heart Like a Wheel" is a song by the British synth-pop group The Human League. It was the first single to be taken from the Human League's Romantic? album of 1990, and was written by former band member Jo Callis with Eugene Reynolds (of The Rezillos) and features vocals by Philip Oakey, Joanne Catherall and Susan Ann Sulley; with synthesizer by Neil Sutton. Recorded at Genetic Sound Studios during 1990, it was produced by Martin Rushent who was reconciled with the band after a seven-year gap.

Released in the UK in August 1990, "Heart Like a Wheel" reached number 29 in the UK, number 32 in the US, and number 64 in Australia.

[chromatic-lamina]

Oda packing the punches: Chapter 1086 spoilers

Okay, I'm not doing a long one like last week, but heaps to take in, and I adore the idea of all of the notorious, prestigious and sought after stowaways on the ships leaving the Marie Geoise shores.

The ones from the new world must do so with World Government (Marine) assistances, right?

And Tajine Kingdom (Bonney stowed away on their ship) and St. Aegis kingdom (Walpol and Vivi stowed away on theirs) were World Government member nations, and both rebelled. I wonder why.

My main reason for being here, though is:

this!!!!!! 👆

Look at our bow-legged bird, even in seraphim form. Crocodile's beauty is as glassy-eyed (sad-eyed, dead-eyed?) as Boa Hancock's and Mihawk's, and Moria's looking pretty good too.

So, the seraphim are being employed to basically destroy their makers (the original Hancock, Mihawk, etc.—not that we've seen a Mihawk/S-Mihawk fight yet). There has to be a Trafalgar Law one. Oda wouldn't pass up the opportunity, I think. Although, if it will convolute the story, that one might be left to us fan-fiction writers.

Lots of other stuff. Massive catch up, lore drops. The destruction of Lulusia seems to parallel Marshall Island Atoll nuclear tests or Maralinga in the centre of Australia, or so many others, and more linearly (time-wise) the U.S. government's nuclear testing in New Mexico before the ultimate bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Robin has apparently told the revs:

that the ancient weapons exist (as Ivankov lets us know above).

And more parallels here with the Einstein / Vegapunk thing, and what their research can be harnessed for, or what they might directly contribute to without and possibly with knowing the consequences.

Iva suspects that the attack has nothing to do with Vegapunk (although maybe I misread the panel—it seemed that Imu thought it was Vegapunk's work, but Imu might've been referring to the seraphim).

Iva suspects that Imu is

Imu of House Nerona (one of the original founders of the Celestial Dragons / Word Government / Mary Geoise), so, from the void century and granted eternal youth through the ope ope no mi, although the fruit is not mentioned by name. Whether the revs' don't know it's granted from a fruit, or whether they're playing coy, is not apparent. It seems the former.

As a founder, they (Imu) could possibly have knowledge of the ancient weapons.

So, as an aside, considering the original granter of the eternal fruit would have died as per their fruit's power (Lili?) then there must be more people around with eternal youth too, right?, because others would have consumed the fruit, and 800 years is a long time.

Anyway, briefly onto Lili; if she had the ope ope no mi, she could've shambled the poneglyphs the world over as a very awakened form of the fruit, and maybe granting Imu eternal youth is what caused her death. I don't think that's my idea. I probably read it somewhere, but I can't recall where.

For the above, I love that Robin's dropping massive intel into the Revolutionary Army's lap.

Seems that Sabo will be a D. too, from this statement below 👇 . I'd prefer he wasn't, but, whatever!

Sabo is definitely surrounded by them! And that 'checkered fate' line is used a lot. I know there are a few translations on it.

Lastly, and it's not only the last (like, for instance, Walpol won't tell Vivi about her Father, CPO are running around with pictures of Vivi and Sabo to folks in Mary Geoise, Sterry (Sabo's brother) doing a Sanji when sighting Vivi's picture, and Big News Morgans filling the reader in on how he managed to pick up Walpol and Vivi (we suppose)): BUT possibly one of the biggest pieces of news is:

that Saint Donquixote Mosgard will be executed due to protecting Shirahoshi 👆 , thereby running parallels with Homing, except that Mosgard was effective with his compassion, but will also pay with his life, as did Donquixote Rosinante (and his father). And

The person tasked with the execution is the former king of God Valley, and I know there's a lot of Rocks D. Xebec info about God Valley that's basically all over my head at present (will read up on it later, or read someone else's meta).

But as importantly, or maybe more importantly, is this guy's name: Saint Figarland Garling. Shanks, was stated by the Gorosei in Film Red (although I missed this section, or forgot it) as coming from the Figarland family (he was discovered in a box that the Roger Pirates stole during the God Valley Incident).

Ahahahah. I love all the influences though: Good Donquixotes, and then Donquixote Doflamingo. Entitled Figarlands, and then good Shanks, or maybe not... (I believe he's good, but Oda always turns the tables on me, and everything's grey, even when characters have positive aspects).

So, yeah—there's a ton of stuff. Go have a read or wait for the official, but the scans gave the elders their names, so I'll just drop that too, and a translators' note that was interesting:

Read below for their processes in naming:

Okay as said, I didn't cover everything, but ALSO, look at this gorgeous cover (Oda can't be ignorant that it's pride month)

I love the little frog. It's a reader's request: Chopper and a kitty crossing the reflection of a rainbow they see in a puddle. Cute! The reflections look great too.

Also, don't forget this guy:

[mybeingthere]

Clifford Possum Tjapaltjarri (c 1932 - 2002) was born in Tjuirri, an area north west of Alice Springs also known as Napperby Station. His father was born at Ngarlu, a location west of Mt. Allan, and his mother from Warlugulong, an area southwest of Yuendumu. This broad stretch of territory defined the diversity of subject matter in Clifford's paintings. Clifford enjoyed a traditional bush upbringing and was given the name Possum by his paternal grandfather. In the 1940's, Clifford and his family re-located to Jay Creek, where he became a stockman, working at several stations throughout the area.

Clifford Possum was said to be a true master artist, his character, charisma, and total dedication to his art and dreamings, as well as his tireless promotion of his and his family's work has set a high standard in establishing this movement from its inception to the present day. Art lovers and collectors, both here and around the world, have held the Desert Masters in high regard, because of the efforts by individuals such as Clifford.

Clifford passed away in Alice Springs on the 21st June 2002, after recently being recognised for his contribution to Australian Art and culture, by being made an "Officer of the Order of Australia". His final days were spent at the Hetty Perkins Nursing Home in Alice Springs, where he passed away surrounded by close family and friends. He will be sadly missed by those who worked with and knew him well, as well as art collectors and dealers around the world.

He worked extensively as a stockman on the cattle stations in and around his traditional country. During this time he developed an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Dreaming Trails that criss-cross the area to the north of the western McDonnell Ranges, which he depicts in painting his Dreamings.

His career as an artist began in the 1950's when he carved snakes and goannas. By the 1970's he was one of the most accomplished carvers in Central Australia. His first opportunity to paint came when one of Albert Namatjira's sons gave him acrylic paints and the master began his work. Clifford, living at the Papunya Community, was one of the first artists to be involved with the Aboriginal Art Movement.

The art of Clifford Possum is notable for its brilliant manipulation of three-dimensional space. Many of his canvasses have strong figurative elements which stand out from the highly descriptive background dotting. In the late 1970's he expanded the scope of Papunya Tula painting by placing the trails of several ancestors on the same canvas in the fashion of a road map. Within this framework, he depicted the land geographically. This laid the foundation for traditional Aboriginal Iconography to be placed on canvas. The other artists working with him took his lead and removed any elements of European Art from their work. In doing so Clifford, as well as the other artists involved with the Papunya Tula Movement, helped to develop the true definition of Aboriginal Art, an art revolving around a culture, The Jukurrpa.

In some of his stories Clifford attempts to give a visual impression of sunlight, cloud, shadow and earth to denote specific times of the day. His paintings show superlative skill, incredible inventiveness of form and are visually spectacular.

Clifford's work is contemporary but essentially Aboriginal in inspiration. To appreciate its full richness it is imperative that it is seen not only by its colour, composition and balance, but by its mythological detail. One of the extraordinary qualities of Clifford's work and other Western Desert artists is that they are a visual writing and speak to the Aboriginal as books do to Europeans.

When asked why he became an Artist, he answered,

"That Dreaming been all the time. From our early days, before European people came up. That Dreaming carry on. Old people carry on this law, business, schooling for the young people. Grandfather and grandmother, uncle and aunty, mummy and father, all that, they been carry on this, teach 'em all the young boys and girls. They been using the dancing boards, spear, boomerang all painted. And they been using them on body different times.

Kids, I see them all the time, painted. All the young fellas they go hunting and the old people there, they do sand painting. They put down all the story, same like I do on canvas. All the young fella they bring 'em back kangaroo. Same all the ladies, they been get all the bush fruit, might be bush onion, plum, might be honey ants, might be yala, all the kungkas (women) bring them back. Because everybody there all ready waiting. Everybody painted. They been using ochres all the colours from the rock. People use them to paint up. I use paint and canvas that's not from us, from European people. Business time we don't use paints the way I use them, no we use them from rock, teach 'em all the young fellas."

Clifford is one of the most renown Aboriginal Artists of his time. He was the chairman of the Papunya Tula Artists from the 1970's to the 1980's. His work is featured in many of the main galleries and collections around Australia and internationally. Collections include the National Gallery of Australia in Canberra and the New South Wales Art Gallery in Sydney. His work has travelled extensively around the world, including 'Dreamings - The Art of Aboriginal Australia' in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles and St Louis. He has had a book published dedicated to him and his paintings, 'The Art of Clifford Possum Japaltjarri', by Vivien Johnson. He is and has always been regarded as the leading figure in Australian Aboriginal Art.

Copyright Kate Owen Gallery May 2022

[fanaticsnail]

Ohh, Snail, now I can't stop thinking about you writing that Corazon x AussiReader idea from the fanart you rebloged. Poor sweet baby 🥺 dealing with giant spiders and cute feral angry koalas, nooo, Cora, don't try to hug them, they may look cute, but they will eat your face 😱

Rosinante's Trip Down Under

Masterlist Here

Oh my goodness, Miss Vita! How gorgeous is it, though? Art by @rainnartt (CHECK OUT THEIR OTHER ART, IT'S AMAZING!!)

Synopsis: Modern AU, Rosinante visiting your hometown in Queensland Australia. He is overwhelmed by the cultural differences, but loves to learn the slang.

I did go a little crazy in the tags, definitely ran away with me a little here.

Could you imagine, though? As an Australian, I can confirm: if it looks like it can kill you, it can kill you. If it looks like it can’t kill you, it absolutely can kill you. Our poor, clumsy man never stood much of a chance, did he?

In this picture, he looks like could be in Bondi, the Gold Coast or Surfers Paradise by the looks of it. I am going to put him in the Queensland region for the sake of the plot. This is how I see it going. 

Drabble Fic Word Count: 1,800+

Themes: rosinante x gn!reader, platonic fic, crack fic, modern au, reader is Australian, Rosinante is Spanish, Au he lives.

Tag list: @since-im-already-here @i-am-vita @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @remisloves @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

Taking your new friend Donquixote Rosinante to your favorite sights in Surfers Paradise. His eyes widen in wonder, staring at sights that come so naturally to you, but are so out of the norm for him. You are happy to play tourist in your hometown, marveling at the sights as he experiences them for the first time. 

Outside of your local McDonalds and picking up a common comfort breakfast food for his adult adoptive son, who elected to remain back at home in the hotel as he adjusts to the time difference, Rosinante’s shriek prompted you to turn to meet him.

“What the hell is that?” he remarks, extending his pointer finger towards the large waste bin adjacent to the doorway.

“Oh, that’s a skip, Corazon. The red is for rubbish,” you continue, pointing at the other bin, “The yellow lid is for recyclables, and the green is for food and biodegradable-.”

“No! The thing with the massive beak!” he shrieks, watching as the dark-head bird pokes its head above the bin. The large hooked beak elevates a half-consumed cheeseburger before it gulps down the burger in a single motion.

“Oh!” you laugh at your blonde friend, clapping a hand over his shoulder, “That’s an ibis. We call them ‘bin chickens’ or ‘tip chooks’ depending on your region. They’re scavengers, they won’t hurt you.”

“A bin chicken, skip bin,” he hums, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he commits the name to memory, “And you call McDonalds ‘Macca’s’, right?”

“That’s right,” you hum your confirmation with a curt nod. He hums in response before ushering you along the pathway towards the hotel. 

As you continue walking along the sandy coastline, you notice he’s halted outside a petrol station. A large truck is parked beside the building: checkered blue and white painted on it’s side and large font titled “POLICE” and “0.05: DRUGS”. 

“Is this your local law enforcement?” he asks you, tilting his head to the side. 

“Yeah, that’s our local booze bus parked next to a divvy van,” you nod in affirmation, “They do regular drug and alcohol testing for drivers to ensure their safety on the road. Weird that they’re outside of a servo, though. Usually they’re on the main roads.” He nods his head and hums.

“Booze bus. Divvy Van,” he looks over to the petrol station, arching his brow high, “Servo?” 

“I know, it’s a lot,” you confirm with an apologetic smile, “I promise it gets easier to adapt to the slang the longer you practice.” He nods again. 

Passing a local park with a children’s play area, you manage to see your friend David from work, his two children playing together on the looped climbing frames and plastic slide. 

“Davo!” you call out to him, waving your unoccupied hand in front of you - considering the other contains a paper bag filled with the fruits of your labor. 

“How the bloody hell are’ ya goin’, Darl’?!” his nasally voice cracked to you, “Who’s the fella ya got there with ya?” You smile at him, walking to embrace him.

“This is Rosinante Corazon, the friend I mentioned was visiting from Spain,” you informed him, “How’s the missus back at home? How’s the kids?”

“Mate! Howzit goin’?” he extended his hand out to Rosinante, who placed his hand within and gave it a gentle shake who mumbled a soft ‘pleased to meet you’ in response.

“Ah, and the ankle biters are doin’ great. Givin’ the missus a bit of a reprieve here at the park, tough gig bein’ an ambo driver.” He glanced over his shoulder at his children, ensuring they were safe now they’ve climbed to an elevated height. 

“Oh I’m glad she’s managing to take a break. She’s a tough lady,” you nod to him, smiling over at the two children who wave at you while playing with a make-shift telescope. 

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you,” he confesses, gesturing down to the brown bag clutched in your hands, “Don’t want that brekky gettin’ cold now, do we?” You laugh at him, waving him off before waving at his children. 

Rosinante remained silent, only muttering a few words that stood out to him: “Darl’, fella, mate, missus, ankle biters, ambo driver, brekky,” on a perpetual loop.  

“You okay there, Rosi?” you quirk up at him, a soft smile pulling at your cheeks. 

“I’m alright, Darl,” he attempted, his voice falling to his nose and emulating the accent he heard moments prior, “Is that a common term of endearment here? ‘Darl’ and ‘mate’? How do you go with gender neutral titles?”

“Both of those titles can be used interchangeably, regardless of gender,” you inform him, “It all depends on context and the way you say it.” he hums again, nodding along and muttering several phrases he learnt. He reaches into the circular cup cardboard and pulls out his coffee and takes a small sip. 

Your feet finally carry your way over to the lobby of the hotel where he was staying with Law, his body immediately halting in front of the surf, dive and ski shop. His head cocked to the side, staring at the large, rectangular basket outside the shop. You follow his line of sight, which remained locked on to a large, canvas sign attached to the basket. 

“Ah,” you click your tongue, noticing they’re focussed on a common shoe worn in this area, “Do you and Law need a new pair of thongs? I know the bottoms melt a little when the bitumen gets a bit hot.” 

“You want me and Law to wear what?” he turned towards you with his eyes wide and jaw dropped. It took a moment for you to understand the miscommunication, your eyes growing wide and your nervous laughter propelling your anxiety further. 

“No, no, no, no, no!,” you managed to choke out, “No, we call ‘flip-flops’ ‘thongs’ here. Is that what had you a little confused? A basket full of shoes where you thought lingerie should be?” Rosinante laughed alongside you, shaking his head from side to side.

“You got me,” he chuckled, raising his coffee to his lips once more, “Our differences are quite vast, aren’t they?” 

“I suppose they are,” you acknowledge with a shrug and a broad, tight-lipped smile. He hums once again, muttering several phrases as you step into the elevator. 

Clicking the button to the appropriate floor, the doors open wide to reveal the carpeted corridor of the hotel room. You offer to hold the coffee tray in your unoccupied hand as Rosinante clumsily attempts to fish out his key-card from his pocket. He thanks you, his hand getting stuck in his pocket as he shimmies his shoulders to break it out. 

Finally clutching the key card, he places it in the door and swings it wide to reveal Law sitting on the plush bench beside the large window. His left knee was bent, his right leg extended as he reclined against the window. His gray orbs draw away from watching the gentle crash of waves towards you both as you enter the suite. 

Before you had a moment to greet the younger man, Rosinante’s broad grin and best nasally voice interrupted your train of thought. Rosinante gently took the brown paper bag from your hands and offered it to his son.

“Howzit goin’, Darl’! Brought you some Brekky from Maccas!” he walked forwards, thrusting the bag into Law’s hands, “Saw a bin chicken eating some scraps from the red skip, and passed a booze bus outside the servo on the way back.”

Law chose to remain silent, wordlessly taking the brown bag from Rosinante and maintaining unbreaking eye contact. Rosinante took that as his queue to continue relaying his adventure. 

“Saw Davo being a good fella at the park with his ankle biters, his missus has been working hard as an ambo driver,” he continued, biting his lip as he attempted to relay the trip back to his absolutely unamused son, “Then we passed a shop on the way up. Was gonna get us a pair of matching thongs for the trip, but thought you would get embarrassed to be matching with your Dad.” 

Law’s fingers stuttered their descent into the bag, choosing to take a lengthy breath instead. 

“Dad?” Rosinante quirked his head up, turning to look at you over his shoulder. You were doing your best to stifle your laughter by clutching your lip in your palm, “Do you still call parents ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ here? Is there an Aussie term of endearment he could use for me instead?” 

“‘Cunt’ comes to mind,” Law murmured, prompting Rosinante to snap his head back over to his son. His heart shattered as Law drew up a hashbrown and began nibbling at its golden exterior. 

“L-Law-?” Rosi’s heartbreak was depicted in the quiver in his tone. You walk over to your friend’s side and offer him his forgotten coffee with a smile.

“-Rosinante,” you broke him away from his sorrow with a soft giggle, “‘Cunt’ is also a term of endearment here. Law and I had a little conversation about cultural clashes last night when we were playing cards. You fell asleep early, remember?” 

“It is my favorite Australian term of endearment,” Law admitted with a soft hum, reaching up his outstretched hand to wordlessly ask for a coffee, “But your insults are far better. Quite original.” 

“Okay, Champ,” you mock Law, passing him his cup of coffee, “Big words coming from a guy with a face like a smashed crab.” 

“Coming from a Drongo with the personality of a dropped meat pie,” Law smirked in return, taking the cup from your hands. Your joint laughter ricocheted from the hotel walls, prompting Rosinante’s prior sour mood to pick back up. 

As you all ate your brekky in comfortable silence, you gazed out onto the beach below. Law followed your eyes, looping at the large swell of the waves. The choppy waves crashed against the golden waves, the vendors beginning to set up their canopies to sell their wares along the boardwalk. 

“You did well, Rosinante,” you complimented the tall, blonde man, “Using our words in the appropriate context, I mean.” Rosinante smiled at you, placing his paper rubbish in the brown paper bag.

“Thank you, Mate,” he said with a soft wink, “I appreciate the praise for my efforts.”

“No wakkas, makka,” you smile at him with a shrug. Both men quip their head up, their ears pricking and confusion written on their face. 

“We’ll get into that later, I guess,” you chuckle at the two of them as their confusion deepens.

The large Australian crowd began to take out their surf and boogie boards, set up nets for volleyball, and their wickets for beach cricket. The variety of populus below in various designs bathers, placing sunscreen on their bodies to protect from the deadly UV rays. 

“Beach day?” you ask them, smile drawing up over your features once more.

“Beach day,” Rosinante nods in confirmation, excited to learn more slang and cultural differences as the day broadens its rays over the oceanic backdrop. 

[random2908]

Yesterday was Yom haShoah.

I’ve talked on here a handful of times about my paternal grandparents’ experiences.

That my grandfather survived the Hungarian Labor Battalions. (Basically, he was a slave who was forced to do dangerous jobs like planting minefields; according to Wikipedia, some Hungarian labor battalion overseers would, upon completing an assignment, have their laborers dig a mass grave and then shoot them all.) Many of his siblings, siblings-in-law, and all of his infant nieces and nephews were sent to Auschwitz, from which only two sisters returned alive. But--having lost their husbands and infant children--his sisters never had the mental capacity to participate in society after that and lived together as hermits for the rest of their lives. (Two brothers, in addition to my grandfather himself, survived without having gone to the concentration camps, as did--surprisingly--many of the elders of the family including my great-grandparents.)

That my grandmother and her whole extended family were sent to Auschwitz. My great-grandparents died there, along with my grandmother’s four youngest, siblings who were gassed upon entry.

But this time, let’s talk about what my maternal grandparents--my American grandparents--were doing. Let’s talk about the Kindertransport.

In the year between Germany annexing Czechoslovakia and invading Poland, Britain passed a bill saying it would take in, or act as a way-stop, for child refugees if there was a family willing to adopt them. This idea had been promoted as a compromise by the joint efforts of British Jews and Quakers, after Britain and America had already turned away boatloads of Jewish refugees. They used testimony from German-Jewish families that every Jewish parent surveyed felt the situation was so dire they were willing to give up their kids just to get them safely out of Germany, even with the understanding that they, themselves, wouldn’t be saved.

Between the bill being signed and Germany’s invasion of Poland, they managed to get 10,000 German-Jewish children signed up for the program and out of Germany, all with (mostly Jewish) families willing to adopt them--mostly within Britain but also, as word spread, in Canada, Australia, and the United States.

My maternal grandparents, in New York--newly married and my grandmother herself only in her mid-20s--were one such family that heard about this opportunity and signed up to rescue a refugee child. Specifically, they figured all the babies probably got snapped up immediately, so they were going to take a teenager, who might have a harder time getting picked. And so, they ended up adopting a 15-year-old Jewish boy from Germany.

It turns out that in doing this they actually saved three lives. The boy himself, of course. But his parents, no longer burdened by having to worry about a child, were themselves able to go into hiding and eventually put together a plan where they crossed into France, and from there into free territories.