#we are violating the geneva convention in the parking lot

[tortoisebore]

I am big sister with younger brother (almost 2 years apart). We are very different: he was the easy child and now seems like a well adjusted adult, has a gf, works a real adult job, lives in the same city with our parents and visits them..... and I am the queer problem child who moved far away at 16, unstable and unemployed. So.... we are very different and have really not much in common :D I was sad about it at one point but nowdays it is ok. We see rarely but get along if we do.

this is so reallllll omg i think allll the time about how my siblings and i (especially my oldest-younger sister) grew up almost identically with all the same levels of discipline and care for most of our childhoods and ended up with such wildly different experiences, especially with our parents.

oldest child is a very difficult role to play, too—i still find myself having to work through the side effects of growing up as an oldest daughter. therapy did wonderssss for that lmao but it’s something that will always be with us, i think

i’m glad you’ve reached a level of peace with your brother. i hope one day you can reconnect and find solace in each other again <333

[melishade]

I wasn't able to read Exodus throughly before. Only parts and bits, but I recently started reading it from the very start and oh my god. It is painful to see how avoidable the two brothers' falling out was. I can understand Optimus' guilt better now. He too probably spent the last 4 millions just thinking about how easily all this bloodshed and carnage could have been avoided. If both Megatron and Orion acted a bit differently during the meeting with the high council, everything could have been sooo much different. Man... I have a weak spot for "tragic and avoidable fall out of two brothers trope" don't I?

None of my friends are into TF lore, sorry for nerding out at you :(

...It really could have been avoided, but both were kind of holding the 'Idiot Ball' and couldn't say the right thing in order to quell the situation.

In TFP, Ratchet does give a rather biased, quite one-sided, retelling of how the war started and the ultimate fallout between Optimus and Megatron. You can chalk it up to bias simply because of how much Ratchet cares and respects Optimus, but I think in terms of the writing of the show, Megatron's ultimate backstory and how he felt didn't really matter because he already violated the Geneva Convention ten times over at that point. He's a mass murderer, a genocidal maniac. Why would the viewers care about his complete backstory?

But in TF Exodus, it really does explore the multiple perspectives happening before the war starts and doesn't make everyone so black and white.

Megatron has known violence. It's his weapon. It's his comfort. It's his safety. It's all Megatron has really known. And being a miner given the name of 'D-16' shows that the system was just going to easily replace him when he died. I don't even think that he was allowed out of the mines. I think there was one line of dialogue from one of the many books published in the Aligned Continuity where it says Megatron only saw the sun once before he was forced underground. He watched people like him around him die violently. He was most likely abused and oppressed along with anyone else who tried to speak out. Being a gladiator, was a benefit for him. It was a way for Megatron to move up from his station, to find comfort in violence, to find value in violence. There was a great quote by Megatron that said something along the lines of "As we killed out opponents in the ring, we found value in death" or something to that degree. He became a champion. He inspired the masses. He gave a lot of lower caste citizens a voice, and protected them from those who wanted nothing more than to keep the status quo. He makes sure he's not ignored, even renaming himself after the 13 original Primes. A miner turned gladiator called 'Megatronus'? How could they ignore that?

Meanwhile, Orion Pax...is the equivalent of a middle class, privileged white boy. Sure, Orion didn't have the same luxuries as his friend Jazz, and he could very well get in trouble if he analyzed and called into question the historical text he was coming across, but he was safe. He was secure. He didn't experience violence or oppression the same way Megatron did. While Megatron wanted to change the caste system in order to make the lives of people like him better, Orion initially wanted to do it because he wanted to go to a Cybertronian amusement park because he wasn't aloud to go due to his status. Hell, I think Orion only got lucky to serve under Alpha Trion because he's the supposed reincarnation of Thirteen: the Prime who's name was omitted from the Covenant of Primus.

Still Orion does gain a better understanding and is even willing to go to Kaon to talk directly to Megatron. Orion craved knowledge, and he wants a better understanding of the world around. Despite coming from a place of safety and even ignorance, Orion wanted to learn. I think that's what ultimately drew Megatron into trusting Orion and welcoming him into the fold to a degree. Their relationship was hope that the caste system could be destroyed and Cybertron would change for the better. Megatron believe through force and revolution, Orion believes through peace talks. (Literal reflection of Eren and Armin but I digress)

But Orion is still holding onto that state of ignorance while Megatron is holding onto using violence as a means for change. So when they get to the council, everything just falls apart! Because Megatron is believing in violence, and he's making his case of a violent revolution to the council. And Orion sees that this isn't going to end well, so he steps in so he can protect Megatron. But as the crowd is cheering Orion on, there's a brief line in the book where Orion turns to Megatron and he doesn't look happy at all. But instead of calling it quits and realizing this is making Megatron upset, the Council offers him the title of Prime, and Orion just accepts it there. Doesn't even give himself a few days to think about it or even say no. He just accepts it without thinking and Megatron is pissed.

And I agree with Megatron. I'd be pissed too! Because Megatron was warned about Orion by Soundwave. Don't trust Orion. Don't welcome him into the fold. And Megatron didn't listen. He wanted to trust Orion, but this tiny, little archivist, who knew nothing of the energon spilt and the lives lost throughout the lower caste, who knew nothing of the pain of loss, swoops in and takes what Megatron has been working so hard for. He's angry. He's betrayed. And he's resorting back to the use of violence because he let himself deviate from that and it cost him. And it ultimately results in Halogen's life.

And Orion, now Optimus, can't talk to Megatron anymore because he didn't think at how bad his decision would look in front of his brother. Again, he was holding the 'Idiot Ball' for someone who's trying to analyze data for a living! And the guilt Optimus no doubt felt after words. He no doubt felt that he was responsible for the war. Maybe if he had just said no, maybe the war wouldn't have gotten this far.

It's a tragedy. It's a Greek tragedy if I ever heard one.

Although, this also all could have been prevented if Alpha Trion wasn't a secretive asshole all the time and did a better job at being a Prime, instead of at most, getting Orion and Megatron that meeting with ultimately started the war. Which may have already been written down prior to the meeting, which means Alpha Trion had future vision to a degree, and could have really tried to STOP IT!

And the nerding out was fun. I enjoyed it. Sometimes I like enjoying certain complexities that could have happened in the Transformers Prime show, other times, I just like seeing Megatron be a dumb bitch.

[phantoms-lair]

I am ravenous for more BatFam AU content *rattles tin cup* 🥺

"Danny Fenton. Also known as Phantom."

Alfred was used to non-sequiturs as he entered the Bat Cave, but this one he understood. "You found him?"

"Masters was the the key. He doesn't maintain a lot of personal relationships. In fact, for most of the past twenty years, none. Until recently reuniting with his old college friends, Jack and Maddie Fenton. Who are parents of two children, Jazz and Danny." Bruce pulled up an image from a magazine, showing a family. The two parents were in jumpsuits, while the kids were in normal clothes. The parents seemed to be fawning over there son while the older sister looked on in pride. A very familiar son.

It looked happy, but Alfred knew better than most looking happy didn't mean it was happy. "And the alias?"

"Amity Park, the Fenton's home town, has it's own vigilantes. The Red Huntress and Phantom. Phantom is purported to be a ghost and as such is treated as a threat by both the Huntress and the local ghost hunters - the Fentons. Phantom bears an extremely strong resemblance to Danny and vanished without a trace a few months ago, the exact time Danny Fenton was reported be staying with his Aunt Alicia to get away from the bullying he'd been experiencing. Except there's absolutely no record of him in Spittoon, where his Aunt lives, not any registration in the public school system or any sign whatsoever that Alicia's been buying things to support a child. In fact there has been no contact between the sisters since Danny vanished."

"A runaway who's parents hide the fact that he's run away usually means they don't want him back - or they're afraid of what he'll say if he's found." Tim added grimly. "And we don't know what part Masters plays, but Danny obviously doesn't trust him, so it's not a good one."

"A while back Masters put a million dollar bounty Phantom." Bruce filled in. "And that drew in the attention of a branch of the government  formed to deal with possible undead incursions. Ever since they've been highly fixated on Phantom themselves. And from what I’ve seen, the fact that they focus on the undead is the only thing that’s stopped them from having several Geneva Convention violations.”

Alfred digested this. “So Master Danny is fleeing from a possible abusive home situation, a millionaire with unknown motives, and an entire branch of the government who wish to do unspeakable things and get paid for the privilege.”

“And a rogue vigilante and some villains.” Tim reminded him.

“I see. We have our work cut out for us then.”

“It’s going to be another all nighter, Alfred.” Bruce said matter of factly.

“Very good sir.” And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[rphelperblog]

Veronica Mars Quote Rp Meme

“Why can’t the evil just get jobs like the rest of us?”

“If There’s A Justification For My Actions Right Now, It’s This: I Have Gone Completely Mad.”

“I knew I should have included a few discrete lesbian overtones in that poem.”

“Say what you want about real cheese. I am a fan of the orange powder packet stuff.”

“Underneath that angry young woman show, there’s a slightly less angry woman who’s just dying to bake me something.”

“It’s great talking to someone for whom ‘bogart’ isn’t a verb.”

“…Nobody likes a blonde in a hamster ball.”

“I prefer most of the people on my floor not in my room.”

Great. I’ll just go out into the hall and look for the guy twirlling his moustache!

“Here’s What You Do… You Get Tough. You Get Even.”

Football: the systematic violation of the Geneva Convention made into a sport. I’m surprised the A.S.P.C.A. doesn’t protest.

“Consider my mind blown. Then put back together and blown again.”

"Why Do You Insist On Pissing Me Off?"

"You Get Tough. You Get Even"

"Oh, You Don't Even Want To Mess With Me On That Today"

"You've Nearly Warmed This Cold, Cold Heart Of Mine"

"You Know What's Really Disturbing About You...Other Than Everything?"

"You Seem To Care A Bit What I Think"

"Despite Popular Opinion You Really Can't Beat The Truth Out Of Someone"

"98 Out Of 100 People At That Party Would Walk Over My Corpse For Free Gum"

‘What I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you.’

‘I’m not going to see you for a week. That’s, like, a month.’

‘Well first, I’d just like to say the other, uh, nominees are all such wonderfully gifted criminals. And I wanna thank my agent and my publicist for always shooting me from the left side.’

‘I’m the one who’s responsible for what happened to you. And I can’t take that I hurt you like that. I can’t take that I hurt you when all I wanna do is protect you.

‘I got it. No calling you “bobcat,” no talk of milky thighs.’

‘As a rule, I like to start every school day with a hot blonde waiting for me in the parking lot.’

‘I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me. Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. Epic.’

‘Annoy, tiny blonde one. Annoy like the wind!’

‘No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.’

‘Wow, you’d think if hell froze over maybe it’d be on the news.’

‘Never underestimate the size of my cojones.’

‘Sometimes I’m up all night, just thinkin’ about myself.’

‘If you really want flowers, dying seems to be the way to go.

‘Oh, I exist? I thought I felt different today.’

‘How many episodes of NYPD Blue did you have to watch to get the finger tapping down?’

‘Well, there was this one girl. She was blonde, petite. Smelled of marshmallows and promises.’

I bet you’d be pretty psyched if I found someone who could help.

See, so he’s not even a very good murderer.

Oh, you know. Lousy conversation, but the sex was fantastic!

Your father has generously offered to donate a pair of boots for a school fundraising auction.

I never want you to think that your mom is the villain in all of this.

The hero is the one that stays… and the villain is the one that splits.

No, but it must be really hard if all you guys play.

Do you even know how to play poker?

So, my tax dollars at work. Where were you, getting thirds at the Crazy Girls lunch buffet?

I hear you do detective stuff for people.

I do favors for friends.

How’s about an early peak at one of your Christmas presents?

This Christmas, we make our own rules. Follow me!

"I Hope We're Still Friends After I Taser You." 

"Here's What You Do... You Get Tough. You Get Even."

"If There's A Justification For My Actions Right Now, It's This: I Have Gone Completely Mad." 

"This Is Where I Belong, In The Fight. It's Who I Am."

"I Convinced Myself Winning Meant Getting Out. But In What World Do You Get To Leave The Ring And Declare Victory."

"After All These Years, Do You Not Instinctively Fear Me?"

"And I'll Be Sittin' Over Here, Chillin' Like A Villain."

"You Don't Care Now, But Holy Crap Are You Gonna Care When I Start To Get My Revenge On. You'll Be Doing All Sorts Of Carin'."

"You Know, Dad, I'm Old School, An Eye For An Eye."

"Oh, You Don't Even Want To Mess With Me On That Today."

"I Think We Have A Choice. I Think We Could Take A Tough, But Survivable Amount Of Pain Now, Or Stay Together And Deal With Unbearable Pain Later. So I Vote For The Pain Now."

"It's All Fun And Games Till One Of You Gets My Foot Up Your Ass."

"Tragedy Blows Through Your Life Like A Tornado, Uprooting Everything. Creating Chaos. You Wait For The Dust To Settle And Then You Choose. You Can Live In The Wreckage And Pretend It's Still The Mansion You Remember. Or You Can Crawl From The Rubble And Slowly Rebuild." 

[soundwavefucker69]

There's this person in my apartment complex that I have never met nor seen nor spoken to who I have a relationship with that I can only describe as hating them with every fiber of my being because they are an asshole in either the most oblivious or intentionally petty way.

In my apartment complex there is only one way in and out of the parking lot. It's set up like an L, and the management has blocked off the only other access point for reasons unspecified. The management has also had speed bumps installed that I can only describe as blatantly hostile and perhaps even violating the Geneva convention, though I have never actually read the full document of the Geneva accords, I can assure you these speed bumps are designed to repel invading forces with a sort of subtle cruelty that they have to violate seven separate articles of the accords. I mean, these things are absolute fucking murder on your shocks. You can go as slow as physically possible, but when you hit these bumps, you are yeeted up to the ceiling and your car will scream in agony. Maybe lifted trucks with shocks designed by Daedalus himself can tackle these things, but I drive a humble sports car, and my sports car does not like them.

I tend to avoid them if at all possible, generally because they don't reach the ends of the sides of the parking lot, so I generally can avoid them if there's no cars parked and blocking the way by dramatic swerving and making a practical U so as to not decimate my shocks. Most people in the apartment complex follow this example, where we briefly LARP as Vin Diesel in fast and furious to avoid the perils of the murder bumps.

However, there is one single neighbor that consistently and fucking constantly parks their sedan right on top of one of the speed bumps. I mean on top of the speed bump, sometimes even at an angle. I don't know why they do this. I don't know why they continue to do this. I don't know if this is just a weird quirk or they think people in general should not actually recreate Tokyo Drift in the apartment parking lot and should just pay to replace the shocks on their vehicles approximately every two fucking weeks. But they keep fucking doing it, and if I ever find out who they are, I will specifically request to move in to the apartment next to them, or even above them if at all possible, regardless of if its a studio, one bedroom, or two, and start taking fucking tap dancing lessons.

[master-sass-blast]

Front Lines.

Summary:  Given the immense violence law enforcement keeps showing towards those protesting the death of George Floyd and the systemic racism infecting the law enforcement system, the X-Men decide to help protect the protesting groups -and you and Piotr are right there with them on the front lines.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Warnings: Mentions of police brutality, heavily reflects the current political/social situation in the United States, but NO scenes of violence.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical,”  but this one's kinda outside the canon timeline; if the protests hadn't popped up, this fic wouldn't have happened. I doubt it'll be mentioned in other fics or used as a timeline measuring point, but Piotr's mentioned as your husband in this, so it's after the wedding/honeymoon.

Author’s Note: Just to be clear, this isn't me coming back from my hiatus. However, given the protests and the particularly depraved nature of Mr. Floyd's death, I did want to make it clear where I stood --and where the series stands, in particular.

The X-Men, as far as I'm concerned, would never take an idle role in letting the police brutalize protesters. They would stand and protect the crowds and do what they could to ensure that the citizens involved in the (non-violent) protests were as safe as possible. This series doesn't view them or their role as protectors any differently.

Granted, I didn't write a quarantine fic --and I'm not going to. It's the result of an entirely different set of problems, has at least impacted certain communities to some extent on a unilateral level, and -frankly--I'm too stressed out over Coronavirus to want to commemorate a fic to it.

This is different. The history of racism and abuse towards African-American communities --towards all communities of color--in America is far too longstanding. There may be good cops, but the law enforcement system and justice system as a whole are corrupted, abusive husks of what they were intended to be.

I don't want the protests --specifically, what the correct side of the protests were--to be forgotten. Hopefully, this fic will help ensure that they aren't.

I also didn't include any scenes of what happens during the protest or on the front lines because, frankly, I don't think it's my place to. I don't want to set any sort of tones predicting how a protest would turn out; I also don't want there to be any sort of debate over whether it "ought" to end peacefully or not. Also, I think that, while unfortunately realistic, including potential scenes of police brutality would be highly traumatic for any readers, so... Yeah. No protest scene. No recap of how it went. Those aren't the important parts, in my opinion. Feel free to disagree, but it won't change the fic or my stance on what ought to be included in it.

If you are participating in any protests, demonstrations, or marches, please use your best judgement and stay safe. Don't do anything that would unnecessarily put yourself or others at risk. (And yes, I know, the protests have inherent risk because of how the police forces are responding to protesters. All I mean is don't go out of your way to do something risky, please.)

Black Lives Matter.

No taglist for this fic. That’s not what this is about.

There’s a lot of fear. A lot of hesitation and questioning and second-guessing.

“Okay, say we go,” Russell pipes up, breaking the silence that had settled after the Professor’s announcement. “What happens when law enforcement kills another mutant? Or when the government tries to put more restrictions on us? Are these people even going to remember us?”

“Besides, what’s even going to happen to us?” Kitty added, forehead creasing. “We’re all going to be in our suits. We’re easy targets –and the cops already totally hate us.”

It’s understandable, the fear. The doubt. The need for assurance.

You’ve all felt society’s anti-mutant sentiments at more than one point in your lives.

“We’re going to take every precaution necessary to safeguard the members of our group,” Charles states, tone reassuring. “We will not be recklessly risking ourselves or partaking in violent movements. But these protests are important. They reflect law enforcement’s and the government’s ongoing deliberate ignorance to society’s discontent with the status quo –a status quo that impacts mutants, too. And it doesn’t matter if any of the protestors or communities of color remember that we were there. We’ll remember we were there –and, more importantly, we’ll remember that we weren’t.” He pauses, smiles despite the melancholy look in his eyes, and adds, “Sometimes, doing the right thing means there’s no guarantee you’ll gain something from it, even if that something you want isn’t inherently selfish.”

You look up at Piotr, trying to gauge his reaction to everything.

Your husband looks pensive –but also resolute. From the straight set of his shoulders to the determined glint in his baby blue eyes, you can tell he agrees with everything Charles is saying.

Piotr notices you watching him. The corner of his mouth twitches up. He puts an arm around you, kisses the top of your head, then goes back to giving his full attention to those around him.

You lean against him and do the same.

In the end, there’s no way either of you are staying out of this.

***

 The rules are made clear to the nth degree.

First: No member of the X-Men –or those specifically joining the X-Men during the protests—will be armed or interact with law enforcement, members of the National Guard, or other protesters in a violent manner –including partaking in looting and destruction of public and-or private property.

“This protest is about drawing attention to the atrocities suffered by African American communities at the hands of law enforcement, as well as other communities of color,” Charles states, tone brokering no room for retort. “None of us are going to make things more difficult for them or contribute to casting these protests in a negative light. Anyone who refuses to comply will be escorted back to the mansion and held in a safe room until we’re all back before facing further consequences.”

Second: All members of the X-Men participating in the protest will wear last resort masks, both for personal health and the public image of the protests.

“The media’s already trying to treat the protests as a reckless act, given the ones that have devolved into riots and the pertinent Coronavirus threat,” Hank says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Aside from taking steps to protect the members of our team, we need to make sure we don’t inadvertently expose the protesters to additional criticism.”

Third: Senior members of the X-Men –specifically those with abilities that will let them shield the protesters from potential violence—will stand at the edges of the group. Junior members will stay further in the group with various team leaders for their own safety.

“We have the ability to make sure no one else gets hurt,” Jean says, impassioned. “We need to ensure these people can be heard without risking their safety.

Fourth: Should things devolve into violence, junior members of the team will be promptly taken back to the mansion for their safety. Senior X-Men will stay only as long as necessary to promote the safety of the public, then leave as well.

“We’re not tryin’ to win any fights here,” Logan speaks up when Ellie raises the question of possible rioting. “The only goal is to get people in immediate danger to safety, and then to make sure we all stay safe.”

“But everyone’s going to be in immediate danger,” Ellie argues. “These cops –these soldiers—have guns. And rubber bullets. And –and mace and riot shields and tear gas and—”

“Which is why only senior members would stay, NTW,” Piotr interjects, voice soft and soothing. “And only for short time. We have training to handle dangerous situations and to weigh out who needs immediate help. Everything will be fine.”

“What if we get arrested?” Russell asks, frowning. “Or picked up by the Icebox guys?”

You exchange glances with the other adults in the room. “Pretty sure that’s when Nathan and Wade would break us out of prison.”

“That would be illegal,” Scott says, crossing his arms over his chest. He frowns at you. “The X-Men don’t interact with criminals.”

“Pretty sure the pole up your ass is in violation of the Geneva conventions,” you snap, “but you don’t see any of us whining about it.”

“Measures will be taken to ensure the safety of our fellow mutants –which, for the sake of plausible deniability, will not be discussed at this time,” Charles states, fixing both you and Scott with a stern look. “Are there any other questions?” When there are none, he nods. “Alright. We’ll leave at one in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t hesitate to come to me with any other queries or concerns before then.”

***

 The crowd is massive. Borderline gargantuan.

“Can we even cover everyone?” you murmur, regarding the throng of demonstrators and signs with concern.

“That’s why we’re here.” Erik lands next to you, along with a few less recognizable –read: “smaller rap sheets”—of his brethren. “To add to the numbers.”

Nathan, Neena, and Wade stroll up to where you’d all parked, along with Piotr’s family members and your uncle.

“We’ve got this covered,” Neena says, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “We’re gonna handle it just fine.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve got a good feeling about this?” you mutter as you eye the litany of cops and National Guard soldiers. “Because I’m not sure even you can swing things in our favor.”

“Doesn’t matter how I feel,” Neena says firmly. “We’ve got it handled because we have to. Plain and simple.”

You hang back as everyone else heads to talk with the protest organizers. You’re not regretting showing up –far from it—but all your scuffles have been with other mutants or the rare team of traffickers, not the people sworn to protect you and this country.

Daunting doesn’t even begin to describe the situation.

“Myshka.” Piotr puts his hand on your back. He’s not armored up yet; he’ll do that at the front of the crowd, when there’s no risk of crushing any feet. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… a lot.”

“I know.” He draws you into a hug and kisses your temple. “But you can do this. We all can.”

“I don’t think we can protect everyone if this goes apeshit, honey. There’s a lot of people –on both sides.”

“We’ll do our best,” Piotr says. “That is all we can do.”

You take a deep breath, then nod. You interlock your fingers with his. “Let’s go do our best.”

The two of you walk into the crowd.

[wolveswithhats]

For WIP Week

Abandoned idea from a few years ago, a melding of two of my favorite things, Buffy and Portal! Of the idea that the Initiative ships off some of its demons to Aperture. Because....reasons. Spike-centric (or, well, Spike-exclusive ). Very sloppy. Outline-quality, lots of meandering, unfinished, unpolished concepts. Riddled with editing notes. I didn’t even bother with capitalization. Still, there’s some fun stuff in here.

(I don’t care if anyone reblogs, just don’t put it on any of the aggregators, please. This is too rough drafty and embarrassing to be filed away as Content Worth Looking At.)

(captured by initiative again. s4 – s5. initiative shutting down, cementing off. exterminate all demons. riley pulls some strings to have spike shipped off instead of staked. the smallest of favors. i'm still on team riley-isn't-a-total-douchebag. he's aight.)

an hour later, spike and three of his ugliest friends are caged and carted into the back of a semi for a cross country drive across america's finest bypasses. through a hole in the wall watches steel and mortar slowly give off to rolling green-gold fields. teeny tiny farmsteads, clarkston and robin glen and with some disgust, notes the turnoff for a lake angelus, some thirty miles north of detroit.

(his initiative vamp neighbor, 90s grunge clothes, grunge name – trevor – fledge too young to drop game face.)

“christ, i heard about this place. some science lab in a salt mine underground. they say this place does weird experiments.”

met with deadpan, disbelieving stares, and a disgusted tsk from the blond lady-vamp, what's-her-face, something with calendars. april or may or half-past-eleven, day day day, sunday, right, that was it.

“they took my appendix, trevor.” sunday lifts her shirt, revealing a line of stitches, “for their mix-and-match potato head monster. what the hell is a frankenzombie going to do with a shriveled, century old organ? it doesn't even do anything. how is that not weird.”

“no man, I mean really, really weird. cross-dimensional travel, like stargate. bug people. turning your blood into gasoline.”

spike snorts. “I drive a '59 fireflite. gorgeous piece of machinery, but bollocks for mileage. single digits. could due for some petrol on tap.” sad, longing, separation anxiety. his desoto was 2200 miles away baking in the california sun. once he made his way back to the west coast, he'd find those military wankers for a dechipping, kill the whole lot of them, and piss on their corpses for good measure. then he'd book it to south america, away from scalpel-wielding lab jockeys, bouncy-haired slayers and the root of every major humiliation of his unlife over the past three years. bon-fucking-voyage.

ugly demon: “that's why you should switch to a hybrid. my prius gets great fuel economy.” how does a demon that big fit into a mid-size?

(ugly demon = horned, beastly. “your primitive human anatomy lacks the necessary mouthparts to vocalize my true name. what sort of creature only has one tongue? you may call me henrietta.”)

trevor is oblivious. “they were some respected science lab back in the sixties. now? when they're not making you test out their weird experimental products, they make you run through test courses, solve puzzles. and it's all orchestrated by this giant murderous robot. like HAL from space odyssey. once people go in, they're never heard from again. it's true. my cousin knew a guy who was there, he told me all about it.”

“if no one ever gets out, how the hell does your cousin know a guy, you stupid sod.”

trevor's fangs close with an audible click, and he sits sullen for the rest of the commute.

as it turns out, stupid sod and cousin-of-sod actually did know what they were talking about.

housed on the outskirts of a wheatfield, through a gated parking lot, innocuous brick building. on the loading dock, a hispanic man in blue work coveralls wheels a dolly into the back of the mac truck. looks at his living cargo with what spike considers to be an appalling lack of concern, considering the very blatant human trafficking unfolding before him.

“you're not the parts I ordered.” gruff texan drawl. yells to the front, “where are my chamber parts?”

driver swings around front, clutching a clipboard, hands it off. “friday, likely. this is your wednesday shipment.”

“these are people.” texas squints at array of annoyed, tired faces, takes in the gnarled brows, the shackles, and the powder blue scrubs, eyes finally settling on the barbed, hulking form of henrietta. “theoretically. why do I have a shipment of mangled faces, billy idol--”

“hey!”

“--and one-fifth of gwar? are we making a music video?”

the driver shrugs. “i just deliver. sign the thing.”

texas reads off the clipboard: “subject donation from sunnydale university. volunteers?”

“experimental lab rats,” trevor offers.

“prisoners,” spike corrects, growling. “this has got to be in violation of the...what's it? geneva convention. I feel unduly treated. I want an attorney. actual, not one of those 800-number infomercial suits. due my civil rights.”

texas blinks owlishly. “what civil rights? you're not even american.”

“i'm sorry, I didn't realize I needed to shit red, white and blue to not be accosted against my will.”

ignores bitching. “are you even human?” points at henrietta. “i don't think that's human.”

(“what multiverse are you lot from?”

“california.”

“huh. always had my suspicions.”)

he was hoping for an upgrade to trousers, denim, in a dark blue or black. maybe a pale wash if it had a grunge-enough look to it. what they gave him was a pair of coveralls in sunshiny bright incarceration orange, with lines of white piping tracing the seams and a stitching of black lettering across the breast pocket labeling him as HST0017. for fuck's sake.

“i'm not wearing this.”

“as soon as you pass through that emancipation grill, any unapproved paraphernalia is forfeit.”

“meaning what?”

“your current clothes will be emancipated. pffft! you could go naked, wouldn't be the first test streaker, but I gotta warn you, there's the acid pits, the gun turrets, and oh, the lasers. burns like a bitch, and that's not even touching the potential crotch-rotting radiation--”

“just give me the fucking jumpsuit.”

they surgically grafted a band of white metal to the back of his shins, where a long curved spring of steel could be notched, lifting his feet into a painful arch, weight balanced on his toes. he was suddenly that much more impressed with the slayer and her preference for fighting evil in teetering heels, which did wonders for making her teeny weeny hobbit legs look elegant but offered only a promise of scuffed heels and snapping ankles in grave dirt. angelus-grade torture, he decided, hobbling awkward and bird-like from one side of his little glass prison to the other.

he found the entire affair ludicrous, demeaning, and oh, stupid, until he witnessed another test subject slip on a slick of orange goo and nosedive off a platform, pancaking wetly across the tile in a display of hilarious cartoon physics. it was admittedly very, very funny, and funnier still watching jaded custodians squeegee up the red smear that used to be a person, but not something he was looking to experience himself first hand.

“you know, I can see the upside of not doing my best wile e. coyote impression,” he groused, “but you should really have these things in boot form.” shifting uncomfortably as the screws in his knees creaked, puckered and itched.

rick looks at him, surprised. “that's.....that's an idea. we'll take that into consideration.”

(aaaaaaand a jump to the P2 section. slightly better quality, a little less outline-ish. tho very stream-of-consciousness)

waking up with a dry mouth, mouth full of cotton, mouth full of fluffy biker beard, and where had that image come from? like all the moisture had been sucked from the room, stale recycled air like new car smell and musk. where is here? bed, desk, dinged up dresser, ceiling-mounted tv, blacked out and coated in dust. walls decorated with murals of snowy mountains and ski lodges, tacky thrift store oil paintings. the bed he's laying on has a threadbare blue hospital blanket, and a man-shaped crater pressed into the mattress, like a police chalk outline with serious gravity. motel room? UGLY motel room. there's no windows in the room, just slated blinds stretching the length of one wall.

can't move, groggy, wet limp noodle muscles, the dead waking. stares down the length of his body. dressed like a petrol station attendant, orange jumpsuit rolled mid-shin, legs bony and corpse-white. wow, seriously overdue for a date with mr. sunshine.

figure out the who the what and the why after he quenched this sahara on his tongue. room to the left of the bed, loo, good, yes. force himself to move, up and over, muscles clenching in rebellion, stumble over with white white legs buckling like a newborn deer. sink, yes, water churned and choked god why is it taking so long finally sputters out, drinks and drinks tinny tap water until he feels like he's going to burst. sates the fire in his mouth but not the thirst, the hunger, god what is that?

looks up in the dark of the bathroom into the mirror, and sees nothing, just dingy white tile where his face should be. huh. well that's just... different. it's unnatural, he knows, because hello, does still remember how a mirror works, even if he can't remember much of anything else. experiments, lifts the crusty dry slab of soap and watches its reflection bob phantom-like in mid-air. right, so, the mirror isn't broken, just him. but it doesn't feel wrong, like somehow he's just used to staring at empty space in the mirror.

what the hell is he?

sits back on the bed, hands clenching knees.

beyond the doorway, he expects a hallway, maybe, decked out in the same mottled 70s look his room is themed, or a carpark dotted with out of state license plates and neglected marquee signage. but there's no cars, no buildings, no outside. just a massive storehouse, stretching up and out beyond what he can see, dimly lit by flickering yellow halogen. snaking lines of track above his head following the catwalk he's standing on, weaving between towers of grafted metal and grey-green storage units stacked like legos. huge. massive. his own room was in a storage box, labeled next to the door.

test subject packed on 11/17/1999 EXP: indefinite ADT SLM M SHRT

short? was he short? well sure maybe by comparison of the super humongous warehouse he was stored in. not a very helpful selection of information, most of which he had already established. a picture would be helpful. a name. a passport. a blockbuster rewards card. literally any brand of identity.

goes back in, shuffling about, looking for something he's not aware of yet. there's a pad of paper in the desk and a cheap ballpoint pen. picks up the pen, but it feels awkward and childish gripped in his hand. moment of panic that he's illiterate, until he swaps the pen to his left. it feels much more natural.

--mirror challenged. am a ghost? --left-handed. evil ghost? --posh penmanship though --orange is not my color --i could do for a tan

pauses thoughtfully.

--who the fuck am i

sound of screeching metal and cracking drywall, urban destruction at its finest. implied shortness a sudden and unexpected gift as something ghosts over his head, ruffling his hair, clipped english accent as a storage crate cranes above him: “--ten thousand flippin' vegetables--” carves a winding trail of destruction as it tears through crates and cables and catwalks before finally coming to an explosive stop, half buried in the far wall.

his own crate tips, agonizingly slow with groaning whale song of careening metal, before momentum and gravity takes it for its own. crash bang boom, gaudy motel mountain ski lodge avalanches into another stack of crates, creating a domino effect. check-out achieved, in more ways than one. leaves him stranded on a creaking catwalk with no more than an ugly jumpsuit, a pad of paper, and more questions then before. he left the pen on the bed. bugger.

picks a direction and walks. periodically checks crates. like his own, all decked out like vintage motels, oil crusted murals and tacky faux-wood paneling. and on every bed is a person. all coated in a fine layer of dust, gray-skin, perfectly preserved but very, very dead. room after room. men, women, children. old young tall short fat skinny. a varied collection of corpses lined up like sleeping porcelain dolls. flippin' vegetables, indeed.

turns a corner and comes face-to-cornea with a massive metal eyeball. yells in surprise. the eyeball screams, then rears back on the rail suspending it. in its backwards attempt at escape, cracks into a closed door where the rail vanishes, and stirs woozily on its axis.

“what's that then. you alright?” he asks, cringing even as he speaks. it feels more obligate social politeness than actual concern; he honestly could not give one flying fuck about its condition. beyond that, asking a metal eyeball of its well-being seems ridiculous, even in light of this entire weird situation, but it—he—chuckles nervously, looking all at once embarrassed and grateful for the inquiry. an impressive emotive feat, considering he's lacking the other 95% of his face.

“sorry, sorry! you startled me! wasn't expecting a human to come waltzing out of nowhere, considering all of them are dead. corpses usually aren't so ambulatory.” the glowing iris slits to a suspicious blue line. “though in your particular case--”

“you're bristonian,” he says, realization dawning.

“no,” the eyeball chided slowly, with a patronizing squint, “i'm a robot.”

“your accent. you talk like you're from bristol. bristonian.” stubbornly. not getting into an argument with a fucking metal orb. “i heard you speak before, back in that warehouse. you're the one who almost ran me down with a crane. who taught you to drive, mr. magoo?”

“hey now! how about some leeway? bit of a limb deficiency here.” the robot waggles its handlebars in demonstration. “i haven't exactly mastered the art of ten-and-two.” sudden realization: “say, you talk like me! i'd say we came from the same development wing, but that's unlikely, you being organic and all that.”

did he now? that hadn't even occurred to him.

he weighs the language on his tongue, the thoughts in his head, parsing through words, foods, spellings, culture. carparks and car boots, wheatabix, man-u, european craft beers, and a strange smug superiority over chirpy, obnoxious californian twang. and of course, a beautiful array of curse words rolling fluid off his tongue. “bloody hell, sodding, blimey, shagging, knickers, bollocks – oh god, you're right, i'm english too.”

he was a londoner, his accent said as much, though with a sort of languid, unpolished quality that came from excessive travel and extended exile from the mother country. he hadn't been home for a long time. expat? study abroad? he didn't feel like a student, well past adolescence, but he didn't feel like much at all, beyond hopelessly confused.

[delicatelysublimeforester]

Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area, West Swale Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada

Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area, West Swale Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada

Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area. West Swale Saskatoon, SK, CA

Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area, Saskatoon, SK, CA

Climate change is being tackled by reducing the use of fossil fuels, limiting and reducing the emissions of greenhouse gases in an effort to mitigate atmospheric Carbon Dioxide. Changing to clean, renewable energy sources does indeed, reduce carbon dioxide emissions.

Reducing emissions is just one side of the equation. Why do climate change discussions focus on reducing CO2 emissions, and not the carbon harvest effected by trees?

This report looks at the method of alleviating climate change by increasing carbon sequestration. Tree planting is an option as afforested lands can sequester between 2.2 and 9.5 metric tons of CO2 per year!Gorte

“The dynamics can be understood using a bathtub analogy in which the water level represents the stock of atmospheric CO 2. Like any stock, atmospheric CO2 rises only when the inflow to the tub (emissions, E ) exceeds the outflow (net removal, R ), is unchanging only when inflow equals outflow ( E = R ) and falls only when outflow exceeds inflow ( R > E ).”Sterman Reducing E Emissions or “the inflow into the bath tub” is truly important to affect climate change as can be seen from the “bath tub analogy.” Yet, it is vitally important to consider the “outflow out of the tub” or R, the net removal, which is expressed in the quantity of trees, forests, oceans, wetlands, marshes which act to absorb atmospheric carbon.

“Trees help by removing (sequestering) CO2 from the atmosphere during photosynthesis to form carbohydrates that are used in plant structure/function and return oxygen back into the atmosphere as a byproduct. Roughly half of the greenhouse effect is caused by CO2. Therefore, trees act as carbon sinks, alleviating the greenhouse effect”UFN

“Afforestation, reforestation and other forms of conservational forestry methods are often thought to be used for stopping the effects of climate change by reducing atmospheric carbon.”Pomerantz

“The Kyoto Accord on climate change requires developed countries to achieve C02-emissions reduction targets, but permits them to charge uptake of carbon (C) in terrestrial (primarily forest) ecosystems against emissions. Countries such as Canada hope to employ massive afforestation programs to achieve Kyoto targets.”van Kooten

“The Kyoto Protocol to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change commits Canada to reducing its CO2 emissions to levels that are 6% below those in 1990. In addition to reducing industrial emissions, biologically-based carbon sinks can used to meet this target.”Johnston

“The Kyoto Protocol is an international environmental treaty and requires ratified countries to commit themselves to an appropriate reduction of greenhouse gases (GHG), which contributes to global warming and potentially impacts human society in many ways. In contrast to reduce GHG by industrial sectors, afforestation on fallow farm land has obviously become an important alternative method to expand the potential pool of carbon stock in terrestrial ecosystems.”Lin

” Carbon sequestration is one of many benefits of planting trees on land that has not been forested in a long time. Others include ecosystem health, economic health, and ultimately human health”Bird

As a result, an answer is found for how is it possible to better climate change locally?

” We forget that we owe our existence to the presence of Trees.   As far as forest cover goes, we have never been in such a vulnerable position as we are today.  The  only answer is to plant more Trees – to Plant Trees for Our Lives. ~Richard St. Barbe Baker.”

BIBLIOGRAPHY.

Bird, Neil D. and Eric Boysen. The Carbon Sequestration Potential from Afforestation in Ontario Climate Change. Research Information Note. Note Number 5. 2007

Dabas, Manoj and Shubhra Bhatla. Carbon Sequestration through Afforestation: Role of Tropical Industrial Plantations. Vol. 25, No. 5 (Aug., 1996), pp. 327-330 Published by: Springer on behalf of Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences Stable URL

Gorte, Ross W. U.S. Tree Planting for Carbon Sequestration. Specialist in Natural Resources Policy. Congressional Research Service. 7-5700. R40562/ May 4, 2009

Johnston, M., S. Kulshreshtha, and T. Baumgartner. The potential for carbon sequestration through afforestation in Saskatchewan: An ecological-economic analysis. Forest Ecosystems Branch. Saskatchewan Environment and Resource Management. Prince Albert, SK. Department of Agricultural Economics, University of Saskatchewan, Forest Ecosystems Branch, Saskatchewan Environment and Resource Management, Regina, SK.

Land Use, Land-Use Change and Forestry. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, IPCC. IPCC, 2000 – Robert T. Watson, Ian R. Noble, Bert Bolin, N. H. Ravindranath, David J. Verardo and David J. Dokken (Eds.) Cambridge University Press, UK. pp 375 Available from Cambridge University Press, The Edinburgh Building Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU ENGLAND Summary for Policymakers. IPCC, Geneva, Switzerland. pp20. Available from IPCC Secretariat in Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Spanish and Russian. The Nobel Foundation.

Lin, Chinsu and Chun-Hsiung Lin. Comparison of carbon sequestration potential in agricultural and afforestation farming systems National Chiayi University. Department of Forestry and Natural Resourcs. Taiwan. Scientia Agricola. Print version ISSN 0103-9016. Sci. agric. (Piracicaba, Braz.) vol.70 no.2 Piracicaba Mar./Apr. 2013. http://dx.doi.org/10.1590/S0103-90162013000200006

Ni, Yuanming et al. The Global potential for carbon capture and storage from forestry. Carbon Balance Management. 2016. Dec. 11 : 3 2016 Feb 6. doi: 10.1186/s13021-016-0044-y.

Pomerantz, Celeste and Jason Donev Afforestation. Energy Education. University of Calgary.

Schopfhauser, Wolfgang. Chapter 3 Quantitative and Qualitative Evaluation of Carbon Dioxide Mitigation through Forestry and Wood Industry. 3.1 World Forests: The Area for Afforestation and their Potential for Fossil Carbon Sequestration and Substitution. Confederation of European Paper Industries. Belgium.

Sigurdsson, Bjarni D. and Arnor Snorrason. Carbon sequestration by afforestatin and revegetation as a measn of limiting net-CO2 emissions in Iceland. Biotechnol. Agron. Soc. Environ. 200 4(4), 303-307.

Sterman, John D. and Linda Booth Sweeney. Understanding public complacency about climate change: adults mental models of climate change violate conservation of matter. Climatic Change (2007) 80:213-238 doi 10.1007/s 10584-006-91074-5. January 9, 2007. Springer Science and Business Media B.V. 2007.

Trees Improve Air Quality Urban Forestry Network (UFN).

van Kooten, G. Corenelius, et al. Economics of afforestation for carbon sequestration in western Canada. The Forestry Chronicle. Natural Resources Canada. Government of Canada.

Williams, Jeremy,et al Tree Canada Afforestation and Reforestation Protocol. Version 2.0. April 2015. Tree Canada.

“When the trees go, the rain goes, the climate deteriorates, the water table sinks, the land erodes and desert conditions soon appear”.~Richard St. Barbe Baker

For more information:

Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area is located in Saskatoon, SK, CA north of Cedar Villa Road, within city limits, in the furthest south west area of the city. Wikimapia Map: type in Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area Google Maps South West Off Leash area location pin at parking lot Web page: https://stbarbebaker.wordpress.com Where is the Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area? with map Facebook: StBarbeBaker Facebook group page : Users of the St Barbe Baker Afforestation Area Facebook: South West OLRA If you wish to support the afforestation area with your donation, write a cheque please to the “Meewasin Valley Authority Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area trust fund” (MVA RSBBAA trust fund) and mail it to Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area c/o Meewasin Valley Authority, 402 Third Ave S, Saskatoon SK S7K 3G5. Thank you kindly! Twitter: St Barbe Baker Pinterest richardstbarbeb

Climate Change and Afforestation Climate change is being tackled by reducing the use of fossil fuels, limiting and reducing the emissions of greenhouse gases in an effort to mitigate atmospheric Carbon Dioxide.