#people who text while driving are making that decision to be dangerous and risk killing people over a fucking text

[nocturneofrecollection]

I think mostly car culture but also the internet has irreparably stunted people’s ability and care to drive well it’s insane how many people will openly brag about being a dangerous driver like it’s fun and quirky and not something that gets people killed in the thousands every year. Some laws are unjust but i promise you distracted driving and speeding laws are there for a reason not just to make your day a teeeeny bit harder

[firelord-frowny]

tbh the one thing i honestly kinda sorta mostly fully for the most part ~support~ cops in doing, 

is pulling over and arresting drunk drivers. or even just people who speed or run red lights.

OBVIOUSLY i have to contend with the unfortunate fact that people of color are at a higher risk of Shit Hitting The Fan when pulled over for any reason, and OBVIOUSLY i don’t believe that someone should have their life endangered just because they were speeding or whatever, but alsooooooooooooooo

in a real-world, practical sense... if you KNOW your ass is more likely to get shot during what should have been a totally non-violent police encounter... WHYYYYY WOULD YOU SPEED??? WHY WOULD YOU RUN THE LIGHT?? Especially since reckless driving is ALREADY dangerous omfg like... not only are you risking causing an accident that could potentially kill or injure yourself and others, but you’re ALSO risking getting stopped by a racist ass cowardly cop who may or may not assault you and/or murder you? don’t be a FUCKIN DUMBASS!!!! I mean it’s one thing to accidentally make an illegal turn or whatever because you’re in an unfamiliar place or your gps took you to a closed street. those are honest mistakes that aren’t necessarily a result of being reckless or irresponsible, and you can’t always avoid those errors. but speeding?? running lights?? DRIVING DRUNK??? Those are potentially deadly choices way before you get pulled over. and if you’re invested in Not Being Murdered By A Cop, you should ALSO be invested in Not Dying Because You’re Too Impatient To Drive Safely.

But anyway, 

I abhor drunk/impaired/distracted/reckless driving with a burning fucking passion and if you do that shit, I absolutely want you to get pulled over, and I absolutely want you to get a ticket so expensive that it fucks your financial life up somethin FIERCE for the next several weeks or months, and if it’s something you’ve been pulled over before on numerous occasions, i 100% want your ass in jail for several days, and i want your license suspended, and if you get caught driving with a suspended license, i want you back in jail, because i do NOT want to share the road with people whose reckless decisions are putting me or anyone else in unnecessary danger. 

I don’t even care how destitute you are. I don’t care if you’re broke. I don’t care if you’re gonna lose your job because you got arrested and couldn’t show up for work. I don’t care if that bigass fine you have to pay is gonna force you to be evicted from your home. There is no degree of poverty that will ever make it okay for someone to go unpunished after making choices that could easily kill someone. And if you’re in a position that would render you shit out of luck if you ever got fined or jailed for reckless driving, then that should be all the more reason for you to not drive drunk, or speed, or run lights, or text, or whatever other stupid thing you might do while driving.

And like... it’s not even just that i want people to be punished for doing dangerously selfish things. It’s not that i want reckless drivers to be miserable. It’s that I want to minimize the chances that someone’s loved one is going to get hurt. Even when it comes to my own friends and family. If someone I love is driving recklessly, i HOPE AND PRAY that they get pulled over and ticketed and/or arrested. I would absolutely prefer that any of my loved ones go to prison rather than fly through their windshield and land face first on a guardrail. Like, I can visit you in prison. I can’t visit you in death. 

Anyway, every time I see someone nyooming at 60 in a 45 and a cop turns on their siren, i rejoice. i see that red and blue coming up behind someone who’s swerving and im like YAAAS GET HIS ASS!!! 

[myaekingheart]

Thoughts on Writing Trauma in [Fan]Fiction

For some reason, I’ve been thinking a lot about the inclusion of trauma in fiction, namely fanfiction. It’s one of those things that so often pops up in fic but just because it’s done often doesn’t necessarily mean it’s done well. I feel like this is especially true for writing original characters.

Precursory trigger warning for speaking about, you know, trauma (suicide, self harm, eating disorders, death, etc.) in depth. As you can probably already predict from the title. Full text under the cut for brevity’s sake. 

Traumatic experiences and backstories are like this rite of passage in fanfiction. Most everyone’s earliest original characters are always given the most heartbreaking, terrible backstories possible because we, as authors, think that that will make our readers more sympathetic to them. I say this as someone who is definitely guilty of this myself. And this is all well and good--some of the most popular mainstream characters come from terrible backstories. It can help explain why characters do what they do and act the way that they act when they are first introduced in a story, and provide space to allow them to grow and evolve throughout the plot (for better or for worse). 

I think the issue in giving a character a traumatic backstory, however, lies in the way that this is presented. So often I feel like tragic backstories are used to try and force readers to empathize with and love a character. It’s the almost overbearing sense of “please love me” that I think can cheapen the effect of this developmental tactic. You can’t force an audience to love a character and laying it on thick with why the audience should love your character often seems to do the exact opposite. Readers don’t like to be told what to do or what to think or who to root for. Your character has to prove that they are worth rooting for, or not, based on the way that their past influences their present and the fate of their future. A character who was neglected by their parents as a child is obviously going to be desperate for affection, but think about how it makes them desperate. Do they find themselves constantly in abusive relationships because they are willing to take whatever they can get from whoever will dish out “love” to them, regardless of whether it’s healthy or not? Or because they find comfort in a sense of abuse based on past experiences? Or in contrast, do they push everyone away because they are terrified of letting themselves be loved and opening themselves up to getting hurt again? I know every writing class ever always harps on the “show, don’t tell” but this is one case where I feel like it’s really important. Readers are not stupid. We don’t need to be told straightforward why a character is doing what they’re doing, and sometimes laying everything about a characters past out from the get-go can even dampen the allure of your character. Let the readers learn about the character at the same pace that they would let someone else learn about them. Human beings don’t give away their entire life story in one sitting, and your character shouldn’t, either. 

Not only are traumatic backstories so common in fiction, but so are traumatic plotlines. It’s fun to put your characters through hell! It’s fun to break them down and see them at their lowest, when they are left with nothing. After all, conflict is the gasoline which fuels the car of your story and sometimes you never really know what a character is capable of until you break them. I feel like the most symbolic and succinct way to describe this is through that quote “Your characters are like geodes. If you want to see what they're really made of, you have to break them.” However, trauma is a tricky subject. There is a fine line between being authentic and meaningful in dissecting traumatic experiences and laying it on too heavy for the sake of being edgy. I feel like that’s another mistake so many early writers make: feeling as if you have to put your character through ten layers of hell in order for the audience to care about them, too. But this is a dangerous game and trauma is a very personal thing. You don’t want to write insensitively about something very significant at the risk of alienating or even maddening the communities that have personal experience with whatever trauma you’re exploring--if you haven’t experienced it yourself, too, that is. I am a huge supporter of using fiction as catharsis for coping with and processing trauma and anything else troubling that you as a writer may be dealing with, and every situation is different so of course your specific experience will not fit everyone’s narrative of how that trauma may transpire. And if you have been through this sort of thing personally, of course you can be trusted with writing candidly and authentically about it because those are your experiences and no one can steal those from you! You deserve to approach the subject in whatever manner you feel is best for both the story and your own mental wellbeing. For those aiming to write about trauma that they don’t have personal experience with, however, it is so important to write these scenarios with respect. Please do your research, read personal accounts and familiarize yourself with all the ins and outs of what you’re aiming to write. Read up on what it’s like to attempt suicide, what happens after a failed suicide attempt or self harm gone wrong, what to do when you suffer a miscarriage, what grief feels like, what a panic attack feels like, the challenges that chronically ill people face every day and the things that can go wrong when we have flare-ups or are not given the accessibility we need. Don’t trigger yourself, of course, but make sure you are well informed so that you can write trauma in a way that is respectful and authentic. 

I am also not going to sit here and tell you not to stack trauma onto a character in a story. I know that life happens and sometimes multiple bad things pile up all at once. Fiction is no different and it’s certainly not uncommon to see a string of bad things befall a character in a story, either. The thing that is important to consider with this, however, is not only respect and authenticity but the way in which these sorts of things would realistically affect someone. The domino effect should feel believable.

For example: character A gets a phone call that character B, their best friend and love of their life, has unexpectedly been killed. This is a traumatic experience enough on it’s own, and the story deserves to explore this character’s consequent grief as they try to navigate their life with this massive hole in their heart now. Perhaps the last thing that character B told character A was something about unwavering support for A in the pursuit of their lifelong dream, something that holds weight and that the grief of losing B can serve as both an obstacle and a motivator for achieving. Familiarize yourself with the after effects and symptoms of mourning in order to write character A’s grief as authentic. Say, for example, they are having trouble sleeping. They are constantly tired but can never fall asleep when they want. They are driving somewhere a few days later and begin dozing off at the wheel. They subsequently get into a nasty car accident. Character A ends up in the hospital with severe but not life-threatening injuries--injuries that completely erase any and all hope of character A ever achieving their dream. What does this loss feel like? How heavy is the betrayal in their chest after having felt so determined to fight against the grief weighing them down in order to accomplish their goals for the sake of character B’s memory? Consider the emotions. Consider the anger and the hopelessness and the depression. Consider what your character decides to do about this. Consider how your character attempts to cope. Perhaps they turn to self harm. Perhaps they feel that the only way that they can manage the pain that they feel is by cutting. Maybe they even think that if they make themselves bleed, it will give an outlet for all of the pain that’s stirred up inside of them. Maybe they even feel as if that pain is deserved, as if everything is their fault (whether it realistically is or not). Maybe they revel in the pain, maybe it becomes the only thing that keeps them sane even if they logically understand that this is unhealthy and dangerous. And maybe their emotions get the better of them and they accidentally take things too far. They accidentally attempt suicide and wake up in the very same hospital they were in when they got into the car accident. The very same hospital where character B was also pronounced dead. Focus on what this means for the character and the story. We as the audience should be able to understand why this character felt like it was necessary to do what they did and what they were feeling in the moment of having made that decision, as well as how having failed will influence and effect them moving forward. That progression should be clear and visible, it should be easy for the audience to track and follow the plot of. 

And while writing trauma can be fun and interesting, on the same note of authenticity it is also important to ensure that we are not glorifying trauma, either. We should not be presenting these situations as fabulous deaths and drama. Trauma is a very real and very heavy thing that should be handled with care for the sake of respecting both the characters and the readers. Readers who have gone through similar trauma should not feel as if their struggles are being written as a joke or not taken seriously. They should be able to empathize with the character even if the struggles presented in the story do not exactly mirror their own. Like I said before, the trauma should be believable. And readers who do not have experience with these subjects should not feel inspired by the trauma itself. It is one thing to present a character who is perseverant despite their setbacks, who pushes forward even when it would be easier to quit, and even when they want to quit, but it is another thing entirely to present a character who glamourizes these struggles. A character with an eating disorder should not be seen as an aspiration for thinness and a character who self harms should not be seen as “edgy” and “cool” for hurting themselves. If we are going to write about trauma, we should accept the responsibility that comes with writing subjects in a way that is respectful and authentic rather than glamourizing trauma.

We as writers, however, should not accept the responsibility of censoring ourselves for the sake of a reader’s preference, by the way. We can include trigger warnings and tags all we want, and I think we ought to for the sake of being responsible and letting our readers know exactly what kind of story they are getting into, but that’s just the thing. The reader should know what kind of story they are getting into, but if they click on something with explicit warnings/tags that they know are going to trigger them and continue reading anyway then that is on them and not us. We should not have to completely omit trauma and other taboo/sensitive subjects from our writing for the sake of purity culture. 

And on one more note in terms of the inclusion of trauma in fiction itself, also consider how a character’s trauma affects the people around them. How does a character’s suicide attempt affect their best friend? Does their mother recognize their disordered eating behavior? Is their mother the reason behind their disordered eating behavior? Does the character’s love interest cock a brow at them wearing a hoodie in summer and grow curious as to what they’re hiding? And even more: how do the people around your character influence or inspire or motivate them to get better? Or not? Are they steadfastly loyal and determined to help your character through their pain? Or do they feel as if it is not their responsibility to shoulder your character’s burdens and they would rather exit from their life completely? Your character does not exist in a vacuum, so it is important to consider not just the way in which they respond to the world around them because of their trauma, but also the way in which the world responds to them because of their trauma. Let your character exist in conversation with their universe and their social circle. Let your character’s trauma barge in and create a big, looming, unwelcome presence. Let your character work through their trauma in a way that feels believable, and let the people in your character’s life respond to that in a way that feels believable, too. 

Overall, just approach trauma with respect and authenticity. Create characters that feel real and believable. Don’t try to force your audience to love your character but rather work to create a character that is dimensional and messy like real people. Let your audience learn your character in the same way that we learn about other people in real life. Let their past trauma influence the way they act in the present and the way they exist within their world and among the people in their life. Do your research, be candid and honest, and above all handle with care. 

*Note that I am of course not the end all be all and I do not consider myself some sort of wealth of writing knowledge. I am only writing based on my own personal experiences and things I’ve gleaned from both college-level creative writing courses as well as both reading and writing fiction, specifically fanfiction, for years. 

[typicalmidnightsoul]

ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙʟɪɴᴋ, ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ - Chapter 1

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 𝒜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃𝒶

Mafia/Assassin AU 

After the prince of Merchants dies his wife takes up his mantle and his empire of criminals, yet now the government locked his wife in jail but the princess of merchants is too clever to be held down. Nesta ran away from Velaris after Feyre tried to control her. She made a name for herself that people respect but now she is in trouble and her mother demands Feyre to get her back. Cassian goes but the shit she has gotten herself into will take a long time to sort out. one catch though, she has 96 hours to live.

This is for the anon with the request to post this on tumblr <3 my tumblr’s messing up so I couldn’t post it with your message on top but I love you Anon!!!!! Thank you for the request!! I’m glad you enjoyed my story!!!

“Hey mom.” Feyre pursed her lips at the female in orange in front of here. Adelaide put her handcuffed hands on the table. She signalled to the guard to get out.

“I probably know the answer to this, but why mom did a prison guard just follow your command.”

Adelaide leaned back, “I have most people here on payroll.”

Feyre groaned, “Only because you’re the princess of merchants.”

After their dad died, their mother in desperation took up his mantle, people feared their mother 10 times more then they feared their father.

“Touché. But anyway… Your sister is in danger.”

Feyre sat up, attentive, “Nesta called a couple of days ago and said she was fine.”

Her mother rolled her eyes, “Feyre I am your mother, if you think you can hide the fact that you tried to control Nesta’s life and therefore she ran away from Velaris and is now one of the most dangerous people on the street. Don’t play dumb, Feyre. But whatever I don’t care about that anymore, what matters now is that Nesta is being hunted down by some very bad people, she has come in possession of a substance that is very dangerous.”

“What shall I do?”

“Well, I was going to handle it my way but I know how much that upset you last time…”

Feyre stood up, “The last time you tried to handle things, you killed people…Nesta can handle herself and she won’t like my meddling.”

“You’re gonna risk your sister’s life because you don’t want to upset her?!” She leaned back smirking, “Guess I’ll just have to send my people down there.”

Feyre relented, “Fine, but whichever one of my friends goes, and they’ll tell Nesta that you sent them. And if my friends don’t want to go then I will. But, please, don’t handle this you’re way.”

“Fine. Who are you planning on sending?” Feyre knew that look.

“Ok mother who do you want me to send?”

“Cassian and one of my people.”

Feyre scoffed, “Cassian?! She’ll rip him apart.”

“And he’ll survive. No one else will be able to manage her temper. She’s my daughter, I know her best.”

“Who else are you planning on sending?”

“Jonah. But he’ll join after, on my orders.”

Feyre flinched. Their half-brother whose existence was unknown to her until very recently, he hated Feyre that hate deepened after that issue with Nesta. But he loved Nesta to bits, and Nesta listened to him. Feyre looked up at the mastermind in front of her.

She was going to send Cassian to take the brunt of her anger and Jonah to calm both of them down.

“Fine. I’ll let Cassian know.”

Before she could go her mother stopped her one more time, "Feyre."

"Get your sister back."

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

Nesta ran through the depot. She swiped the card given to her by her source to open the door. A card of highest clearance, her mother would have questions.

“Take a left,” Clare spoke into her ear through comms.

“Clare there are billions of trucks in here.”

“The truck you’re looking for is in the far left, serial number is 234 LMX9.”

“Where is everyone else?!”

“You tripped an alarm; they’re knocking out all the guards who saw it. They’re coming now.”

She got out her handgun and shot the trucks locks on the door busting it open as she climbed in an alarm went off.

“Oh shit Nes! One of the guards pressed the alarm before Helion could make the kill.”

“Its fine I’ve got the case. Just tell them all to get their ass down here.”

She heard footsteps; Vassa, Cresseida, Audrey and Helion came down. Their faces had trickles of blood but they were in one piece.

“You’re all idiots. Come on we need to go.”

“Nesta you leave, Hybern is on our tail you need to get out with that.” Audrey said.

“No offence Cuz but I’m not leaving without you. Actually you guys are leaving before me.”

“What why?”

“Because if Beron finds out we just stole from him our shot for going undercover is gone. I’m alone in this now. We regroup later. You guys need to handle the Queens.”

Audrey nodded, “If you don’t get out and I don’t get a call by midnight that you’re safe I’m coming straight back.”

“Fine you witch now gets lost.”

They all piled into the car leaving Nesta. Nesta had one more thing she needed to find. She went back inside, and pocketed the pen drive that she had plugged into the computer in the front cabin.

As she was leaving a blast caused her to smack down against the wall. She groggily got to her feet, reaching for her briefcase.

“Welcome. Dagdan and Brannagh at your service. What do the call you?”

Nesta slid up her black mask, covering her face,

“They call me Athena.”

She turned both guns out of their holster and shooting the 6 people she saw, she got nicked by one of their bullets. She hissed. She wasn’t outnumbered she could take them on. But the risk of the…

They wanted the brief case. She turned her hand and shot the light board making the whole depot dark.

She ran into a small corner to buy herself time.

“Come out, come out where ever you are,” Brannagh’s sweet voice carried itself to her. They were getting close.

She opened the brief case and eyed the green liquid with blue streaks going through it. She could hear them getting closer. Without another doubt she pushed the syringe inside her.

The feeling was earth wrenching, It was horrifying, like she was being remade.

She ran for the exit, leaving the briefcase. Brannagh had seen the brief case and called her brother over.

“She knows what’s good for her. She left it.”

“Wait,” Brannagh ordered, she opened it, “Shit! The bitch took it herself. Call up Hybern and tell him.

Athena took the Cauldron.”

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

She couldn’t keep on running, she had to call Clare, Audrey, someone who…she fell and the last blurry image she saw was black timberland boots walking to her.

She woke up her head thudding against something.

“You do that again and you’ll give yourself brain damage.”

She looked at the ceiling-no roof of a car. A car she recognised.

“What the fuck are you doing here Cassian?!”

She heard the doors lock; she tried to open them to no use.

”Let me out!!”

He looked at her in the rear view mirror.

”never thought I’d have to use the child lock on you sweetheart.”

”Let. Me. Out.”

”No can do mummy’s orders.”

Her face softened, “my mom sent you.”

He hesitated then nodded. She dragged a hand through her hair.

”i need to go and see someone. Clare or someone-“

Pure rage took over his features and he braked the car so hard that Nesta almost fell. He got out of the car and climbed into the back, pulling Nesta against him.

“As I see it Nesta you have two options, 1) you co-operate and I take you to the safe house or 2) you don’t and I handcuff you to this car till you do?”

She tilted her head, “You’re angry. Why?”

“Because you left. You left and made a name for yourself that will either get you respect or get you killed.”

“You told me to leave. You TOLD me.”

“I did not think you’d actually do it.”

“Well then you should’ve known better.”

They stayed like that for a while, breathing raggedly, until Cassian

Said, “I need you to make a decision, Nesta.”

“Fine I’ll go with you. But you will regret it.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m also sitting in the passenger seat.”

“Do as you please.”

She climbed through the middle of the two seats and into the           passenger seat. He rolled his eyes and went back outside grabbing something from the boot before going back into the driver’s seat. He dropped a Burberry barrel bag into Nesta’s lap saying, “I talked to Clare before coming here. She packed it for you. It has your phone, charger, clothes and god knows what else.”

She sifted through it wondering what she had done to deserve a friend like Clare. She tried her phone, no charge.

She looked at Cassian’s phone that lay in the middle of them.

“Go ahead.” He said reading her thoughts.

She turned it on, “Passcode.”

“260369.” She tried to hide her shock at him giving her his passcode with no hesitation.

She scrolled through his contacts trying to find Audrey. It rang twice.

“Hey Cassian what’s up.”

“Auj! It’s Nesta.”

“Oh my god! Where are you?! Are you with Cassian? What happened?”

“Long story short: It’s safe with me, I’m in a bit of a mess, Cassian was sent by mom to do god knows what.”

“Where are you guys going?”

“I…don’t know.” She looked at Cassian who gestured that he’ll send it to her, “Cassian says he’ll send it to you.”

“Ok, keep safe, love you, and call me when you get there.”

“Yeah ok, Love you too, bye.”

She started taking her holsters off and getting comfortable. Cassian leaned back and got his coat that was covering Nesta when she was sleeping in the back. Nesta looked down her sleeve was ripped. The bullet wound taken care of. He put his coat over her.

“We have another one hours journey ahead of us.”

“I’m not tired.” But she didn’t take his coat off.

“Well then what do you want to do.”

“Depends. Do you have Spotify?”

He chuckled and handed his phone over. She reached down into the barrel bag her earphones and got out two frappe’s she silently put Cassian’s one between them and opened hers plugging her earphones in.

He tried to keep his smile to himself.

-------

Nesta had fallen asleep for the last 15 minutes of the journey, him taking out her earphones for her. He texted Jonah that they were at the safe house to which Jonah gave a four word answer.

Ok. Keep her safe.

The amount of love he had for Nesta and the amount of hate he had for Feyre and Elain were unimaginable. He chuckled.

“Nes.” He shook her, “We’re here. Sweetheart.”

She groaned something about letting her sleep.

He rolled his eyes. He got out of the car and picked her up. She snuggled closer to him. He smiled down softly at her peaceful face.

He took her inside to his room and placed her in between the sheets. He took off the knee high heeled boots she wore and tucked her in.

He took off his shirt and slung it on a chair; he took a shower before heading to go to sleep in the guest room.

Coming up Next

“I have 96 hours to live.”

“What?!”

“Probably why Jonah is getting worried.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“My mother wouldn’t send you if she didn’t have a plan.”

“What were you gonna do?”

“A friend of mine, Thesan, he is a doctor. Well a bit more than that.”

He looked at her and picked up his newspaper. She decided she wanted to ditch her clothes and instead of getting her own she took his shirt and worn her knee high black boots. Apparently she needed to take a shower anyway so instead of dirtying her clothes why not his. He on the other hand was shirtless which seemed to have no effect on her while walking around in his clothes definitely had an effect on him. She studied him.

“What?”

“I’m trying to figure out what would happen if you’re ex walked in and saw us like this.”

“My-wh-who are you talking about?!”

“Morrigan.”

“She’s not my ex.”

“The one night stand you’re still hung up over then.” She laughed, “You’d try to hide me. Wouldn’t you?”

He grabbed her wrist pulling her closer, “No sweetheart I actually wouldn’t.”

“Well then what would you do.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed for starters.”

“Yeah whatever.” She left to change.

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

Tags: @skychild29​ @aesthetics-11​

[rainhadaenerys]

Sometimes I like to search for my own posts in other sites, especially because my book vs show meta is shared quite a lot. I saw someone share my meta on r/gameofthrones, and without fail, some Sansa stan came to say that I was biased, that I didn’t talk about Dany’s “dark moments” in the books, that show!Dany was actually whitewashed:

Wow. Wow. I am the one that is biased, clearly *sarcasm*. Also notice how this anti doesn’t provide a single book quote to support their wild claims.

“The only reason Dany took Astapor was for an army”

Then why did she free the Unsullied when she didn’t need to? Then why did she delay her invasion of Westeros to stay in Slaver’s Bay freeing slaves? Then why did she refuse Yunkai’s gold, Xaro’s ships, Quentyn’s alliance, all things that would have been given freely to her if she decided to leave, and instead chose to stay to ensure people’s freedom? Also, see this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/182893726737/tatticstudio55-i-didnt-think-id-have-the#notes

“She was ok with Drogo selling the Lhazareen into slavery, she said it was the price of the Iron Throne”.

Dany was a 14 years old girl who had no experience on war. Antis like to say that Dany convinced Drogo to invade knowing that he was going to enslave people to do it, but this is not an argument supported by the text at all. When Dany asks Drogo to help her take the Seven Kingdoms, no one mentions the need to sell slaves:

The khal's mouth twisted in a frown beneath the droop of his long mustachio. "The stallion who mounts the world has no need of iron chairs."

Dany propped herself on an elbow to look up at him, so tall and magnificent. She loved his hair especially. It had never been cut; he had never known defeat. "It was prophesied that the stallion will ride to the ends of the earth," she said.

"The earth ends at the black salt sea," Drogo answered at once. He wet a cloth in a basin of warm water to wipe the sweat and oil from his skin. "No horse can cross the poison water."

"In the Free Cities, there are ships by the thousand," Dany told him, as she had told him before. "Wooden horses with a hundred legs, that fly across the sea on wings full of wind."

Khal Drogo did not want to hear it. "We will speak no more of wooden horses and iron chairs." He dropped the cloth and began to dress. "This day I will go to the grass and hunt, woman wife," he announced as he shrugged into a painted vest and buckled on a wide belt with heavy medallions of silver, gold, and bronze.

"Yes, my sun-and-stars," Dany said. Drogo would take his bloodriders and ride in search of hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains. If they returned triumphant, her lord husband's joy would be fierce, and he might be willing to hear her out. - Daenerys VI ADWD

That’s it. That’s the moment Dany asks Drogo to help her take the Seven Kingdoms. There’s no mentions of selling slaves at all in their conversation. We don’t even know if Dany is aware or not of what taking the Seven Kingdoms is going to take. Given how young and inexperienced she is, it doesn’t seem like she gave much thought about the ugly aspects of war at all. Besides, it’s only after the wineseller tries to poison Dany that Drogo mentions that he will rape women and enslave children in Westeros, and at this point, Dany doesn’t have much of a say, because Drogo didn’t decide to invade Westeros because Dany asked. He decided to invade Westeros because the lives of wis wife (his property) and his son were threatened. This is an affront to his honor, his decision has nothing to do with pleasing Dany, so if she asks him to give up on invading Westeros, he won’t do it (just like he wouldn’t invade Westeros just because he asked). Dany didn’t seem to be aware of what taking Westeros back with Drogo would take, and after she finds out, she doesn’t really have the power to stop it.

And saying that Dany was ok with enslaving the Lhazareen is a blatant lie:

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate.

"Most of Ogo's riders fled," Ser Jorah was saying. "Still, there may be as many as ten thousand captives."

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them."

Behind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that went on and on and on. Dany's hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver's head. "Make them stop," she commanded Ser Jorah. - Daenerys VII AGOT

Dany has little say in what’s happening here, little agency. She is just the wife of the khal, and what he decides is what happens. This is the very first time Dany is seeing the Dothraki attack anyone (before this, she was just traveling through the Dothraki Sea to Vaes Dothrak). And she is horrified by what she is seeing. Antis love to take the line “this is the price of the Iron Throne” out of context, but looking at the context in which the line is said tells us a very different story: when Dany says "this is war, this is the price of the Iron Throne", she's not saying it because she's ok with slavery. Quite the opposite: she hates what she's seeing, and she says this to convince herself that she doesn't care, to tell herself to be strong. But it doesn't work, Dany can't look past the awful things that she is seeing, and only two paragraphs later, she starts trying to save as many women as she can, in the only way she can: by claiming those women for herself.

By the way, Dany puts herself at a huge risk by trying to protect those women, because she is defying Drogo’s men. When her khas goes to enforce her order, the Dothraki fight, and some men die trying to defend their rights to the spoils of war. Many of the men look at her with cold eyes. These men try to complain to the khal about this, and when Drogo dies and Dany loses the protection of his authority, Dany is in grave danger.

Also see this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/186687986788/adamparrush-dany-burning-mirri-maaz-duur-alive#notes

“Dany was murdering children in Astapor”

This is just bad reading comprehension, or this person is trying to distort things. Dany didn’t order the killing of children. She ordered only masters and soldiers to be killed, those actively fighting against her to keep slavery. She tell them not to harm any child below 12 to avoid the Unsullied killing innocents. Also, saying “don’t kill anyone under 12″ is not the same thing as saying “kill everyone over 12″, stupid anti.

Also, see this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/184630644137/hi-i-really-enjoy-your-blog-and-your-meta-i#notes

“Dany didn’t want the entire caravan from Astapor and Yunkai to follow her”

That’s a really dishonest distortion of the facts. This is what Dany actually says:

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver's armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst. - Daenerys IV ASOS

Dany says that the freedmen are a burden. She is simply stating a fact, the freedmen are a burden. But she refuses to abandon them as her advisors urged, because she freaking cares about them, you idiot.

“The pile of bodies was high when she took Meereen”

Of course the pile of bodies was high! A battle to take the city just happened! Usually, when there’s a battle, people die, and there are bodies. I guess this idiot must think that Jon and Robb won all of their battles without killing a single soul. Let’s just pretend that none of Robb’s victories had any pile of bodies. Like, wow. What kind of argument even was this?

“They don’t talk about the torturing of the wineseller’s daughter”

Another blatantly lie. I do talk about the torture of the wineseller’s daughters in my books vs show meta, let me quote what I wrote here:

4) Then, after Dany executes Mossador in the name of a fair trial, she decides to throw “fair trial” out of the window by feeding one of the slavers to her dragons for revenge. This is something that never happens in the books. The closest we have to a problematic action like this is when Dany allows the wineseller’s daughters to be tortured. But this isn’t anywhere near as dark as feeding people to her dragons, for various reasons: 1) because Dany’s actions in the books are inserted in a context in which torture is seen as a normal and legitimate means of investigation by the society. Dany is not the only one that does this, and even honorable Jon Snow considers throwing Janos Slynt in an ice cell to force him to comply, and later throws Cregan Karstark in one. So Dany’s actions in the books are lawful, while in the show, they are not; 2) because Dany was trying to investigate. She was angry about what happened, but revenge was not the only motivation; 3) in the books, Dany learns a lesson from this and becomes the only ruler in ASOIAF to explicitly forbid torture.

Another thing that makes the dragon feeding scene so bad is that Dany tells the masters that she doesn’t care who’s innocent or not. But book Daenerys does care about it:

“We have no proof this is their work. Would you have me slaughter my own subjects?” – Daenerys IV ADWD

Feeding people to her dragons in the show was a criminal action taken by show Dany, and it was made out of revenge, with show Dany saying that she doesn’t care about innocence. This is very different from Dany in the books, and much much darker.

“They don’t talk about Dany enslaving people once she becomes queen”

I don’t talk about this because this never happened. Dany does allow people to sell themselves back into slavery, but only if they want to, and she very clearly doesn’t want to allow it:

Dany was shocked. “They want to be slaves?”

“The ones who come are well spoken and gently born, sweet queen. Such slaves are prized. In the Free Cities they will be tutors, scribes, bed slaves, even healers and priests. They will sleep in soft beds, eat rich foods, and dwell in manses. Here they have lost all, and live in fear and squalor.”

“I see.” Perhaps it was not so shocking, if these tales of Astapor were true. Dany thought a moment. “Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.” - Daenerys VI ASOS

Dany does this because she thinks it’s for the best. Because people convince her that otherwise, those people will live in fear and squalor. But she makes it very clear that no one is allowed to force another person into slavery. And actually, the majority of the former slaves choose to remain free. I write in more detail about this here:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/182694132667/do-the-slaves-of-westeros-really-want-danys-help#notes

“They don’t talk about how Dany treated Irri”

You mean how Irri started to have sex with Dany on her own free will without Dany ever asking her? You mean how Dany treats Irri wih dignity, respects her consent, and makes it very clear to Irri that she doesn’t have to have sex with her if she doesn’t want it?

"Should I pleasure the khaleesi?"Dany stepped away from her. "No. Irri, you do not need to do that. What happened that night, when you woke . . . you're no bed slave, I freed you, remember? You . . ." - Daenerys II ASOS

Talk all you want about power difference, but Dany respected Irri’s consent, she treated her with dignity.

See also this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/187867805480/hiya-mindset-love-your-blog-i-was-reading#notes

And they continued on their bullshit:

They repeat a lot of the stuff I already refuted here, but there are some more:

“Jorah killed Rhaego, not MMD”

Mirri Maz Duur admits she killed Rhaego when Dany accuses her:

Dany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. "Leave us. I would speak with this maegi alone." Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. "You knew," Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. "You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it."

"It was wrong of them to burn my temple," the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly. "That angered the Great Shepherd."

"This was no god's work," Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. "You cheated me. You murdered my child within me." 

"The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust." - Daenerys IX AGOT

MMD killed an innocent child for revenge, and to prevent a supposed future. She admits it.

"She said to kill everyone in a tokar, this is every freeborn”

No, the tokar is not worn by every freeborn. The tokar is a master’s garment, and it makes it impossible to work. Those who wore it are only those who have the wealth and power and don’t have to work, aka, the freaking slave masters:

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes. It was not a garment meant for any man who had to work. The tokar was a master's garment, a sign of wealth and power. - Daenerys I ADWD

Ugh. Then they went on:

Again, this freaking obsession antis have to convince people that they loooooove Daenerys. I could go on refuting this idiot, but it can be summed up in “You Dany stans can’t see things objectively, I’m the only one that uses logic, blah, blah, blah”. They go on to complain that Dany killed soldiers (none of their faves ever killed soldiers, right?), to say that Dany killed slaves and freed people (no, she didn’t), that you can’t see things in black and white and divide the situation into slavers and slaves (I guess they’re trying to say that Dany is bad for killing some supposedly nice slavers), blah, blah blah.

Sorry if I went off, everyone. This made me really angry. Apparently, I’m the biased one that distorts things, and not this idiot.

[kennedycatherine]

things may be shitty but sometimes I'm shittier

I’m overheard retelling half a joke my friends have heard 30 times over. One of the greats in my rotating stock of five. 

“Wait, what’s this about?” Asks someones boyfriend and I lean on an elbow, angle myself toward him with a grin.

“It’s actually a really funny story.”

His girlfriend rolls her eyes, “it’s not funny.”

My eyebrows go up, in, “I think it’s funny?”

“Kennedy,” she begins and looks at me with even eyes, “it makes people uncomfortable.”

She says it like a mother warning her toddler not to pull his pants off in front of the dinner guests, not again. And I feel a lot like he might;

Defiant - it is a funny story, I’ve done the math on which details can stay in, which have to go out, I know where to pause for a laugh or a sigh. He’d probably like it. 

Ashamed - it probably isn’t funny to everyone, perhaps my math was just enough to keep people engaged, the pauses great for a sympathy laugh. He probably wouldn’t like it.

“Another time,” he whispers with a soft, consoling smile and I silently curse his girlfriend. 

Fuck you, Kierstan, you don’t know the first thing about comedic timing.

The story in question is about the time I found my sister cold and unconscious. I thought she was dead. The punchline about my being in a pink velour costume when the EMT’s arrived and the bit about the stolen laffy taffy, oh and her not being dead - fully worth the undeniable emotional lows. 

Believe me when I say that in some circles, it’s a funny story. There are branches of comedy, Netflix specials, peoples entire careers and livelihoods that are rooted in dark comedy - there is a vast market for illuminating and lightening the horrifying. Also trust me when I say I know how deeply unfunny it is to watch someone you love overdose. 

The story is funny now. A few years ago it wasn’t. It was a nearly unspeakable thing. An experience that happened and it wasn’t funny. 

But life goes on. 

You have no choice. 

Around the time of the pink velour tracksuit and the laffy taffy, I found myself laughing uncontrollably at my desk. I’d just left the job I’d gone to college for and found myself in the pit of broken dreams - an 8 to 5 desk job. The absolute thrill of it all - somedays you might file, somedays you might answer a few more calls than usual. Somedays your boss might ask you to bend over and pick up his pencil while you wear the skirt it was gently (but firmly) implied was mandatory. Mandatory only in the sense that no one could tell you that you couldn’t wear pants but they sure were more forgiving of car naps running 15 minutes over if they could glimpse a knee. 

And boy, did I need the car naps. 

It’s funny because I thought I was doing great. Really, for awhile I thought I was the best I’d ever been. I was laughing pretty much all the time, at everything. I’d never found the world more funny. By all accounts, I was having a great time.

So imagine my surprise when one day I found my eyes full, my face damp and my car hurdling down the highway past the exit to my work. When I did arrive, this time with pants, therefor low forgiveness - I was asked to my boss’ office for a closed door meeting.

Why was I late?

Somehow telling my boss that I wasn’t exactly sure the reason but my brain was telling me I should just keep driving, maybe to the next town, maybe for hours, maybe until the border, didn’t really seem like an option. “I think I have the flu.”

Despite all the things I didn’t know, I did know I didn’t have the flu. I found myself laid out in my doctors office anyway.

When he finally threw the door open, all white coated and anxious, just like I like em’ - I sat up. We made a sort of frenzied eye contact and he asked me what was wrong. 

“I think I might be, like, totally fucking losing it.” 

I left with a plan and antidepressants.

It all sounds kind of simple and quaint.

But it wasn’t.

Stopping to consider if you’re a danger to yourself or anyone else so your doctor can qualify if you need counselling, pills, maybe a psychiatric hold isn’t charming. Those first few weeks of pills, even though you’ve been told and you know you’ll feel worse for awhile, they’re simply awful. This isn’t some beautiful woman on HBO popping a white pill with her chardonnay, suddenly noticing a pink bloom on her neglected cactus. This is ugly and painful before it’s anything else.

And slowly it did become “anything else” … most of the time. 

Depression isn’t a joke. But it is a static way of being that loses it’s edge. 

It softens. Like a shitty haircut, you come to expect the blunt, harsh edges. Your body adjusts to the sight of it. It’s still kind of scary to look at but you know what to expect.

Life goes on.

It’s just not precious anymore. 

I could barely say I’d been diagnosed. I only told the people who were close enough to see the new medication was wearing me out. Now it’s an introductory fact, “Hi, Kennedy Catherine, daughter, lover, lesbian, writer, major depressive disorder.” 

I felt for a long time like it was all behind me. The worst was over! Family, outside of some trick hearts, healthy. Depression, diagnosed, plans made, helpful medications on standby. Experiencing another dark episode seemed dull,  ya know? Just a tad fucking redundant. Been there, done it, bored by it. 

Then: March 2020. 

There was a period of limbo. I still had a job, I just couldn’t be there or do it until things got better - hardy har. I packed up my truck and settled into my families cabin for five or six weeks. It was fine, I was fine, I thought. One day I went out for a walk and awhile later watched my sister rumble through a long stretch of prairie toward me on an ATV. My phone was dead and I’d be gone, oh, three hours longer than expected?

“What happened?”

I just kind of… lost track of time? Lost my sense of direction? I don’t know, I thought. I was here but I sort of went away from myself for a second. When I sunk into the bath later with achy muscles and a blister, I felt nervous.

Now, I haven’t scared myself in years. My depression isn’t so severe that I feel unsafe with myself. Anything I did or have done to effectively terrify myself, I shed by the time I was 20. Because that can happen, you can do that. You can change coping mechanisms and learn real, healthy ways to parent yourself. The mood instability that came later, the dark times, I still felt mostly fortified. I felt like I could figure it out, like I still had access to myself to do the figuring out. 

But I could feel myself slipping away this time. 

I was talking fast about something or another when I finally said to my mom, “I think I might need help.” I wasn’t sure exactly what I meant because I didn’t really know how to help myself and I wasn’t really sure what was wrong. 

And that in and of itself is a problem. I didn’t know what was wrong? 

I was out of the job that got me out of bed Monday to Friday for three and a half years, I left the house that had become my comfort cathedral, I hadn’t seen any of my closest friends in months, I was living with my sister and my mother who I hadn’t spent longer than a handful of days with in like five years. There was global fear and uncertainty and the risk of contracting a virus that could or could not kill you but I didn’t know… what was wrong? Well that’s just deeply moronic. 

Sometimes when you need help, or when I need help, that does come in the form of professional counselling or medications or an anonymous support group. Sometimes, it’s just circumstantial and circumstances can change.

I went home.

And in a few weeks, when I’d more or less returned to myself, I could clearly see the hills and valleys my mind had just wandered. I felt strength again, a sense of renewal and excitement about my imminent return to work and society.

Then I actually lost my job.

I know, redundant. I’m tired of myself too. But bullshit is cyclical, that’s just a fact. 

And if there is one thing I’ll give myself credit for, it’s my ability to immediately concoct a backup plan in the face of a threat. Moments after I was officially terminated, texts and emails went out. The idea of not knowing where my next paycheque would come from and how much it would be, having lost the place I strolled into everyday with a sense of purpose and not knowing when and where I’d have that again was simply not an option.

My head went down, I narrowed focus and the efforts resulted in… enough. I’m living. Which wasn’t and isn’t the hope for life. Unstable stagnancy is deeply uncomfortable.

So, generally speaking, things are not great. 

I lost my humbly secure job. A place I comfortably could’ve lived and died if I’d prioritized everything other than work and my sort of crippling ambition. This effectively led me down the path of questioning every decision I’ve made past the age of 16. First and foremost, choosing radio. An industry that was at it’s peak in the 1930’s and on the decline ever since was perhaps not the most lucrative or secure of career choices. 

My romantic life developed far enough to remind me that often times I am a crusty, avoidant crustacean human and suddenly all those popular tweets about my deep emotional inabilities and intimacy issues seemed, well, not that funny.

I decided I probably shouldn’t drink. I don’t have a drinking problem but I do have a problem with drinking. Namely, waking with no memory, my legs shaking and my stomach clenched so tightly I could sense my body wanted to flee - itself, mostly. And let’s not forget the part where I get fighty and mean.  

When shit hit the fan and then shot off the blades into the face of life in my early twenties, it wasn’t my fault. To be clear, mental health is a no fault area. I was always predisposed to depression, mental illness is genetic. I had no control over that. But there were plenty of variables, extenuating circumstances if you will, that I also had no control over but sure as fuck could and did blame other people for.

This is not the same thing. 

This is a moment where it is necessary to discern illness from circumstance and living from coping. 

Like I said, bullshit is cyclical. And it this point, it’s pretty much just my own bullshit on repeat, forever and ever amen. At twenty or twenty three, when the circumstances weren’t my fault, it also felt like my reactions weren’t my fault. I was floundering, I didn’t know better. I learned some hard lessons about how I cope and handle things. I learned that I didn’t really like the person I was when I was figuring out how to survive myself and life. 

I was unkind, a lot. 

I hated the way that felt, I hated the way it affected my relationships and decided to learn from it.

Except, I didn’t learn. I said, great, noted. Dashed a nice little ~fini!~ at the end of that chapter, closed er’ on up and bypassed the bookshelf for the dusty box in the corner labelled, “garage sale.” Because surely no one would need to read that again! 

And then a few weeks ago when I had a breakthrough in counselling, I dug that chapter back up and allowed myself a few days of surprise. Bitch, you been done knew the WHOLE time. This isn’t news, this isn’t shocking. This is the part of you that developed somewhere along the way and it didn’t work and you didn’t like it but! But. It was comfortable. So you gave it a few years and then when things fell out of control again, let it settle back in all warm and snuggly.

You know what they say. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I guess I need to financially prioritize a CBT therapist. 

So here I am, again. 

Only this time feels deeply, deeply different. Because it’s not the first. 

I sat down with a friend to tell her how I was feeling. How much I felt like I needed and wanted to change my default settings. 

I need a factory restore. 

“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”

No, no, I have grace for myself! I actually have a lot of understanding. I’m parenting myself through this which includes showing myself love while I also discipline.

“I just feel like maybe you were doing the best you knew how.”

Well, I mean, sure? Sometimes? But there were moments where I knew I was saying or doing the wrong thing, where I was even challenged by someone else but I wasn’t challenging myself, you know?

“Well maybe that’s just who you are?”

Right… but this is also who I am? And we do actually have a say in that, you know? Like how I evolved from throwing toddler tantrums on the grocery store floor? I could actually just keep doing that, no one is stopping me, but I don’t.

“I think you’re being self deprecating and that is not healthy.” 

Since when is self identifying a problem self deprecation? 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

… but change is hard? 

I appreciate that people want to protect me from myself or from bad feeling or whatever they perceive that all to be. More often than not, I think they, we, you, I, we’re all just trying to protect ourselves. But it’s not helpful. Pretending that everything is fine and that we’re fine and adopting an overarching, “I am perfect as I am, namas-fucking-te” mantra isn’t actually helpful.

What’s the harm in me saying I have been shitty? That I have acted poorly? That I have neglected to be better when there was clearly a different option? That I wasn’t honestly showing myself to people when I could’ve or allowing them space in me?

That it’s… not nice? That just like the joke about my sister not being dead, it’s not comfortable to listen to? It’s true and it is compassionate to view yourself as a whole, to know yourself and think I actually do like myself and this life enough to want to be better.

Just like what is coined the unfortunate evening of Velour and Ambulances or the depression diagnosis or life being turned on it’s head by a plague sent from hell, once it was deeply painful and then it wasn’t. None of this is precious. Being a shitty person sometimes isn’t a rare affliction. You’ve been shitty before, you’ll do it again, I’ll do it again, hey, you might even be shitty right now! Isn’t that something? 

Things are not great right now. They’ve been not great tens of times before. Only this time it isn’t taking me 2 to 4 years to talk and laugh about it. Because this is a muscle, the shit muscle and it’s exercised. It’s buff. 

And you know what? Things could be worse. They could even get worse now! I’m hoping they don’t but they certainly could, and in the thick of it, we’ll always have that glimmering possibility to hold onto. 

[aewenaiyana]

now that Phoenix’s chemo is over, and it worked, you’d think i’d be happy. but now there is nothing but an unknown amount of time between me and the impossible decision--if it comes back --when-- it’s never totally gone-- I will have to decide NOT to do chemo again, because I can’t afford it--when I’m living at my parents’ house and can’t even afford my own place; because it stresses him out horribly, and because I’m too much of a loser to drive my own car 2 hours to a big city. my mom and my sister were gracious enough to do it but i can’t ask them to do it again. I just...could NOT not try to help him, when he has been so loving to me, given me so much, and I had to make the decision quickly while crying at the vet-- and i texted mom and she said she could do it except 1 time when she was away.... but I can’t ask it of them again... and again.... whenever the cancer comes back. and spending money i don’t have ... but how do i put a price on my beautiful little boy? price on his health, his life....  I could risk driving myself, after I’ve already caused 5 car accidents in a relatively small city-- maybe I could risk it if it was myself, but I’m risking his life-- I mean, his life is already in danger with cancer but... i’m not good at split second decisions and trucks scare me and .... idk how i could do it. even mom thought I couldn’t do it. there is something wrong with me, i can’t do things like normal people. too much of a loser to help my cat who i don’t deserve... i wish I could just shoot myself in the head and get it over with but I can’t with him here, and can’t with my family who ...I don’t deserve either. so.  life is impossible and everything is awful

and i somehow have to do stuff, lots, this weekend (lots for me--driving and walking dogs and feeding cats and nursery volunteer and dairy breakfast maybe-- that nasty dog that was biting at me today)

i wish there was a cancer center up here, for pets, but it is still too much

somehow i was able to afford it with my savings and care credit...

How can I decide NOT to give him chemo, something that will kill the cancer... temporarily.... idk how long it will be before it comes back. i can’t keep doing it.... it is hard for him even though he doesn’t have bad side effects.... 

but how can i not help him? decide to ... let him die...

he’s only 7

why did he get it

[the-almighty-caterpillar-blog]

Anxiety at it's finest is this: (WARNING, medical content that might make you uncomfortable)

Turning 19 a few months ago and needing a new primary care doctor because they kick you out at 19 (at least at my place). I'm terrified of making and taking phone calls, so I've been completely avoiding it at all costs. So, I get sick twice with pretty bad colds (I still have the cough from the second one, it never went away) and then all of a sudden about 2 weeks ago I develop a high fever, fatigue and chills/hot flashes--that's literally the only three things wrong with me (I'm not counting the cough)--and it like hasn't really been going away. And my parents aren't concerned because they think my dad gave it to me and it lasted a while (pretty sure it wasn't like two freaking weeks though). But my boyfriend, on the other hand, watched me get better slowly over the past two weeks and then watched me crash back down a few days ago. He's begging me to go to the hospital, but going into unfamiliar places with strange people around fills me with anxiety so I decline. He keeps begging me until I agree to go a week from yesterday. And I'm like "Okay I can get better without medical attention in a week." I said this yesterday.

And yesterday, we went to The House of Blues to see Within Temptation and In Flames (mostly In Flames because they're my bf's favorite band). So this other band called Smash to Pieces comes on amd they're pretty rad, but the vibrations from the heavier music was exhausting my body. And like after In Flames' act ended, (if any of you guys know In Flames they are HEAVY fucking metal) I'm like fucking dying and my boyfriend is like extremely worried and asked if I want to leave. I say no, because I literally paid for this entire trip as a present for him and I wanna get my damn money's worth. And the music is amazing so like, why go? We decide to leave early, around 10:30, because we didn't wanna miss the last train home and honestly my body was so bad. The train ride was soothing but everything else was NOT. I drive him home after we get my new car from the terminal's parking garage. We talk in the car for like 15 minutes minutes before my parents notoriously text the "Where are you?" text signalling I had to leave because they were gonna bitch me out when I got home. (I was doing my best to text them and tell them where we were and where we were going throughout the day, but it wasn't enough for them and I kept forgetting to text on the way home because all I could think about was how tired I was). Anyways I get home at 1:15 in the morning, they're pissed (even though before I left in the morning they predicted I would be home around 2) but they just let me go to my room because they're tired. I text my boyfriend I'm home, and pass out.

I wake up at around 4:45 in a cold sweat, like I had been for the last two weeks (I only am getting chills during the day and hot flashes at night, it's really weird, but I've been waking up every few hours drenched in sweat and needing to change my clothes. No joke.) And so I also discover when I stand up, I have to pee really bad. I go to the bathroom, and I'm peeing blood and it's very painful. Not like period blood, because my period just ended, like, UTI blood. And I'm horrified. For a few reasons.

I have frequent UTIs. I partly think it's because my nutritionist told me I needed to stop all the antibiotics I was taking for other medical issues that weren't as severe, like acne. And like I oblige because like she isn't wrong, the antibiotics were messing up my intestines. Unfortunately stress is the cause of my intestine problems mostly so nothing I've worked on at GI and the nutritionist has helped except maybe give me more energy (which is immediately drained by chronic depression). I have a theory that the antibiotics were helping prevent UTIs by killing the harmful bacteria before they caused an infection. And like I'm really clean down there, so it's not like that is much of an issue.

But my parents assume every time I get a UTI it's because I'm having sex with someone (the first one I ever got was from when I lost my virginity because I didn't know about the proper way to clean up after that, and I got scared and felt like I had to tell them about the sex) and they are Catholic (liberals who say they're okay with me making my own decisions, but still Catholics who say I can't have sex before marriage, and are angry that I'm agnostic.). So basically I'm hesitant to tell them when I have a UTI now until it's unbearble. At that point I might have had it for a week or maybe two, which all you ladies know can be dangerous due to the longer you wait for treatment, the more likely it will spread to the kidneys, which is life-threatening.

So to recap on the situation, I've been sick as fuck for like 2 weeks, I was sick before and probably should have gotten it checked out but instead took Robitussin and a lot of water. I went to a concert last night which madeit worse. Now I have a really bad UTI that basically sprung up over night and I NEED medical attention. I'm anxious about going to the hospital, I don't want to tell my parents because they'll yell at me for being a whore or some shit, and I'm really really anxious about calling up the place my coworker recommended me to go.

And I like looked up the place and everything, I have their number ready to go. But like...anxiety man. When it gets so bad you have a chance to put your life at risk.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (106/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[17 February, 233 Before Age.     Hubler IV.]

Ryloth Windraker's office was as inviting and friendly as the man himself.   Whenever a client entered, Ryloth greeted him with a warm smile, a firm handshake, and a hearty pat on the back as he led them to a comfortable-but-professional-looking chair in front of his expensive-but-practical-looking desk.   After several interminable minutes of small talk about the client's family and various vacation plans, he would finally ask how he could send the client home with a smile on his face.    

"I should like to hire a mercenary," Dr. Topsas said frankly.   His arachnoid frame was too large and ill-suited for a chair designed for humanoids, so he simply stood next to it while he spoke.   "As my mouth is anatomically incapable of smiling, I fear that does not truly answer your question, but it does state my business plainly enough."

"Yes, of course, Doctor Saspot," Ryloth said.   "It's easy to forget just how diverse the galaxy is.    Putting a smile on your face is just an expression I use for making the customer happy.   I'd change it to something else... but then I'd have to order new stationary!"  

He laughed at his own joke, which Topsas found profoundly irritating.   "You do arrange contracts for this sort of thing, yes?" he asked.  

"Yes!  Oh, yes we do," Ryloth said with a chuckle.   "Well, officially speaking I have other people arrange that for me.    Keeps certain parties from asking too many questions.   Let me just take a look at my records.... Now you'll have to bear with me, our computer system is acting kind of slow today..."

"By all means, take your time, Mr. Windraker," Topsas said.  

"What sort of military solution did you need, Doctor?" Ryloth asked.  

"It's something of a real estate matter," Topsas said.   "And there is a bit of a personal grudge, so I'm reluctant to wait for the courts to settle it."

"Keeping your options open, is that it?" Ryloth suggested.  

"Something like that," Topsas said.  

"Something like that?" Ryloth repeated.   Topsas genuinely had no idea how to respond to this, so he waited quietly for Ryloth's computer to catch up.  

"So what I have here is probably a good fit for your needs," Ryloth began.    "He comes highly rated by past contractors, and he should be available starting..."

He stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity.   Topsas began to wonder if the poor man had suffered a stroke.   Why wouldn't he finish his sentence?   Why had he started speaking when he didn't know the information he was trying to communicate?    He hadn't even asked Topsas when he would need the man, so why was he keeping him in suspense on his schedule?    What especially galled Topsas about Windraker was that conventional wisdom would hold this man up as an example of a "great communicator."    Except most of what he said and did was pointless showmanship and had nothing whatsoever to do with conveying information the other party wanted.  

"Do you have any warrior species in your files?" Topsas finally asked.   There was no point in waiting to broach the subject.

"You prefer them, Doctor?" Ryloth asked.  

"I find them to be very sympathetic to matters of honor, Mr. Windraker," Topsas replied.   "There may be more professional soldiers in your ranks, and many others with greater technical expertise, but I like to establish an emotional connection with the people I hire.     It helps to make it about more than just money."

"I understand," Ryloth said firmly, though Topsas strongly doubted that.   As he pulled up more records, he launched into a lengthy anecdote which had more to do with his family's history with appliance repair than anything remotely connected to the matter at hand.   "Now, I do have the Thundertoads open for next month.    They're very formidable.   Have you heard of them?"

Topsas had dissected a Thundertoad cadaver in pre-med, but he saw no point in volunteering that information.   "I was thinking of something... stronger, Mr. Windraker.   Perhaps a Saiyan or two."

"A... Saiyan?" Ryloth asked.  

"A friend of mine once told me that you had arranged contracts with Saiyan mercenaries in the past.    I was told to ask for a Mr. Jolok, if he was still in the business."

"Jolok?" Ryloth repeated.  "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while.   You have to understand, Dr. Saspot, that the market hasn't been good for Saiyans lately."

"And why is that?" Topsas asked innocently.    "It was my impression that violence was a key component of their culture."

"That's true," Ryloth said, "but there's been a lot of scrutiny surrounding Saiyans ever since an internal dispute broke out.    You've heard of the Legendary Super Saiyan, haven't you?   Well, she's been aggressively pursuing any Saiyan she can find, hoping to track down their missing king."

"I don't have much interest in alien politics, Mr. Windraker," Topsas said.  

"Yes, well the bottom line is that Sayians are radioactive right now," Ryloth explained.   "You might as well be asking me to sell you two hundred pounds of weapons-grade actinium.   At least that way you wouldn't have the Super Saiyan looking over your shoulder."

"What business is it of hers?" Topsas asked.  

"It's not a matter of jurisdiction, Doctor," Ryloth tried to explain.    "You see it's..." There was another long pause, which Topsas found doubly-annoying, since he already understood what the man was struggling to say.    "Okay, so... If you had a Saiyan mercenary, and word got out about him, sooner or later she'd come after him, and if he managed to give her the slip, then she'd probably start following the money, shaking down whoever paid the guy.   Now I don't want that kind of attention, and I don't think you want that kind of attention."

"Quite so," Topsas said, "which is why you have others to make those kinds of arrangements for you.   That is what you said, is it not?"

"Well, er, yes, I see what you're driving at," Ryloth replied.    "But I don't think--"

"Mr. Windraker, I have a great deal of money to spend on this venture, and I believe that the wisest investment would be on a Saiyan warrior," Topsas said.  "If they prefer to work discreetly, so much the better.   Now if you are unable or unwilling to put me in contact with a suitable candidate, then I respect your decision.   Perhaps it might be best if your intermediaries were to contact me directly.    There would be no risk to your own business, though you would also receive none of the reward."

Ryloth seemed duly impressed by this, and  held out his hands to concede the point.   "All right, all right, Doctor, I see where you're going with this.   If you're willing to accept the potential consequences, then I might be able to help you out.   A lot of Saiyans have gone into hiding though.   The one you were asking about, Jolok, was killed in the Quadzityz War.   Even so, I know some people who know some people, and they could put you in contact with some Saiyans, but it won't be cheap to get them involved."

"As I said, Mr. Windraker," Topsas answered, "I am prepared to pay handsomely, though I should like to see some proof to support your claims."

Ryloth nodded and turned back to his computer.    "You'll have it," he said.   "I'm putting together a file of all the Saiyans that my people can reach, and how to get ahold of them.   Of course, you'd still need me to make those arrangements.   They won't just agree to meet with an unsolicited client.   It's too dangerous."

"Naturally," Topsas said.   "I appreciate your cooperation on these matters."

Ryloth finished creating his file and handed a portable data unit to Topsas.   "Now you don't need to make a decision right away," he said.   "Look it over and decide which ones you'd like, and I'll see about setting up payments."  

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Topsas said.    "You see, I've already decided which ones to contact."

Ryloth was about to ask whom Topsas had chosen, when suddenly a blue humanoid with red hair appeared beside him, aiming a firearm at Ryloth's head.  

"We'll want to speak with all of them, Mr. Windraker," Zatte said.   "There won't be much of a finder's fee in it for you, but if you cooperate, we can make sure the Saiyans don't find out it was you who led us to them."

Ryloth looked at them both, then slowly raised his hands in surrender.

*******

[18 February, 233 Before Age.   Toblerone Prime.]

Guwar was a mathematician by trade, but he was also a Saiyan warrior, and like most Saiyans, he was frustrated by the lack of good battles to fight ever since the Super Saiyan Luffa began cracking down on Saiyan activity.   Eager to change his fortunes, he had joined forces with two other Saiyans, Lesseri and Endive, to pursue a rumored power that would make them all stronger.   The technique, known only as "Jindan", was thought to have some ties to alchemy, so most of their progress had been achieved with the help of Treekul, an alien historian specializing in alchemical artifacts and ancient texts.   Guwar had been pleased to find that his skills in differential equations had been helpful to the geomantic calculations she used to locate items and sites relevant to their quest.   As the weakest Saiyan on the team, he liked having some way to make himself indispensable, just in case his partners decided to start trimming dead wood.    

Together, Guwar and Treekul had managed to trace the secret of Jindan to a pair of ancient artifacts: a scroll of formulae written by a legendary alchemist, and a copper retort inscribed with sigils and runes.    Both contained elements of the alchemical theory upon which Jindan was based.  Guwar wasn't entirely sure how this could be, but he trusted Treekul's geomantic ability to trace modern mysticism to the ancient teachings that inspired it.   While recovering these artifacts, Lesseri had made another discovery.   Another Saiyan, a man named Salziff, had tried to  obtain them for himself.    Was he after the Jindan secret too?   What had he found out?  

Guwar was more concerned with how they would find Salziff, and how they would convince him to tell them anything.   Lesseri was confident that they would have no trouble with either.    Since Salziff wanted the scroll and retort rather badly, she reasoned that Salziff would be eager to arrange a meeting.    As for getting Salziff to talk, Lesseri was even more confident of her answer to that one.    

"There's three of us, and one of him," she had told Guwar after slamming her left fist into her right palm.    "You and Treekul will take the goods with you to meet with him, while Endive and I scout the area for any tricks.    If he tries anything funny, we'll gang up on him, and beat him until he begs to tell us what we want to know."

Guwar found her plan somewhat glib.   Of the four of them, he alone had met Salziff, and he knew the man to be devious.     No matter how desperate Salziff was for the retort and scroll, Guwar was certain that Salziff would find some way to take what he wanted while giving as little as possible in exchange.    As they rode and elevator to Salziff's apartment, Treekul listened patiently while Guwar tried to warn her about Salziff's guile.    

"You have to give Lesseri some credit," Treekul said.   "We put that ad on the subspace network, and he responded to it immediately.  'As soon as possible,' the message said.    The guy really wants what we've got."

"Maybe so," Guwar said, "but if I know Salziff, he picked this meeting location very carefully.    He's got something up his sleeve.   I don't know what it is, but I'm sure he's mapped out three or four escape routes to use once he gets ahold of the scroll and retort."

"Why would he try to escape?" Treekul asked.   "As far as he knows, it's just you and me coming to meet him, and you said he was stronger than you.   He's probably planning to beat you up and take what he wants."

"Maybe," Guwar said, "but he'd be a fool to assume that we're coming alone just because we told him we would.   He may not be expecting us to have backup, but he'll still be prepared for it.  Just follow my lead."  Guwar handed her a handheld communicator.    "If we run into trouble, signal the others with this."

Treekul shrugged and clipped the device to her belt, then she removed the backpack she was carrying to take out the scroll and retort that were stored inside.   "If we're so worried about this guy," she said, "maybe it wasn't such a great idea to bring these things with us."

"And leave them on the ship with no one to guard them?" Guwar asked.   "No, that'd be playing right into Salziff's hands.    This way, we look vulnerable, so if he tries to take advantage of us, Lesseri and Endive can swoop in and stop him."

"I thought you said he'd be expecting us to have backup," Treekul said.   "Is being a Saiyan always this complicated?"

The elevator door opened and Guwar let out an annoyed groan as they stepped out into the hall.   

"Right, sorry.   Follow your lead," Treekul said.   "Got it."

They arrived at the door number Salziff had specified, and Guwar knocked four times, as Salziff had instructed.   There was no answer.  

"Where is he?" Guwar wondered aloud.  

"Maybe he went out and lost track of time," Treekul suggested.   "No, wait, he might be putting the finishing touches on some deathtrap."

She leaned in and put her ear against the door to try to hear what was going on inisde, and then she looked up at Guwar with a puzzled expression.  

"What?" he asked.   "What is it?"

"It sounds like snoring," she said.  

Guwar put his own ear to the door to hear for himself.    It did indeed sound like snoring.   He pounded on the door again, and this time, he didn't bother keeping count.    

"Salziff!" he shouted.   "Wake up or I'll break down the door!"

Treekul listened again.    "He's not snoring at least," she said.    

"Then why isn't he coming to get the door?" Guwar asked.   They hadn't even started yet, and he was already fed up with Salziff's games.

"Wait, I can hear... it sounds like he's coming this way," Treekul said.    "Not really footsteps.   More like he's shuffling across the floor very slowly."

"Shuffling?" Guwar asked, but before Treekul could explain further, they heard the door being unlocked from the inside.   A moment later, the door opened, but only by enough to let the occupant see Treekul and Guwar outside.    

"Is that you, Guwar?" he asked.   Guwar could recognize Salziff's voice, but it sounded weak and hoarse.    

"That's right," Guwar replied.

"Who's she?" Salziff asked.  

"She's with me," Guwar answered curtly as he took Treekul's backpack and opened it.

"You have the retort?"

"Yeah."

"And the scroll?"

Guwar held them up for Salziff to see.   "Look can we come in?" he asked.   It's been a long trip, and my lady friend is tired.  

The door slowly opened, allowing the light from the hall to reveal the Saiyan, or what was left of him.    He looked pale and sickly.   His hair had turned white, and some of it had fallen out.   A thin layer of stubble lined his jaw and upper lip, perfectly framing his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.  

"Come on in," Salziff muttered.   He turned and led them inside, shuffling across the floor in a pair of slippers.  The only other clothes he wore was a pair of linen shorts.    It disturbed Guwar to be able to see the outline of Salziff's ribs under the skin of his back.

"Hey, Guwar," Treekul whispered as she elbowed his arm to get his attention.    "What's up with this guy?  I thought you told me Saiyans don't age for most of their lives.   So how old does that make him?"

"He didn't look like this the last time I met him," Guwar murmured back to her.   "As far as I know, he's two years younger than me."

"Yikes," Treekul said through gritted teeth.    When Salziff turned to face them so that he could collapse into his recliner, she tried to make her grimace look like a friendly smile, though Guwar doubted that it was worth the effort.   Salziff seemed to be too weary to care what anyone thought of his appearance.  

"Well, you're here," Salziff said as he stared down at his feet.   "You've got what I want, and you knew that I wanted them, so that means I must have something you want in exchange.   Name your price.   I'm in no position to haggle."

Guwar's first instinct was to suspect a trap.   This was all too easy, and too suspicious by half.   He didn't know how or why Salziff looked the way he did, but Guwar had learned a long time ago never to take things at face value.    It was much easier to believe that Salziff was only feigning weakness for some reason.  

Then Salziff began to cough, and he kept on coughing.    He reached for a box of tissues and continued coughing, until at last he expelled something from his mouth.    Guwar couldn't tell what it was, but he noticed a trickle of blood on Salziff's dry, cracked lips after he threw the tissue away.  

It was then that Guwar realized that he rather hoped this was some kind of trick.    He never liked Salziff, but the idea of him really wasting away like this was horrifying to contemplate.

"All I want is information," Guwar said.  

"Good for you," Salziff said.   "That's about... about all I have these days.   T-tell you everything I know."

He began to cough again, and Guwar was grateful that it didn't last nearly as long as the last time.    

"First, I want to know why you want these trinkets," Guwar said, gesturing at the retort in his hand and the scroll in Treekul's.  

"I'm dying," Salziff said bluntly.    "I think they can save my life."

"How?" Treekul asked.

"I don't know," Salziff said.   "The man who owned them, he could tell you."

"He's dead," Guwar said.   He wondered if telling Salziff that was a good idea, but the severity of Salziff's condition was throwing off his negotiation skills.

"Then so am I," Salziff said after a long pause.   "Guess you didn't need to bring those things with you after all."

Guwar pointed at Treekul.   "The woman knows a thing or two about this stuff.   Maybe she can do something for you."

"I doubt that very much," Salziff said.    He didn't bother looking at Treekul.    "No offense, babe.   If we'd met a few months ago, I would have been happy to make your acquaintance.  These days... well, I just don't have the stamina."

Treekul ignored his comment.    "You're right, I probably don't know enough to help you," she said.   "I'm an alchemical historian, not an alchemist.   But I have some contacts.   Maybe I can put you in touch with someone else who can figure out how to use these."

"I don't have time for 'someone else'," Salziff said.    He stopped to catch his breath.    "I didn't have time when I went to Quadzityz to beg Dorf Portendav for his help, but he was the only one I could find who had any experience in prolonging life and restoring vitality.   He is... was... a hundred years older than he looked, you know.  There's other people who claim to do what he's done, but he's definitely done it.   But he wouldn't lift a finger for me.   Too bad... maybe if he'd cooperated with me, he wouldn't have run into you guys and gotten himself killed."

He started coughing again, and he reached for another tissue.   When he was finished with it, he tried to put some force behind it as he tossed it into the trash, though it was hard to tell the difference.   "Serves him right, that stingy bastard," Salziff said.    "Wanted to be immortal, well look how far you got.   Couldn't even outlive me.    Me, I just wanted to live long enough to see another worthy battlefield.    Guess that won't be happening now."

"What did this to you, Salziff?" Guwar asked.    

"Performance enhancing drugs, to start with," Salziff said with a weak sniffle.   "I wanted to get stronger, but I didn't want to train, and I couldn't find enough action out in space.   Things were peaceful enough before the Super Saiyan started this crackdown, you know?"

"I've never heard of any PED's that could do this much damage to a body," Guwar said.  

"Then you haven't looked as hard as I have," Salziff said with a laugh.    "Too busy sticking your nose in those math books, Guwar.  Maybe you're better off, now that I think about it.   Pharmaceuticals weren't getting the job done, so I started looking into the black market.   A lot of it's snake oil, but some of it really works... for a while, anyway.    Before I knew what I'd done, I'd managed to screw myself over pretty badly.   I had to use most of my ki just to keep myself alive."

Guwar and Treekul exchanged a look.  Lesseri had been floating outside the apartment window for several minutes now, charging a ki blast aimed at Salziff's chair.    If he noticed her presence at all, he never acknowledged it.   Either his ki senses had faltered along with the rest of his body, or he simply didn't care whether Lesseri killed him or not.   Guwar nodded at Treekul, who pressed a button on a communicator hanging from her belt.    A few minutes later, Lesseri and Endive answered her signal, and stepped inside the room.

"He's dying," Guwar explained to them.   "I don't think he knows anything, but even if he did, we can't really force it out of him."

"Oh..." Salziff said when he finally saw the other two women.    "I had you figured all wrong, Guwar.   You're pretty popular with the ladies, after all."

"Never mind that," Lesseri said as she stepped towards his chair.    "What do you know about Jindan, old man?"

"Jindan?" Salziff said with a gasp.    "Don't tell me that's what you all wanted from me."

"We simply wish to get stronger, Salziff," Endive said in a crisp, even tone.   "Just as you did."

"If that's what you three want," Salziff said with a weak cough, "then you'll take my advice and forget you ever heard of Jindan."  

"You're saying it doesn't work?" Lesseri asked.  

"What I'm saying," he said before another coughing spell came over him.    "What I'm saying is that it isn't worth it.    Look at me, woman.   I'm younger than Guwar, but look at me now.   Is this how you want to end up?"

"Then you have used it," Lesseri said.   "And everyone who does ends up like you?"

Salziff looked away from Lesseri, and shook his head.   She grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him out of his chair.    

A trickle of excrement spilled from his shorts.  Guwar winced at the smell.

"Tell me!" Lesseri demanded.   "You're not so close to death that I can't make you suffer before you go!"

Endive stepped in to stop her.    "Lesseri, this is pointless," she said.   "We still have the scroll.    Treekul can find another lead to Jindan with that."

"Back off, Endive," Lesseri growled.   "This guy's seen what we're after.   He's been there, and he can tell us everything we need right now.    But he won't talk, and that makes me upset..."

Suddenly, Salziff made a strange noise.    At first, Guwar wasn't sure what it was.    He had never spent much time around the sick, and so for a moment he wondered if it was a special noise people made before they died.   Then he saw a thin smile on Salziff's face, and he realized that it was laughter, or the closest thing to laughter that Salziff could muster.  

"Oh what the hell?" Salziff said.   "You four won't take no for an answer, so what do I care if you ruin your lives?   I'll talk.   I won't bore you with the whole story, but I'll get you where you need to go."

Lesseri set him back in his chair and crossed her arms impatiently.  Salziff took a moment to compose himself, and finally said the word: "Mundokuul."

"What is that?" Endive asked.  

"It's where I went to contact the Jindan cult," he said.  "They have their own planet, but I don't know where it is, or what it's called.   No one does.   You go to Mundokuul, and they take you the rest of the way.   If you're worthy, that is."

"Go on," Lesseri said.  

"Well there's not much more to say, is there?" Salziff said.   "There's a ritual, but you'll see that for yourselves.   You'll rue the day you heard my name, but when it's over, you'll receive the power of Jindan.    And you'll be stronger.... Yes, you'll be so much stronger than you've ever been.   Oh, it's glorious..."

"Then what went wrong?"  Guwar asked.    "What's the catch?"

Salziff turned and stared at the window, as though trying to look at the stars in the sky.   The curtains were drawn, and so if this was his intention, he had to satisfy himself with the gesture instead of the view.  

"The cult is the catch," he finally said.    "They don't give that kind of power away for free.    You accept it from them, and they own you, body and soul.   Step out of line, and they take it back, only you're not quite the same when that happens.   The Jindan power merges with your own, and after a while, it's no so easy to separate them.   So if you make them mad, and they decide to take back what they gave you, they end up tearing away a piece of what you started with.    That's why I'm dying.   My health was shot before I went to Mundokuul, and Jindan made me strong enough to recuperate, but I couldn't follow their rules, and when they took Jindan away from me, they took with it some of my own strength, leaving me too weak to keep my body from falling apart."

Guwar looked at Lesseri and Endive, who looked back at him, and then each other.   There was a grim silence in the room as the Saiyans considered what they had just heard.   Then Salziff started to cough again.    By the time he stopped, there were tears running down his face.  

"I grew up with my great grandfather," Salziff said.    "He told me all sorts of crap.   Used to knock me around when I wouldn't listen.   I just thought he was a foolish old man.   Now I look older than him, and I finally see where he was coming from.    I thought he just liked bossing me around, but he was trying to warn me.     He just wanted to make sure I didn't make the same mistakes he used to make.    He told me how nothing in life is free.   If it doesn't cost money, then it takes hard work, and if it's not either of those things, then it must be something else they want, like your freedom, or your health, or your soul.  I wish I had listened to him now.    He wasn't such a bad... such a bad guy.    Wish he was here... so I could tell him I'm sorry...  Sorry that I didn't listen, pop.   But maybe you three will listen.    It's not worth it.   Please, it's just not worth it..."

But the four visitors had already left.     He rambled on anyway, oblivious to his solitude, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

*******

[18 February, 233 Before Age.  Interstellar space.]

Aboard Luffa's star-yacht, Luffa herself appeared on the main video display at the fore of the bridge.   At first, when she had answered their subspace communication in a bad mood, mostly due to the passenger accommodations on the transport ship she was currently aboard.   Apparently whoever had designed the seats had not considered humanoids with tails, but as she listened to Zatte's account of Dr. Topsas' performance, her expression brightened considerably.  

"You should have seen him," Zatte said.   "For a while there I thought he really was looking to hire a Saiyan mercenary.   I was beginning to think he might storm out of Ryloth's office in a huff if he didn't give him one."

"I took an acting course at university," Topsas said.   "It helps when the role isn't terribly challenging.   To play a pushy, entitled customer, I only need to think back on so many of the patients I have encountered in my career as a doctor.   Demanding a Saiyan is not so different from demanding prescription painkillers."

"He's just being modest," Zatte said.   "He was amazing.   You would have been proud."

"I was already proud of Doc," Luffa said.    "I only sent you along in case he got too rough with Ryloth."

"For your information, I am only 'rough' on persons who fail to keep their appointments," Topsas said.   "There is one I could mention, whose wife has told me of all manner of old injuries which really ought to be examined by a physician."   He raised one of his eight limbs, and revealed a small data drive held in his fingers.     "I was hoping that I might use Mr. Windraker’s Saiyan contact list to lure her back to my care."

"So that's it, huh?" Luffa said.  "You two are ganging up on me now?"

"Hey, he just asked me how you've been," Zatte said.   "It's not my fault that you keep getting into fights and picking up strange diseases."

"All right, Doc, I'll turn myself in," Luffa said, "but I want you to look at someone else first."

"You mean that fortuneteller you told me about?" Zatte asked.   "You're bringing her back with you?"

Luffa nodded.   "Zatte probably already told you, Doc, but Jolok had a defense against telepathic attacks.   He called it the Mindworm, and it did a number on me, but he said that he tested it out first by tricking a fortuneteller into trying to read his mind.   Her name's Dotz, by the way.    I managed to bring her out of her coma, but she's still having trouble shaking off the effects.  I thought maybe you could do something for her."

"Brought her out of her coma?" Topsas repeated.    "I wasn't aware punching and screaming had any therapeutic value."

"Oh, they do wonders for me," Luffa said, "but for Dotz, I used my telepathy to go inside her head and fight off the Mindworm for her."

He stroked his pedipalps thoughtfully with his forward left hand.   "Impressive," he said.   "I didn't realize your powers could be used to heal."

"You should see what she can do for birds," Zatte said.

"Very well," Topsas said.   "I've waited this long to give you a checkup, little mammal.   I suppose I can take the time to see too your friend first."

"Good," Luffa said.  "We're on a transport ship bound for the Lubegev System.    You can meet us there.   I don't know anything about the local cuisine, but we'll figure something out for dinner."

"That's fine, Luffa," Zatte said as she and Topsas exchanged puzzled looks.   "But why there?   What's in the Lubegev System?"

"Nothing... yet," Luffa said.   "But after I got Dotz out of her coma, she had a vision."  Her lips curled into an excited grin.   "It wasn't much, but if she's right, there's going to be a Saiyan attack on Lubegev in three days.   I thought I'd drop by, and if any Saiyans do show up, I could give them a proper welcome..."

NEXT: The Pause at the Threshold.

[nekolatte]

Rating: Explicit Fandoms: Castlevania (Netflix Series) Relationship: Alucard/Trevor Belmont Chapter: 1 of ?? Summary: Trevor and Alucard play a game. The longer it goes on, the more neither is sure who’s losing.

“You need to stop taking blood from Sypha.” Alucard took his time to lift his head and make eye contact with Trevor, gaze piercing in a way that still set the last Belmont heir on edge. But he no longer stiffened and prepared for a fight, able to keep a neutral expression through their clipped interactions, despite the childish quips that always came to mind. “Is she ill?” There was genuine concern in Alucard’s tone, and Trevor wanted to punch him in the face for acting something close to human. It was irritating. “No, but she can be, easily. You know this.” There had been so much arguing that first night, with Alucard playing both sides, because he was spineless that way. Human enough to care, but vampire enough to need the stable food source. In the end, Sypha and Alucard decided she would cut herself and let the blood spill into a cup for their resident vampire to feed. No danger of poison, of Alucard taking more than he needed, or of her accidentally becoming ensnared in his wiles. Which Trevor argued that, yes, it definitely was a thing. And Alucard, the bastard, refused to comment. Only, Sypha was getting used to the pain, and cut just a bit deeper than before to fill the cup quicker each time. No one else seemed to notice, but Trevor did. Each cut risked infection, considering their lifestyle, and each careless swipe could spill more than intended. Sypha needed to remember what the pain felt like, and for that she needed to stop doing it. But Alucard still needed to feed. “Then what, Belmont, do you propose we do?” If it was up to Trevor, and Trevor alone, Alucard could fuck right off and die in a hole somewhere. But he had considered the problem, and hadn’t just barged into Alucard’s quiet hour of contemplation for his lively company. “There was word of mouth, once, of a vampire coven that fed primarily off the blood of animals.” He paused and waited for a reaction, but Alucard merely blinked at him in that eerie way of his. Then again, everything Alucard did was eerie. Except this was worse, as Trevor was forced to stand there and wait for any sign of understanding in the vampire’s stupidly placid face. Seconds trickled, and Trevor grew annoyed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut. “Do you knowー” “I am well aware of the implications you are making, Belmont.” Now Alucard looked bored, golden eyes rolling ever so slightly, because such an act was uncouth for a gentleman of his stature to ever do. Or whatever went on in that head of his. Probably nothing but posh and pomp. “But what I was waiting for was a concrete plan. Even you must be aware of the fate of those vampires.” Trevor shrugged, not really caring. “I’m not saying take up the lifestyle, but Sypha needs a break.” “Did she say this herself,” and Alucard folded one long leg over the other, abandoning his book in favor of the conversation. Which seemed to amuse him, if the tilt to his tone was anything to go by, “or have you taken it upon yourself to control her decisions for her? You should be well aware, far better than I, what her opinions on that would be.” Oh, Trevor was well aware that this could all blow up in his face. Maybe even literally. But Sypha was bull-headed and stubborn. Only someone with reckless ambition would go searching through prophesied-guarded tunnels alone. She could have taken at least one person to help keep watch for any dangers, even if they didn’t have the powers she hadー but what had she done instead? If Trevor was going to be forced as the voice of reason in this ridiculous group, then he was going to take it seriously. “I know what she’ll think, but her irritation with me is the least of my concerns. The Speakers spoke of three, not two and one scholar too weak to stand. You’ve seen the careless way she’s been getting.” Alucard pursed his lips, and Trevor knew he was making leeway. “Though I still have my doubts, she believes you would never bleed her dry. So if she hears this from you, she will be more likely to listen and reason it’s the wisest choice for the time being. When the scars fade, and she wants to support you again, I won’t comment on it.” For a breathless, stretching moment, Alucard seemed more statue than man, staring at Trevor as one would an anomaly they didn’t particularity understand. His head tilted one way, and his hair fell in slow, rolling waves off his shoulder. It caught the sunlight and glistened, and for a momentary lapse, Trevor imagined slipping his fingers through the strands. He glared at the vampire in disdain when Alucard smirked, as if having seen the thought personally. For all Trevor knew, he hadー who the hell knew what kind of powers the son of Dracula could have; he certainly wasn’t forthcoming about them. “You’ve actually put thought into this…” “Don’t sound so fucking surprised.” Alucard laughed, amused, and waved the comment away. He turned to the window, giving Trevor a view of his exposed neck.

A single daggerー it wouldn’t be enough to kill, not right away, but certainly weaken him quickly enough to pull another dagger and stab it through the vampire’s heart. Trevor turned off that part of his brain for now. “I cannot live on animal blood alone, or else we will be back at the prophesied two and the one too weak to stand. I have a…proposition.” Trevor cringed at what was to come, because it was obvious, but he could remain ignorant for just a moment longer. “And what would that be?” Alucard’s eyes wandered across their shared room at the roadside inn they stopped at for the afternoon. They would be heading out soonー to fight and help who they couldー but for now they rested and recuperated. They planned their next move in finding Dracula’s castle. In Sypha’s case: she was downstairs with other occupants of the inn, helping spread the knowledge of how to protect oneself from Dracula’s horde, adding encouragement and hope with every other word. Trevor was meant to be there alongside her, supporting her silently. Because while the Belmonts were still, technically, excommunicated, there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that he knew how to fight and drive away these monsters. The people may not like him, and he made no effort to change that, but they believed in his abilities. And it irritated Trevor that Alucard did nothing but read while he was forced to mingle. But he knew, intellectually, Alucard was searching for the castle in text and tomes. A hint. A guiding point they could follow, instead of wandering all across Wallachia with no real heading. That didn’t mean Trevor still didn’t think it was lazy of him to stay in the room, leisurely and lounging. “Have you played chess before, Belmont?” Trevor was so taken aback by the question he took an actual step back, blinking in confusion at the vampire as if he materialized from nothing, though Trevor was well aware he had been staring at angular features, cascading hair, and soft, sweeping lashes the entire time. As if having been caught doing something he shouldn’t, a blush threatened to form across his cheeks. It was only through sheer force of willpower and lack of shame did Trevor hold back. “Uh…” he responded eloquently, and Alucard chuckledー a predatory glint in his eyes. “Come on, Belmont. Let’s play; I’ll even teach you.” His voice was like smoky, warm tendrils, and Trevor regained enough of his scattered brain to frown. “Every time you win, I will drink your animal’s blood without complaint. Everytime I win, I drink from you. Directly. I will be kind enough to allow you to choose where I bite.” Trevor wanted to explain to Alucard how incredibly stupid, and rude, the vampire wasー but managed to refrain. Only just. He set both palms on his hips, a cocksure grin on his stubbled face. “Sure, how hard can it be?”

[almostnoisydonut]

𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓣𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓣𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮

Distracted driving has become a major public health risk across the world. With the popularity of smartphones and other devices, rivers now have more temptation than ever to take their eyes off the road. In addition to the food and drink, children, pets, passengers, and other common distractors that have always been present, drivers are now distracted by smartphones, navigation programs, and in-vehicle entertainment systems.

These distractors have led to a plague of distracted driving. In fact, it is such a problem that some agencies have all started campaigns against distracted driving. Spreading awareness is an important step toward combating this fatal behavior. Ultimately, however, it is up to individual drivers to accept responsibility for safe driving behaviors. What follows are the reasons why you should never text while driving. Read on to learn the top reasons not to drive from experienced auto accident attorneys.

The most important reason not to text and drive is the simple fact that it often kills people. This is not a remote possibility or an infrequent occurrence. There are approximately eight people are killed every day by distracted drivers. With large population and number of dangerous highways, there is a large share of distracted driving deaths. The simple, indisputable fact is that distracted driving kills. We all take steps every day to prevent harming others, and avoiding texting while driving is a simple behavior proven to save lives.

If you cause an accident where someone is injured or killed, law enforcement can use cell phone records as evidence that you were texting and driving at the time of the crash. Deleting the texts won't matter; most officers will go straight to your cell phone service provider for records that show texts were sent and received.

If you haven't caused an accident but an officer pulls you over on suspicion of texting while driving, the law isn't quite as clear on whether they can seize your phone and search your texts. Consenting to the search does make it legal — and some drivers even offer the phone to prove they weren't texting. However, if you don't consent, a police officer most likely can’t search your phone unless you are arrested or he/she obtains a warrant.

You think your auto insurance premium is too expensive now? Just wait until your insurance company finds out that you have received a citation for texting and driving! If texting and driving is included in the police report for an accident or wreck for which you are held responsible, you’ll notice an even more significant rate increase. In some cases, you policy might be dropped completely. 

Transporting other human beings in your vehicle is a tremendous responsibility, on that many young drivers take lightly. Sending or reading a text message while driving puts your passengers’ lives at a significantly higher risk of being involved in an accident while riding in your vehicle. Could you live with the knowledge that your decision to pick up your phone while operating a vehicle caused someone to suffer a life-altering injury or be killed? 

Distracted drivers must be held accountable for the injuries they cause. By filing a car accident claim, you not only protect your legal right to compensation for your losses but also discourage other drivers from texting and driving. This can save lives.

Many technologies can reduce the risk of using your phone while driving. Voice-to-text features can help you send messages. Hands-free options can use earbuds or Bluetooth. Many newer vehicles have Bluetooth to automatically connect your phone to the car’s audio system when you enter the vehicle. These systems can dramatically reduce the risk of using a phone while driving.

If you simply cannot resist the urge to check your text messages (or take a call) while driving, take the time to pull off of the roadway and park your vehicle before picking up your cell phone. Remember: red lights and stop signs are not safe places to check you cell phone. Find a parking lot, or pull over at a safe location on the side of the road. 

Call an experienced car accident lawyer who will fight hard to protect your legal right to receive compensation for all of your injuries and losses, past and future.

[orbemnews]

The Robots Are Coming for Phil in Accounting The robots are coming. Not to kill you with lasers, or beat you in chess, or even to ferry you around town in a driverless Uber. These robots are here to merge purchase orders into columns J and K of next quarter’s revenue forecast, and transfer customer data from the invoicing software to the Oracle database. They are unassuming software programs with names like “Auxiliobits — DataTable To Json String,” and they are becoming the star employees at many American companies. Some of these tools are simple apps, downloaded from online stores and installed by corporate I.T. departments, that do the dull-but-critical tasks that someone named Phil in Accounting used to do: reconciling bank statements, approving expense reports, reviewing tax forms. Others are expensive, custom-built software packages, armed with more sophisticated types of artificial intelligence, that are capable of doing the kinds of cognitive work that once required teams of highly-paid humans. White-collar workers, armed with college degrees and specialized training, once felt relatively safe from automation. But recent advances in A.I. and machine learning have created algorithms capable of outperforming doctors, lawyers and bankers at certain parts of their jobs. And as bots learn to do higher-value tasks, they are climbing the corporate ladder. The trend — quietly building for years, but accelerating to warp speed since the pandemic — goes by the sleepy moniker “robotic process automation.” And it is transforming workplaces at a pace that few outsiders appreciate. Nearly 8 in 10 corporate executives surveyed by Deloitte last year said they had implemented some form of R.P.A. Another 16 percent said they planned to do so within three years. Most of this automation is being done by companies you’ve probably never heard of. UiPath, the largest stand-alone automation firm, is valued at $35 billion — roughly the size of eBay — and is slated to go public later this year. Other companies like Automation Anywhere and Blue Prism, which have Fortune 500 companies like Coca-Cola and Walgreens Boots Alliance as clients, are also enjoying breakneck growth, and tech giants like Microsoft have recently introduced their own automation products to get in on the action. Executives generally spin these bots as being good for everyone, “streamlining operations” while “liberating workers” from mundane and repetitive tasks. But they are also liberating plenty of people from their jobs. Independent experts say that major corporate R.P.A. initiatives have been followed by rounds of layoffs, and that cutting costs, not improving workplace conditions, is usually the driving factor behind the decision to automate. Craig Le Clair, an analyst with Forrester Research who studies the corporate automation market, said that for executives, much of the appeal of R.P.A. bots is that they are cheap, easy to use and compatible with their existing back-end systems. He said that companies often rely on them to juice short-term profits, rather than embarking on more expensive tech upgrades that might take years to pay for themselves. “It’s not a moonshot project like a lot of A.I., so companies are doing it like crazy,” Mr. Le Clair said. “With R.P.A., you can build a bot that costs $10,000 a year and take out two to four humans.” Covid-19 has led some companies to turn to automation to deal with growing demand, closed offices, or budget constraints. But for other companies, the pandemic has provided cover for executives to implement ambitious automation plans they dreamed up long ago. “Automation is more politically acceptable now,” said Raul Vega, the chief executive of Auxis, a firm that helps companies automate their operations. Before the pandemic, Mr. Vega said, some executives turned down offers to automate their call centers, or shrink their finance departments, because they worried about scaring their remaining workers or provoking a backlash like the one that followed the outsourcing boom of the 1990s, when C.E.O.s became villains for sending jobs to Bangalore and Shenzhen. But those concerns matter less now, with millions of people already out of work and many businesses struggling to stay afloat. Now, Mr. Vega said, “they don’t really care, they’re just going to do what’s right for their business,” Mr. Vega said. Sales of automation software are expected to rise by 20 percent this year, after increasing by 12 percent last year, according to the research firm Gartner. And the consulting firm McKinsey, which predicted before the pandemic that 37 million U.S. workers would be displaced by automation by 2030, recently increased its projection to 45 million. A white-collar wake-up call Not all bots are the job-destroying kind. Holly Uhl, a technology manager at State Auto Insurance Companies, said that her firm has used automation to do 173,000 hours’ worth of work in areas like underwriting and human resources without laying anyone off. “People are concerned that there’s a possibility of losing their jobs, or not having anything to do,” she said. “But once we have a bot in the area, and people see how automation is applied, they’re truly thrilled that they don’t have to do that work anymore.” As bots become capable of complex decision-making, rather than doing single repetitive tasks, their disruptive potential is growing. Recent studies by researchers at Stanford University and the Brookings Institution compared the text of job listings with the wording of A.I.-related patents, looking for phrases like “make prediction” and “generate recommendation” that appeared in both. They found that the groups with the highest exposure to A.I. were better-paid, better-educated workers in technical and supervisory roles, with men, white and Asian-American workers, and midcareer professionals being some of the most endangered. Workers with bachelor’s or graduate degrees were nearly four times as exposed to A.I. risk as those with just a high school degree, the researchers found, and residents of high-tech cities like Seattle and Salt Lake City were more vulnerable than workers in smaller, more rural communities. “A lot of professional work combines some element of routine information processing with an element of judgment and discretion,” said David Autor, an economist at M.I.T. who studies the labor effects of automation. “That’s where software has always fallen short. But with A.I., that type of work is much more in the kill path.” Many of those vulnerable workers don’t see this coming, in part because the effects of white-collar automation are often couched in jargon and euphemism. On their websites, R.P.A. firms promote glowing testimonials from their customers, often glossing over the parts that involve actual humans. “Sprint Automates 50 Business Processes In Just Six Months.” (Possible translation: Sprint replaced 300 people in the billing department.) “Dai-ichi Life Insurance Saves 132,000 Hours Annually” (Bye-bye, claims adjusters.) “600% Productivity Gain for Credit Reporting Giant with R.P.A.” (Don’t let the door hit you, data analysts.) Jason Kingdon, the chief executive of the R.P.A. firm Blue Prism, speaks in the softened vernacular of displacement too. He refers to his company’s bots as “digital workers,” and he explained that the economic shock of the pandemic had “massively raised awareness” among executives about the variety of work that no longer requires human involvement. “We think any business process can be automated,” he said. Mr. Kingdon tells business leaders that between half and two-thirds of all the tasks currently being done at their companies can be done by machines. Ultimately, he sees a future in which humans will collaborate side-by-side with teams of digital employees, with plenty of work for everyone, although he conceded that the robots have certain natural advantages. “A digital worker,” he said, “can be scaled in a vastly more flexible way.” The danger of so-so automation Humans have feared losing our jobs to machines for millennia. (In 350 BCE, Aristotle worried that self-playing harps would make musicians obsolete.) And yet, automation has never created mass unemployment, in part because technology has always generated new jobs to replace the ones it destroyed. During the 19th and 20th centuries, some lamplighters and blacksmiths became obsolete, but more people were able to make a living as electricians and car dealers. And today’s A.I. optimists argue that while new technology may displace some workers, it will spur economic growth and create better, more fulfilling jobs, just as it has in the past. But that is no guarantee, and there is growing evidence that this time may be different. In a series of recent studies, Daron Acemoglu of M.I.T. and Pascual Restrepo of Boston University, two well-respected economists who have researched the history of automation, found that for most of the 20th century, the optimistic take on automation prevailed — on average, in industries that implemented automation, new tasks were created faster than old ones were destroyed. Since the late 1980s, they found, the equation had flipped — tasks have been disappearing to automation faster than new ones are appearing. This shift may be related to the popularity of what they call “so-so automation” — technology that is just barely good enough to replace human workers, but not good enough to create new jobs or make companies significantly more productive. A common example of so-so automation is the grocery store self-checkout machine. These machines don’t cause customers to buy more groceries, or help them shop significantly faster — they simply allow store owners to staff slightly fewer employees on a shift. This simple, substitutive kind of automation, Mr. Acemoglu and Mr. Restrepo wrote, threatens not just individual workers, but the economy as a whole. “The real danger for labor,” they wrote, “may come not from highly productive but from ‘so-so’ automation technologies that are just productive enough to be adopted and cause displacement.” Only the most devoted Luddites would argue against automating any job, no matter how menial or dangerous. But not all automation is created equal, and much of the automation being done in white-collar workplaces today is the kind that may not help workers over the long run. During past eras of technological change, governments and labor unions have stepped in to fight for automation-prone workers, or support them while they trained for new jobs. But this time, there is less in the way of help. Congress has rejected calls to fund federal worker retraining programs for years, and while some of the money in the $1.9 trillion Covid-19 relief bill Democrats hope to pass this week will go to laid-off and furloughed workers, none of it is specifically earmarked for job training programs that could help displaced workers get back on their feet. Another key difference is that in the past, automation arrived gradually, factory machine by factory machine. But today’s white-collar automation is so sudden — and often, so deliberately obscured by management — that few workers have time to prepare. “The rate of progression of this technology is faster than any previous automation,” said Mr. Le Clair, the Forrester analyst, who thinks we are closer to the beginning than the end of the corporate A.I. boom. “We haven’t hit the exponential point of this stuff yet,” he added. “And when we do, it’s going to be dramatic.” Finding a robot-proof future The corporate world’s automation fever isn’t purely about getting rid of workers. Executives have shareholders and boards to satisfy, and competitors to keep up with. And some automation does, in fact, lift all boats, making workers’ jobs better and more interesting while allowing companies to do more with less. But as A.I. enters the corporate world, it is forcing workers at all levels to adapt, and focus on developing the kinds of distinctly human skills that machines can’t easily replicate. Ellen Wengert, a former data processor at an Australian insurance firm, learned this lesson four years ago, when she arrived at work one day to find a bot-builder sitting in her seat. The man, coincidentally an old classmate of hers, worked for a consulting firm that specialized in R.P.A. He explained that he’d been hired to automate her job, which mostly involved moving customer data from one database to another. He then asked her to, essentially, train her own replacement — teaching him how to do the steps involved in her job so that he, in turn, could program a bot to do the same thing. Ms. Wengert wasn’t exactly surprised. She’d known that her job was straightforward and repetitive, making it low-hanging fruit for automation. But she was annoyed that her managers seemed so eager to hand it over to a machine. “They were desperate to create this sense of excitement around automation,” she said. “Most of my colleagues got on board with that pretty readily, but I found it really jarring, to be feigning excitement about us all potentially losing our jobs.” For Ms. Wengert, 27, the experience was a wake-up call. She had a college degree and was early in her career. But some of her colleagues had been happily doing the same job for years, and she worried that they would fall through the cracks. “Even though these aren’t glamorous jobs, there are a lot of people doing them,” she said. She left the insurance company after her contract ended. And she now works as a second-grade teacher — a job she says she sought out, in part, because it seemed harder to automate. Kevin Roose, a technology columnist at The Times, is the author of the new book “Futureproof: 9 Rules for Humans in the Age of Automation,” from which this essay is adapted. Source link Orbem News #Accounting #Coming #Phil #Robots

[hehemylifestories]

Gosh Darn Breakup

 I know break ups are hard but dang, never knew they were that bad. It’s like you're lying there in pain and wanting to be with that person. But you can't, they're gone, they aren’t with you anymore. You yearn for them, yet they are the one you're crying about…

You know that feeling when you miss someone so much and you know that you will never see them again. More specifically see them the same way. That feeling when they were your everything and now they aren’t. That feeling when you both had plans for the future with each other and you know they won’t happen. Dates you had planned together for when they were going to come back over and see you. You got rid of them because you were both tired physically and mentally of the long distance. And the fact that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate and keep his scholarship, which means not achieving his goals. So you broke up with them in the hopes that they are more able to better themselves. Because u jus’ knew that u were the thing holding them back. And now that they are without you, you are proud of them for growing, but disappointed in the fact that you made the decision to not be there with them through their growth. But u don’t want them to see that you miss them. Not like they can anyways, they’re so far away. You miss everything about them. You miss their contagious smile, the random noises they make when they’re bored or stressed, the “flirty” wink, the little scars all over their legs from when they were younger, their smell, their fav food binge sessions at 2 in the morning not caring how loud they are, their baggy clothes, their ur mom jokes at the wrong moment. Their love for the game of basketball, their love to learn, how their eyes light up when they talk about becoming a doctor for NASA with you. You knowing the whole time you won’t make it with them. U miss their quirky things. Their tendency to walk and talk flawlessly all the time except for when they start skipping. Where they then have a tendency to trip and face plant or another time ( which is even funnier) when they can’t say a single word because they are so excited so it just comes out as a blur of words.

Long distance relationships sucks butt. You only get to see them so often, and when you do it’s only for a short amount of time. To top it off you have strict parents that don’t know about the relationship. So u have to act normal all the time, clear insta and iphone messages and calls clear emails and deliveries to u. U have to act okay when you miss them or something happens between you, when u get excited or think about them, u stomach down the emotions. Your love for them and excitement has to be kept a secret to all, even the closest of friends in the hopes that no one will know or find out and tell your parents.  Even more so, they won’t talk to you now because times are messed up and you broke their heart. His friends won’t answer you, his instagram page hasn’t been active for the last 2 months, his parents don’t even know about him cause they don’t care, his teachers haven’t seen him in their classes because of the corona, etc. You start to get worried, even though you aren’t together anymore you still worry about them. You still love them. That’s how you know a relationship was a healthy one. You both miss the shit outta each other and it feels like ur heart is dying when u break up with them.It kind of feels empty on the inside, like something was legit just ripped out. And no one else understands because most haven’t had that feeling before. But you know it’s going to be better for them if you seperate.

Moments I miss with them:

The late night talks

The date watching the stars in the random field/trees

Hide and go seek in Walmart

Buying each other random socks that were cool

 Riding around town with them with the windows down

Almost getting killed cuz he just had to move the hair out of ur face while driving 

Laughing so hard when u both pulled all-nighters for school work 

Testing each other’s knowledge in languages

 Random nicknames that sound cool in other languages but in all reality are words like chicken nugget

 Me being his “bishcotti” or some crap which supposedly meant chicken nugget in greek 

Their eyes when they look at you how they sparkled but at the same time u could sense the love coming from them. U could see the sorrow in them but how when they looked at u everything else faded away

Calling him rain checker cuz he took so many rain checks on ft calls cuz of him being tired from school work 

The deep stares you give each other meaning that you are each other’s worlds

 Knowing that life without them will be difficult 

Both eating our hearts content and not giving a fuck about what we might feel like afterwards

When u feel sick and they ft u the whole day through classes and everything to make sure that you are ok

writing a love letter and when he got nosy u ate the sheet of paper so he wouldn’t see... almost choking because he was tickling u to try and get it out of ur mouth from laughing

Only fighting once and that was on the day of the break up

 Not fighting because you understood that fighting is dangerous, so instead if you get mad u talk about it and work it out 

Learning to love ourselves more and grow stronger with each other 

His laugh when he was tired

 How his accent changed from a deep southern accent to a thick greek boi accent

Having thick offs at 3 in the morning

 Pulling all nighters to talk to each other 

Discussing things that hurt us in the past and how our kids won’t have the same thing 

Knowing that his parents hated him and having to mom him every now and then

Complimenting him on looking good and handsome because he did, but more so he needed that confirmation 

Wearing his clothes while he was away

Having him send my things and his hoodies over to his friends and having them give them to me so that we wouldn’t get caught 

Loving each other with everything we had 

Knowing that we had been through friends deaths together, seen too many things then we should have and continuing to push through

 Both having to deal with mental disorders because of shit we’d been through in the past 

Days where we would go out looking like hot trash together

 Doing modeling shoots together 

Playing basketball at random gyms to see who was better

Debating on who was better at playing basketball, who was smarter, who looked better in what

 Wearing a sports bra and him strangling u to put on his hoodie because “he couldn’t take me in just a sports bra and spandex” 

Not wanting each other for sex 

Wanting each other for the relationship, for love, to put the best in each other’s lives 

Growing in every aspect of our lives

 Style changing from hoe to bro

 Finding who each other looked like P

LAYING/DANCING IN THE RAIN 

The night where I got stuck i the mud and couldn’t get out, and you stood there laughing your tushee off instead of helping 

Making jokes about that night for forever 

Him ordering food in the drive through and us changing seats and him moving to the back to see what their reaction is 

Laughing our butts off when we go people watching

 Learning that love is a choice and u have to keep pushing for more because you become addicted 

Corny pickup lines 

Corny nicknames only when we are around each other and no one else 

Loving the little mistakes the other one makes because they remind us that they are human too every now and then

Him wearing your hoodie and it looking better on him than you

 Him stretching your favorite shirt and buying you another one because he felt bad 

When he got drunk the night after his parents hurt him so u had to take him to one of his friends houses and stayed the whole night with him to make sure he was ok and didn’t have nightmares. He also drunkingly kissed you without paying attention and said i love you so purely. Then saying “shit, that was too early in the relationship wasn’t it.” Him not remembering a single thing in the morning except for what his parents did to him, and waking up next to you shaking 

u waking up to him shaking and rubbing his back and talking to him, telling him that everything was going to be okay 

How he always slept with a knife in his hand and when u tried to move it he gripped it tighter, so u had to talk to him and tell him it was you and he would slowly lose his grip

Waking up in his arms after a nap and not wanting it to end 

Debating which dessert was more delicious 

Baking together and making huge messes

Icing getting all over each other’s faces and just kissing it off

Trying to bake cool stuff and failing gloriously 

Going to random stores and trying on clothes and acting how models aren’t supposed to

 Risking getting arrested over stupid stuff

Climbing those electric eiffel towers and watching the sunset/sunrise  

Falling off of things because u were goofing off 

Trying to sing to a song because i love it and u just sitting there admiring my “talent”

Dressing up like i’m going to one of my model shoots so that you can show me off to ur toxic friends and mean exs 

Wrapping ourselves up like tortillas with blankets and wobbling to the bed and flopping on and laughing because we look so stupid 

Watching the stars and talking about our goals in life 

Talking about weird dreams we had and what they might mean

Talking about how God puts us in certain situations and loving how He gave us each other

Sleeping with each other’s fav stuffed animals

Play fighting in public and we both ended up on the floor laughing 

Playing basketball with each other and u bear hugging me so i can’t score

When we played basketball that one day and i scored in your face, and started to leave but u said “hey come here”, and u pulled me in hugged me and said “i’m gonna miss you too” hugged me tighter i looked up and u kissed me on my forehead then u said “i love you” 

afterwards we texted the whole night

Not being able to drop u off at the airport or say goodbye because life happened and u calling me the whole time and telling me it was going to be ok

Sweet talking to me in greek 

Learning french together because ur both such nerds

Both of us having glasses because we stayed up too late as kids to read books in the dark

 Doing morning devotionals together 

Managing school work and life together

Discussing plans for each other’s week, who was staying in better shape, etc. 

Talking about how each other were doing and answering honestly

Asking for advice on how to keep going when life got rough 

Him cussing out old teammates because he would get so mad.. Like jus to me not to them 

Never going on a roller skating date because we both didn’t want to get hurt or have to pay for the trip to the ERRRRRR

Never going on local dates so no one would see us and recognize who we are 

Getting a pet fish together and taking care of it, naming him bob and bob was too well taken care of; both of us crying when bob ross da fish died

Having a mini funeral for bob

 Watching romantic movies for comedy because they are so pathetic 

Laughing at how pathetic sex was in movies and what we would do if we actually did it 

Playing strip or dare

Him trying to teach me how to do my hair and makeup 

Him laughing at me for being such a tom boi and not having any idea how to dress up 

Picking out outfits for each other

 Trusting each other to be around the opposite gender and not having to worry 

Allowing the other to have girl best friends and not care because he was loyal like that

TRUST

Praying together 

Only three of his friends knowing about me, and telling me how much he thinks about me and what he thinks of me

 Learning how much he’s sacrificed to reach his goal 

His friends calling me after we broke up and telling me how much he missed me, me explaining to them that I was what was holding him back. Them disagreeing and telling me that i was what kept him alive most nights when his depression got bad 

Learning how to calculate the time distance and waking up at 2 in the morning so that we could talk. 

Giving up so much time to talk with each other about EVERYTHING, every lil’ thing from what we ate that day to how our breath changed just slightly in math 

Him making fun of me for not being able to understand simple math because i over thought it like usual 

Helping me with basic high school stuff, and how to get an easy A his way

Climbing random things

Running through random parking lots 

Running together

 Getting high off of dopamine and endorphins and saying the stupidest things and laughing… then later making inside jokes off of how high we were 

Hitting the wall as they say after running for so long, and just sitting there laughing in the middle of this neighborhoods road 

Making christmas cookies together and having to make a whole new batch because we ate all the cookie dough

Icing the cookies and getting icing all over each other and the kitchen.. 

Wiping it off by hosing him with the kitchen sink sprayer. His reaction being to take his hoodie & shirt off saying “dang, u could’ve just asked me to take it off.”

Him grabbing me and just holding on tight 

The long lasting hugs after not seeing each other for long periods of time When I was sick and him coming to school to see the “bros” but in all reality coming to see me

When i fell asleep scared after THAT night, him taking his hands through my hair telling me he would always be there for me, him getting ice and trying to help the bruise go away, staying the whole night w/ me and reading stories to me until I went back to sleep. Waking up shaking and him talking softly and rubbing my arms until I calmed down. Making me dinner because I hadn’t eaten that whole week to make sure my brother had enough food for lunch. Making me eat. Helping me calm down everytime I started crying cuz of the stuff that happened. 

After THAT night, he always checked in on me when he heard I was acting funny. If he ever saw me flinch at a sudden  movement he would apologize and help me calm down.

 HE HELPED ME COPE W/ MY ANXIETY & DEPRESSION

If he ever noticed a bruise he would persist to ask where it came from 

Growing over my fear of swimming with him lovingly forcing me to swim with him at first in his arms going slow then eventually to where i went on my own

[rposervices]

The everyday device in your home killing hundreds around the globe

Perhaps because the Apple iPhone was only released in 2007, a lot of us have not yet grasped the full deleterious effects of ‘the device’, and the many similar not-so-smartphones the now clunky-seeming original spawned. Countless numbers of people have been killed by their smartphones already, and we’re not talking about the tin-foil-hat brigade’s concerns about the effects of 5G, wi-fi and phone signals in general on our brains. The most obvious example is all the people who are killed on our roads, not just because they were the ones stupidly looking at their phones while driving – Australians now believe it is the main reason for our rising road toll, with 32% of drivers admitting to reading text messages while driving, according to the Community Attitudes to Road Safety 2013 Survey Report – but because they ambled, zombie-like, into traffic while posting on Instagram. The number of pedestrians killed on US roads has risen by a staggering 51% since 2009. In 2017, pedestrian fatalities in Australia jumped by 20% in a year, with police blaming the stupidity of smartphones. If you haven’t noticed the number of people who try to cross roads while ignoring the approach of big heavy vehicles in favour of their tiny screens, it’s probably because you’ve been looking at your phone. The RACQ would like to see new laws to fine people who cross the road while staring at a device. “We think that sort of offence is on its way. There’s no doubt about it,” spokesman Paul Turner said. “Stand at an intersection in the CBD for half an hour and you’ll see five or 10 people just being saved or stopping themselves from walking out into traffic because they were looking down at their phone. When you tap them on the shoulder and they look up it’s as though they’ve been in some sort of daze because they are so engrossed in their phone.” No doubt you’re congratulating yourself for not being like that yourself but, be honest, what is your relationship with your phone like? And even if it’s not getting you run over, how much harm is it doing you?

Dopamine and cortisol

Have you, for example, felt what’s known as ‘phantom vibrations’ from your phone? That sensation where your body is sure it’s detected a new message buzz, but you check and there’s nothing there? That strange and concerning sensation is caused by the state of hyper-vigilance you’ve no doubt found yourself in from time to time, when stressful/vital information is pouring into this now essential-for-life device, which is rarely more than a metre away from you. The fact is, we are, as a species, becoming addicted to both the dopamine hits of satisfaction that our smartphones give us hundreds of times a day, while being simultaneously assaulted by the dangerous levels of cortisol they send coursing through our bodies. That combination is affecting everything from the way we sleep to our attention span, our memory, our self-esteem, decision-making skills and our physical health. You’re probably aware that many apps, and phones themselves, are designed to be habit forming. Those Likes on Facebook and Instagram are designed to trigger happy chemicals in our brains, much the way poker machines do, and thus to make us want to keep checking them, endlessly.

No less an authority than Google noted in a report that: “Mobile devices loaded with social media, email and news apps” create “a constant sense of obligation, generating unintended personal stress”. According to a study by a tracking app called Moment, the average American spends four hours a day staring at their phone. Unfortunately, not all the information our screens give us is positive, and when we’re getting, instead, irate emails from colleagues, for example, or other bad news, our bodies release cortisol, our fight-or-flight hormone. Cortisol is designed to prime your body to react to physical threats – such as bears, or bullies – and it changes your body physically, upping your heart rate, frizzing your adrenaline and spiking your blood sugar. Unfortunately, your body also responds with cortisol when you’re being stressed emotionally. And smartphones can provide you with these moments, wherever you are, multiple times per hour. “Your cortisol levels are elevated when your phone is in sight or nearby, or when you hear it or even think you hear it,” says David Greenfield, the founder of the Center for Internet and Technology Addiction. “It’s a stress response, and it feels unpleasant, and the body’s natural response is to want to check the phone to make the stress go away.” Checking the phone, of course, can just provide more bad news and thus you can get into a cycle that leaves you with chronically high levels of cortisol. And this can lead to all kinds of health issues, including heart attacks, dementia, diabetes and depression. Dr Robert Lustig, author of The Hacking of The American Mind recently told The New York Times that “every chronic disease we know of is exacerbated by stress, and our phones are absolutely contributing to this”. As bad as smartphones are for you, of course, you’ve only had it running your life for the past dozen years. Just think of what it’s doing to your children, and the entirety of the coming generations. Anyone over the age of 10 is already unable to imagine a world without smartphones, and as they grow into adolescence, they are likely to be gifted one of these dangerous yet vital devices by their own parents. This is “like giving them cocaine or heroin”, according to David Gillespie, the author of Teen Brain – Why Screens Are Making Your Teenager Depressed, Anxious And Prone to Lifelong Addictive Illnesses – And How to Stop it Now.

Teens, addiction and anxiety caused by smartphones

Gillespie’s book is full of shocking insights, and data, which make perfect sense of the behaviour many young teens exhibit today, particularly if you’re brave or foolhardy enough to attempt to take a device off one. He points out that in puberty, as the prefrontal cortex expands, the human body turns off a system called GABA (Gamma aminobutyric acid), a kind of “general purpose braking system that stops us from becoming addicted to things”. This is why the teen years are a terrible time to start drinking or smoking, or even having sex, and Gillespie points out that society has realised this, and had huge successes in those areas. “Between 2007 and now, the rates of teenage pregnancy, and alcohol and cigarette use by teens all dropped – they’re all about half of what they were, it’s a huge achievement and I don’t know why we’re not talking more about it,” he says. “The rates of anxiety and depression for teenagers should also be halving but, instead, the rates of those things in teens have actually doubled over the same period. “That tells us immediately that something is replacing those addictions. And what has replaced it is also addictive, as it has driven up mental illness in this life stage.” The reason, according to Gillespie, is that we are now giving every adolescent “devices that can run simulations of addictive behaviour, all the time”. As he points out, software for smartphones and apps are designed to be addictive, to have the same “mesmeric effect” that poker machines have on those who are susceptible, only across a wider swathe of society. “There are millions of companies competing to be one of those five apps on your home screen that you click a hundred or a thousand times a day, and they want to find a way to get people to press that button by giving them a hit of dopamine every time they press it,” he says.

Teens are super susceptible, of course, but boys and girls are targeted in different ways. Young women, Gillespie’s research reveals, are rewarded by the drug oxytocin when “they are in a group of girls, and that group approves of them, they feel liked, and that gives them oxytocin, which is more powerful in girls than in boys”. “A teenage girl is as sensitive as she will ever be to this and that’s why the creation of ‘approval porn’ has been so successful,” Gillespie adds. “Until now, we’ve never been able to replicate this approval hit of having real people like you, but simulating that is what social media software does. All of the Facebooks, the Instagrams, they’re all high-speed simulators of social approval, and girls, really, really respond to that.” Boys, however, are gripped by what Gillespie calls ‘danger porn’, because men are stimulated by risk and danger. “Which is why gambling is so popular; it’s that chance of losing, and the relief of surviving something that’s rewarding for boys – it’s also why they love roller-coasters,” he says. “And a simulation of that is online gaming on your phone; the first-person shooter like Fortnite, those games are all designed around the concept of danger porn. It’s about survival and the relief of survival.” Throw in the social aspect of being able to chat to your peers while playing, and the mobility of phone-based games, and you’ve got serious addiction on your hands. As Gillespie says, these devices were designed from day one, by Steve Jobs and company, to be “beautiful, easy to use and hard to give up”. And, knowing how addictive they would become, Jobs famously declared that he wouldn’t let his own children near them. “The Jobs thing came out by accident in an interview, he was asked how long he let his kids play with iPads and so on and he wasn’t expecting it and just blurted out that he wouldn’t let his children have them – what’s that saying? Don’t get high on your own supply,” Gillespie laughs. “But that’s become the trend in Silicon Valley these days, the executives instruct their nannies not to let their kids anywhere near these devices. “And the research shows that rich people are less likely to give their devices to kids, because they can afford to pay humans to interact with their children instead. They consider it a low-class thing to give your children a screen.” Regardless of what health effects you believe 5G networks might have in the coming years, it’s clear that the devices we’re already using, already addicted to, in fact, have had an enormous effect on society, and mortality, and they’ve only been around for little more than a decade. The device may yet prove to be a more potent example of humanity shooting itself in the foot than even the gun. Read the full article

[verdisketch]

Reply for @minutia-r and @polar-night-scout, minu first bc i was drafting as scout appeared, this is a lot of scrolling sorry guys

MINU:

The thing I would take issue with is that Tuuri never ever says she shouldn't have gone.  She says that she thought it wouldn't happen, and one might infer that therefore if she had known it would happen she wouldn't have gone and now that it has happened she regrets going, but she never actually says that and I don't think that's the only possible way to understand what she says.  In fact, when she does say something on the subject (albeit before she knows for sure that she's infected) she says she doesn't regret going.  Not because she is still holding out hope that she isn't infected (although she is at that point) or because she considers the journey worth it even if she is infected, but just because it's in her nature and she couldn't have done otherwise.  So in that sense, yes, tragic hero, because her doom is inevitable and the only way she could have avoided it is to have been a different person.  But I don't think that it's necessarily an indictment of Tuuri's character traits?  Which you could describe as flaws, or even tragic flaws, but part of what makes Tuuri such a great character is that she has the flaws of her virtues and the virtues of her flaws.  The same traits that get her into trouble or cause her to harm others are the same ones that make her such a joy to be around and give her life direction and purpose.  And, in the end (if this is the end of Tuuri's story, which it might be, but it's also possible that it's not, one way or another) I think it's important that she lived and died on her own terms.  I don't even see her suicide in terms of giving up; it was an active step she took in order to avoid the fate of the voices she was beginning to hear.  It might have been an impulsive, emotion-fueled step rather than a rational and considered decision, but then, so many of Tuuri's choices always were.

I personally don’t know how the scene could initially be read in other ways, though I concede the earlier scene is in fact Tuuri stating pretty firmly she doesn’t regret going. The thing is, there’s really only a few ways to read Tuuri’s final words. My initial reading, where Tuuri is regretful, and blames herself (if only I had wised up in time - if only I wasn’t so naive -) or just a general ‘well, fuck, this is how the chips fell, my life wasn’t perfect but i got to live it’. Maybe even just bewilderment, because she’s still in shock over the Rash. In my view, I prefer my initial reading, maybe without the regret, but definitely Tuuri blaming her own worldview. This is because of very small details (Tuuri’s downturned head in the last panel, the way the swan swoops ominously, straight for her, and the fact that the narrative to this point is, well, I see this as an indictment of her virtues, but that’s something I’ll talk about in a sec.)

The thing is, killing a character is always killing their flaws AND virtues. I absolutely agree Tuuri was a vibrantly interesting character who had more than enough flaws that fed into her good points, because where she was ambitious she was overreaching, and where she was smart she would put down people. She is very flawed, and so interesting with it. Here, I’m moving away from in-text reasons why Tuuri has to die (she has the rash and she wants to die clean) and more towards how this works on a meta level. Because for me, personally, if this doesn’t work on a meta level, I can’t take the in-text reason as a good substitute. So yes: Tuuri died on her own terms, but it’s important to examine why it is that the author chose to make Tuuri die, not how she decided to portray it. Example: I understand that a lot of Game Of Thrones makes perfect logical/in-text sense, but a lot of it is so unsatisfying I don’t give a damn.

 Killing a character kills what they stand for. In the case of Dumbledore, and a lot of Harry Potter’s parental figures, he dies because he symbolizes protection, wisdom, and a fallback Harry can always turn to. Harry needs to do shit on his own, so mentors need to die. Protection dies. To return to Game of Thrones, Ned Stark dies because he’s the last uncomplicated/nonambitious person of power left. He symbolized moderation, or at the very least, decency. In order for Game of Throne’s plot to proceed, and its worldview of everything sucks, he needs to go.

This isn’t to say that every single character death in all of media is a specific punishment for specific people. Death =/= this character is bad and dies because they’re bad. Those two examples above are examples of characters who die because they’re not bad, because the narrative needs it.

The reason why I say Tuuri’s death is an indictment of her character is because the reason she dies is explicitly tied to her character, by her own admission, and the contrast between her and the other characters (I will address this). Like you said, that exchange basically sums up that she would have gone anyway, because who she is is an explorer, and she’s not immune, and she couldn’t have done otherwise. The flaws of her personality (very emotion-driven thinking, doing things without telling anyone because she’s right all the time Isn’t She) gets her to the beach, but it is specifically the virtues of her personality (her curiosity and drive to explore) that land her on the mission, that put her at risk, that means that she will die and she does. So why does the narrative need Tuuri to die? What does her death serve? Her death is cheap as chips if it’s just to darken the tone of the comic or for shock value.

Remember that Tuuri is the only one enthused about exploring the outside world. Lalli doesn’t give a shit, Emil wants money and prestige, Mikkel is....there, Sigrun wanted a holiday and money, and Reynir as the only other non-immune who wanted to explore the outside world and is summarily backtracking on his worldview pretty much immediately, with no signs of stopping. Tuuri’s death? haha, good luck prying that kid out of Iceland. Tuuri’s death is the death of exploration and the death of curiosity, because god knows none of these other characters were supplying any of that, and the only character who did (Reynir) is actually explicitly blaming his worldview of curiosity and exploration for his current predicament.

This is why I am saying that this is an indictment of Tuuri’s character, and more broadly, that the message of the comic is one I don’t like, because it is broadly saying that it’s better to stay at home and take no risks. It’s an Icarus message, turned up to eleven. It’s trying not to be that, but the author is basically reinforcing that message through Tuuri and Reynir over and over again, and through the complete and utter disinterest the other characters have in anything that’s not money or fighting. This mission is supposed to be an official factfinding/exploration mission for the government as a cover, with illegal books on the side, and yet we have only seen the looting aspect. No one even seems particularly interested in the knowledge inside the books except for - you guessed it - Tuuri. Mikkel a little bit, for the cure, but Tuuri eclipses him in enthusiasm. Will Mikkel turn out to harbor the spirit of adventure? I don’t know, but at the moment it looks like he’s focused on surviving and only surviving, to the point where he just shuts down any negative thing Reynir says.

The comic is basically reinforcing ‘stay still stay silent’, and Tuuri embodies the exact opposite of that message. Her dying only fuels that.

So I acknowledge my reading of the comic was incomplete and I do appreciate that you’ve brought that to my attention, but I really do think that her death was a writing move that reinforces a message I find...unsatisfactory.

SCOUT:

I strongly disagree that the death of a character means the death of what they stood for. Look at V for Vendetta (the comic) for a work that explicitly states the opposite, though there are many others. Even in SSSS, Reynir is almost a clone of Tuuri's core intentions and personality (something that's bugged me for a while, but now I see the reason behind it) so it's not like the comic punishes all adventurousness and innocence.

Personally I think Tuuri died because we need a character in the afterlife for a solid reason (maybe explicitly a Finn/Hotakainen) so her death was necessary to advance the plot somehow, and not intended as shitting on her world view. It still sucks that she had to be "used" like that, I think her character had a lot more potential alive, but I'm not the one writing the comic. So I hate that she died but I read very different things into it than you do.

The thing is, I usually read that death thing because a lot of the times its how death as a tool is used in stories, but I agree - a lot of the time death can be a triumphant/noble thing. Sacrificing yourself for a cause carries a lot of weight, and immortalizes you. The entire point of Rogue One is that they give their lives over for hope, and that sacrifice enshrines their death in meaning, etc. If you die doing what is right or good or important, then yes, death is absolutely not something that’s gonna ‘cheapen’ a good character. It’s not a defeat if you go down advancing your cause, helping to make the world a better place, or, hell, just doing something you know in your heart is right.

But in this case Tuuri’s death doesn’t really...advance anything. Because Tuuri isn’t dying doing something that people think is noble or good. Tuuri’s drive to explore is treated as eccentric at best, and downright suicidal at worst. She even acknowledges herself it’s kind of incredibly dangerous, but she never sits up and says it’s something she’d absolutely die to do because she thinks it’s just - personal to her. From her own perspective, you could argue she set out to explore, she did, she got to breathe air without a mask, case closed, but I think you and I both know that’s a weak argument. Exploration is not presented as important in either a good or bad way in-comic. It’s just kind of ridiculous. Hell, the government doesnt think it’s important, and neither do the organizers, who are in it to make money. 

And Reynir isn’t really looking to explore right now either! I pointed it out in my reply to Minu, but he’s basically backtracked on all exploring. He says in that conversation with Tuuri when she says ‘yes I wanted to explore’ that he wants to go home and never leave. Reynir is supposed to be the clone of Tuuri exploration and curiosity-wise, and yet right now he’s uh. He is deeply regretting setting foot outside of Iceland, and Tuuri dying sure as hell isn’t going to help with that. Kid’s depressed. And has also explicitly blamed his own mindset for being in this situation.

So that’s my opinion, and if it turns out that Tuuri has use in the afterlife, that would be great, but as the comic stands right now at the time of writing, it looks like Tuuri just died and is definitely not coming back. So. If she resurrects or happens to be able to exercise her adventure-y worldview, and if Reynir does an about face and decides he wants to keep exploring, I’ll eat my hat, but I dont think I gotta reach for my beanie anytime soon. I seem to have read very different things into her death than you guys did, which is interesting. 

[claycookphoto]

Iraq

Fear is described as a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil or pain. Whether the threat is real or imagined, it is the condition of being afraid. I know we all have come to moment in our lives where we feel a wave of anxiety, panic and dread. Often, it strikes like a bullet to the chest or a ten-ton brick to the head. The only true remedy is yourself.

I guess you could say I’ve always been the “black sheep” of the family. One to lean towards risk and adventure over security and comfort. I’ve always been fascinated by stories; non-fiction stories of mountains, heroes and war. Stories that are unbelievable, yet completely true. Stories that inspire and stories that impact. I once read into Operation Neptune Spear, the operation that raided the compound of Osama Bin Laden in Abbottabad, Pakistan. Also, Operation Red Wings which recounted the heroic battle of four Navy Seals in the Kunar Province of Afghanistan against an anti-coalition militia led by Ahmad Shah, an Islamic fundamentalist. But, despite the stories, I had little understanding of the Middle East; a tunnel vision shrouded with war, terrorism and a culture I did not understand. Despite the stories, the adventure had always called to see the center of conflict.

Throughout my entire life the Middle East had been a focus of war. I grew up watching Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom, where the United States forces conquered Iraq Socialist, Saddam Hussein. Then on September 11, 2001, a series of four coordinated attacks killed 2,996 people and injured over 6,000 Americans. The Islamic terrorist group al-Qaeda conceded to the horrific attack, which kickstarted the “War On Terror” in Afghanistan, turning the Middle East into a region of blur. Obscured by dozens of terrorist organizations, multiple misunderstood religions, a baseless government and civil war.

In 2014, when the “Islamic State Of Iraq and Syria” otherwise known as ISIS, birthed from al-Qaeda, started making headlines, I was overwhelmed and numb to the war. I chose mostly to ignore the headlines and ignore the propaganda. But, in just two years the terrorist organization carried out multiple attacks on the United States, which included the widely publicized beheading of US journalists James Foley and Steven Sotloff. These attacks impossible to ignore and left many people in fear. The United States responded with multiple air strikes and planted their feet firmly in Iraq and Syria against the Islamic State terrorist organization.

When I first learned about the project in Iraq, I felt confused. My initial reaction was clear and defined without knowing a single detail, but I had dozens of questions. Normally, upon learning about an international assignment with Nadus Films, I’m hit with tsunami of excitement, but this was different… I was scared.

Every meeting, phone conversation, text and email was held with the utmost discretion, we couldn’t tell our friends or families without severe delicacy. Over the course of one week, I learned about the project in detail and the people behind it.

*Due to the sensitivity of this project some names, dates and locations have been changed in order to protect the lives of those involved.

Unseen is a non-profit 501(c)3 which provides support for non-governmental organizations (NGOs) to grow. They offer marketing and fundraising to expand the NGO donor base. Nadus Films is a non-profit 501(c)3 which offers storytelling through film and photography. In partnership Unseen and Nadus Films, our job was to support Shai Fund, an NGO led by Charmaine Hedding who provides humanitarian assistance in disaster relief and development situations such as Iraq, Syria, Egypt and Jordan. She has been called the modern day Indiana Jones and Mother Theresa.

In August of 2014, ISIS militants swept through small cities near Mosul, Iraq forcing thousands of innocent people to flee overnight. Among those cities was Qaraqosh, Iraq’s largest Christian city with over 70,000 people. Over the course of two years, ISIS burned churches, destroyed icons and attempted to erase Christianity from Qaraqosh. Young women were put into sex slavery and young men were forced to carry suicide bombs. If they fought, they were tortured and killed.

In October of 2016, the Iraq Army, Peshmerga and the Nineveh Plains Forces pushed ISIS out of Qaraqosh, but all that remained was ruins; a city of ghosts. The homes were pillaged and burned and the people that were forced to flee overnight had been left with nothing. Today, Shai Fund is gifting these persecuted people and providing them a chance to repair after ISIS. Our focus was to shed light on one of the thousands of families, who were finally returning to their war-torn home in Qaraqosh.

With the overview of the project in hand, logistics and security were our largest concern. After our own extensive research, there were so many questions, so many burdens, so many worries. 

What is the true situation in Mosul?

Who would provide security on the ground?

Who are our sources on the ground?

What does our travel in Iraq look like? 

Where are we staying and for how long?

Where are we most vulnerable in our travels?

Are there IED’s present?

What does our relationship look like with foreign military support while there?

What would an evacuation plan look like?

As American “press” in the Middle East, we have a giant target attached to our back. But, as the answers flooding in, some of our concerns were eased while more concerns were raised. Naturally, the US Department of State stated extreme caution and advised that no American risk travel into Iraq. Kidnapping, sleeper cell suicide bombing and IED’s were all real threats.  ISIS had been pushed back to the Syrian border in West Mosul and we would be working some 15 kilometers outside of East Mosul, but it felt to close for comfort.

We would fly from the United States into Erbil, Iraq situated an hour from Mosul and embed ourselves in Ankawa, the Christian community which sat just short drive from the US Controlled airport in Erbil. Unfortunately, the more security we had, the more suspicion would be raised and the more likely we would be considered a target. We had to fly under the radar and blend in. Which was a hard pill to swallow. 

We would have a total of three days on the ground, two of which would be spent in Qaraqosh. In order for the mission to be a success, it had to be very short and very hard, with long hours— a timeline Nadus Films and I were very familiar with. We wanted to get in and get the hell out.

While the project was a go, I was personally on the fence and only had three days to make a decision before the flight was booked. During the course of those 72 hours, I tossed and turned at night, had vivid nightmares and battled an inner struggle of unease. I had a lot of emotional support from my close friends, but that didn’t calm my mind from moving a thousand miles per hour and dozens of random thoughts crossing my vision per second. One moment, I would convince myself that I couldn’t risk it. Then, I would sway to other side by persuading myself it would be a decision I would regret. Back and forth, back and forth. 

One side was led by fear and the other side was led by determination. Questions were answered, but that didn’t stop my mind from wandering.

Would this open new doors I don’t want?

How will people react?

How will I tell my family?

Am I willing to risk my life for photography?

Coury Deeb, founder and director of Nadus Films, is one of the strongest men I know. Coury has led our team through the swamps and up mountains in dozens of war-torn, poverty-stricken countries all over the world. He has changed the world and he has certainly changed my world. 

According to the Foreign & Commonwealth Office, Iraq is one of the most dangerous countries in the world. Therefore, this project was the mecca, an opportunity for Nadus Films to reach an entirely new level of donor base and that is something I couldn’t ignore. Coury’s confidence and calm demeanor throughout the pre-production is what kept me grounded and eventually helped me come to a decision.

Leading up to our decision deadline we had a series of meetings and conference calls. I was taking calls on other productions and on the road. It was discrete chaos, but needed. Our meetings included Nadus Films, Shai Fund, Unseen and two military security advisors; Troy Wilson and Adam Brown. After every call, I either felt calm or anxiety. We walked through all of our questions, including what to wear, how to act, what to expect and where we would be.

At the end of the day, the biggest risk would not be kidnapping, snipers or terrorist action, it would be ourselves. It was important to stay calm in a hectic situation that was completely normal for the Iraqi people. I was confident we had traveled to enough third world countries to respect the process and remain calm in a tensioned zone. With every trip into Qaraqosh, we would face several Peshmerga checkpoints and being American, we would always have eyes on us.

All of our questions were heard and answered, we were going to Iraq.

With the guidance of Troy Wilson, our military security advisor, we were instructed to start growing out our facial hair and start seeking clothing that would blend in. We couldn’t have anything the remotely looked “military” or “special forces” on our person. That included hiking boots, cargo pants, Oakley sunglasses or camouflage wardrobe. We were instructed to wear a tough tennis shoe, button up long-sleeved shirt, cheap sunglasses, blue jeans, with all bold colors and nothing flashy or tight-fitting. No white, no black and definitely no camouflage. We would be recognized as a group of white Americans, but at least we wouldn’t be recognized as a threat.

The next objective was equipment. Due to the nature of airport security and checkpoint security we had to remain completely low-profile. No grip, no tripods, no stabilization, no battery packs and no cases. This meant shedding as much weight as possible and taking only the essentials, the bare bones, the smallest, most efficient camera system possible for both film and photography. We needed a workhorse that would have an extensive battery-life, the ability to withstand extreme weather and most importantly look “less-than-professional.”

After a series of meetings with Nadus Films, our Director of Photography, Drew Layman, decided it be best to use the most reliable camera we know, the Canon 5D Mark IV. But, with video we needed something to stabilize the body and add additional points of contact. Drew suggested the Zacuto Enforcer, a highly portable shoulder mount with a foldable design that makes it ideal for our run-and-gun documentary style. Also, knowing we’d be out in the broad desert daylight we would need the Zacuto Z-Finder Pro Optical Viewfinder. Then, finally we would use the Rode VideoMic Pro to record any sound beyond our wireless lavalier microphone systems. 

As far as lenses, we wanted just about every focal length possible. I would solely use the Canon EF ‑ 24mm‑70mm ‑ F/2.8L, while the motion side would rely on the Canon EF ‑ 24mm‑105mm ‑ F/4L, the Canon EF ‑ 16-35mm ‑ F/2.8L and the Canon EF ‑ 70mm‑200mm ‑ F/2.8L. We would also carry a Singh-Ray Variable Neutral Density Filter and Hoya Polarization Filter for each lens.

Once our equipment list was in place, I called upon my friends at Canon and BorrowLenses, who were gracious enough to support the project and provide all the tools we needed.

The largest hurdle for Nadus Films was the drone, we needed arial footage, but Iraq is a no-fly zone. ISIS and other militia use drones to scout and create strategies. DJI claims its impossible to fly, but we researched otherwise. We had to be extremely careful. So, we purchased the new DJI Mavic Pro; a light-weight, pocket-sized drone with a Gimbal-Stabilized 12MP/4K Camera. It was small, powerful and ideal for quick aerial photography. It would be a giant risk, one we were willing to take. Drones being extremely sensitive in the Middle East, there was a specific strategy on the ground, which due to safety I cannot reveal.

The largest hurdle for still photography was lighting. Despite it's small footprint in the photo world, the Profoto B2 system was out. The battery pack and head just attract too much attention, instead I opted for a simple Canon 600EX II-RT speedlight.I needed a very small, soft modifier and a very small monopod. My friends at MeFoto had just introduced the “Walkabout Air” 6-section monopod, which measures only 13 inches when closed; exactly the portability I needed. With only two days before our flight, I still needed a modifier that was small enough to fit in a backpack. So, I called upon Profoto for the smallest umbrella they create; the 33” Shallow White Umbrella with diffusion. Once it arrived, I sawed off the center shaft, gaffed the umbrella tips and clipped the diffusion to the umbrella. It was perfect.

Despite the equipment locked in, we still had to figure our the best method to pack it all, in several low-profile backpacks that we could carry-on through the airport and on the plane. I normally will pack everything into a Think Tank Photo Airport Security V2, but now I had to fit everything into a logo-less Swiss Army backpack. I lined the backpack with velcro and placed inserts to guarantee all the camera equipment would remain secure. Then, filled the other pockets with a laptop, accessories, clothes, toiletries, supplements and green tea. Once it was packed, I could barley fit a quarter.

Our last conference call was stressful. We went over travel details, timelines, security issues and updated ISIS press. Nerves were at an all time high, but I had to trust the team and trust the process. We had to file documents with the US Department Of State, complete medical evacuation insurance documents and provide emergency details, including blood type. I printed and laminated copies of my Passport and placed them in several locations, including the bottom of my right shoe. No detail was overlooked, we had to be prepared for action.

The night before the flight was surprisingly calm. I did sleep, but it was restless. Luckily, I have a wonderful partner who remained strong herself, kept me cool and reminded me to breathe. Emotions were high, but I felt as prepared and ready as I could ever be. At 10:00 a.m. the next morning, I arrived at the Nadus Films office to go over any last minute strategies and equipment. All of our spirits were high and we were prepared for the long trip into the Middle East. We said an intense prayer and headed to the airport. There was no turning back.

We met our personal security advisor, Troy Wilson and Unseen producer, Melanie Iverson in Chicago before we jumped on a plane into Vienna. Although, I felt safe with an additional set of eyes on our back, the anticipation of the unknown was what terrified me the most.

The flight into Vienna was long, but standard. Fortunately, I had downloaded the entire Netflix series “Narcos” and binged watched the first season, which made the flight a breeze. Upon landing in Vienna, we were met by Shai Fund founder, Charmaine Hedding. A blonde, middle-aged woman born in South Africa, currently residing in Germany. Charmaine was strong, determined and had all the attributes of a natural born leader. She spoke in a serene South African accent, which could calm the nerves of anyone in conversation. She was our guiding light and had all the resources we needed on the ground for a successful project.

Although, this was in our package of initial questions, I didn’t know what to expect on the flight from Vienna to Erbil, Iraq. But, come to find out, it was perfectly normal. Mostly empty, the flight consisted of a few Iraqi and a few brave travelers doing business or humanitarian aid. I also noticed a one additional American on the flight; likely military. The camouflage backpack with a “Make Mosul Great Again” patch, gave it away.

I had prepared myself mentally for this trip for over three weeks and had run every scenario through my head upon landing in Iraq. What to say, how to act and how to handle customs. We stepped out of the plane into the dry-hot air and walked into the airport to customs. At first glance, the airport was nice, but relatively empty. There wasn’t many people who traveled in and out of Iraq, obviously. We passed through customs without a single question and picked up our baggage. We then passed through a security checkpoint with prevail. Everything made it through, including the drone.

Once through the airport we were met by two Iraqi men, Rauf and Jamir. Jamir had military fatigues and was apart of the Nineveh Plains Forces, who would act as our eyes on the ground. While Rauf wore plain clothes and represented the local television station, Suroyo TV. Rauf would also be our ears on the ground and our Arabic translator. He spoke good English and we immediately knew he was the man. Rauf had insane combat experience, blended with an incredibly kind soul who cared about his people. We jumped into two trucks and headed to our home base in Ankawa, the Christian quarter of Erbil, Iraq

I felt safe and I felt guarded. Our team on the ground was heavily connected and knew how important this project was to the Christian people of Iraq. Within minutes of arrival, we settled into our dorm-like rooms and began to break out equipment and prepare for the first evening of production. The people in our residence were extremely kind and prepared our first meal in the Middle East. It was incredible; lamb and chicken kabobs with fresh pickled vegetables and hummus.

Our mission of the evening would be to capture the people forced into IDP Camps. Camps that were setup by Unicef, World Health Organization or NGOs to provide shelter for those families displaced by ISIS takeover or military action. As of 2017, over three million Iraqi people have been displaced, a vast majority living in temporary camps. Due to ISIS liberation, they are slowly returning home.

I didn’t know what to expect, but upon arrival we were greeted with open arms and welcomed into the community. Children were everywhere, small stores were established and it seemed like people were thriving despite the horrific situation. I went into work-mode and began firing on all cylinders. I wanted to be as candid as possible, so I set the Canon 5D Mark IV to Silent Mode and hugged the walls to stay out of sight, while the film crew carried out their shots. The children were enthralled with the camera lens, but they actually knew what it was compared to other third world countries we’ve visited. They smiled, laughed and played while we documented. Smartphone selfies seemed to be a popular thing, especially among the teenagers. So, we just went with it.

We followed the lead of Rauf, while Troy and Jamir were at our sides watching the environment for the smallest disturbance. Within two hours we had captured a worship service, the people and plenty of the camp to go along with it. It felt warm and content, despite the dark overtone of it all. We returned to our home base thrilled with the photography of the first day, but on edge for the day to come. We ended the day meeting the family who was to be our focus for the documentary. We walked into a triple story apartment, in which three families were currently living after being pushed out of Qaraqosh. They were all related. The family consisted of several brothers who owned and operated a mechanic shop in Qaraqosh, they would be a vital element to the story. Shai Fund had gifted them a grant to rebuild their business, with new equipment and tools. We would get started early and document their return to Qaraqosh.

I was exhausted. I had barley slept in over 24 hours and I did my best to stay alert for the de-briefing and dinner, but was ready to get rest.

I awoke early to a chilled air-conditioned room, the bright sun peaking through the transparent shades, fully-rested and ready to take on the day. Nerves were high, as our first day into Qaraqosh happened to be on the Islam holiday Ramadan, a day which Islamic terrorist attacks are called to action. But, we all swallowed the tension and prepared for trek through Kurdistan. Our day started at a mechanic equipment retailer outside of Erbil, where the brothers had to pick up their brand new tools to transport into Qaraqosh. In any country where English isn’t the native language it’s tough to know what is really going on. You have to read body language. But in Iraq, loud confusion seemed to be the normal.

Once the brothers had double checked their order and loaded the truck, we were on our way to Qaraqosh. Within a few minutes, we were met by Jamir and a truckload of Nineveh Plains Forces. Most of the soldiers appeared to be young, perhaps warriors-in-training, who were just along for the ride. I’m sure security for an American film crew isn’t on the Nineveh Plains Forces priority list. Moreover, I’m sure they thought it was all overkill, but better to be safe than sorry. We pulled into our first checkpoint and passed through without a single issue. Due to Ramadan, there weren’t many people on the roads. As we inched closer and closer to Mosul, the dismal brown landscape became more and more war-torn. Shattered structures, black grass, covered fox holes and old concrete barriers. You could feel it in the air, something horrid had taken place. We passed through two more checkpoints without an issue. Apparently, Rauf and Jamir has alerted the Peshmerga that we would be traveling through. I often would hear “Amrikiyyan” and “Trump” from Rauf’s mouth, which would usually allow us a pass. Apparently, for decades the United States has supported Peshmerga with training, artillery and weaponry. Therefore they are friendly to American people traveling in Iraq. As a matter of fact, we’d occasionally see a Peshmerga soldier in United States military uniform.

Our second to last checkpoint was the most difficult. We were asked to get out of the vehicle and show our passports. Although, completely routine, it was nerve-racking to not know what was going on or what the soldiers were discussing behind the vehicle, but we trusted Rauf and Jamir. Nevertheless, after a quick passport check, we were on our way. I silently took a deep breath.

We arrived into Qaraqosh after about an hour and half. As we entered, we hit a roundabout where a giant cross had been planted and never uprooted. I expected a small desert town and what I saw was semi-large city, completely void of life. It looked abandoned, but forcefully destroyed. The ground was crusted with ash and overgrown from weeds. The homes were tarnished in black from fire and ransacked of all valuable belongings. Businesses were laced with artillery and painted with ISIS propaganda. Churches were even worse. On occasion we would see a person sweeping up their sidewalk or a car circling the block but, it was a ghost city. We arrived to our destination on the outskirts of the city, where the brothers operated their business.

During our initial security briefing we were told to not venture into random spaces, open fields or touch anything out of place due to landmines and traps. My plan was to stick close to everyone and do my best to get what I needed, but I wasn’t used to this process. Normally, I take the liberty to explore the location and find the composition I need. Once we had our feet on the ground, I felt confident to walk around carefully away from the crew, but within an ear shot. 

While the brothers began to setup their shop and unpackaged all their new equipment, we got to work. While most of the shots were organic documentation, others had to be planned and setup for success. It was all moving slow, but details were important.

While the team worked, I made sure to capture a few photographs of the Nineveh Plains Forces soldiers that were our acting security. In full battle uniform and hands-on their AK-47 semi-automatic machine guns, they just loved the camera. They had no problem posing for the perfect shot, which also included a few selfies. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to bring in the artificial lighting, but suspected they would be back again the following day.

Once we felt confident in the content we were capturing, Coury decided to take the drone on a quick test run and without a hitch the drone lifted off with full GPS control, a giant relief. While Coury piloted the drone over the city, I began to setup for the portrait session of the brothers.

My setup consisted of a MeFoto Walkabout Air Monopod which attached to a Tether Tools RapidMount Cold Shoe Elbow Mount which supported a Canon 600EX II-RT speedlight modified by a 33” Shallow White Umbrella with an outer diffusion baffle. After some confusion with one of the brothers, we jumped right into it. Portrait after portrait I was nailing dramatic and engaging portraits that told a story. I didn’t need to talk, I just let each of the men consume the moment and be photographed, with the occasional slight direction. But, like many of our other projects, I didn’t have much time. After 20 minutes, which seemed like 2 minutes, the brothers were done a ready to head home. 

Many Iraqi people have suffered tremendous trauma and suffer from PTSD. This was a sensitive topic, so we had to tread lightly and not push the emotion. We packed up before sunset and headed back towards the center of the city. We stopped off at a church that had been completely destroyed. Statues of Jesus Christ had all been beheaded and paintings had been shred of the faces. It was a somber and compelling moment that left us all speechless. After the church tour, we jumped into the van and headed back into Erbil through the numerous checkpoints without an issue.

That evening was interesting. While I won’t go into detail, I will say that we had an interview with a high-profile general and a high-profile politician, which ended on a sour note. Everything was off; the lighting, the composition, the sound and the content. After the interview, we headed to dinner at a fairly lavish establishment. As I predicted, the food was incredible, but the conversation was stale, we were all toast from the long day in the Iraqi badland. I was happy to get back into Ankawa and away from the awkward cultural differences of the party.

But, if there was one take away from that evening, it was where I started to see all the real complexities of the Middle East.

It's not black and white, which is what the people of the United States are spoon-fed everyday. Iraq, otherwise known as the "Axis Of Evil," consists of over 35 million everyday, warm people which are usually left in the cold in the eyes of the western world. I had no idea how many religious communities, organizations, militias and regions there are. It’s an anti-melting pot of confusion, that only few people can truly understand.

There are four main religious communities; Shia Islam, Sunni Islam, Yazdanism and Christianity.

There are two main ethnic groups; Kurdish and Arabic.

There is Jihadism. Jihadists are often Sunni extremists perceived as a military movement, such as al-Qaeda and Islamic State(ISIS). They see the violent struggle as necessary to eradicate all other religion and defend the Muslim community.

There are Kurdish Shia and there are Arab Shia. They don’t like each other. There are Kurdish Sunni and there are Kurdish Yazidi. They don’t like each other. There are Arab Yazidi and there are Arab Christian. They are the minority.

Among each of these ethnic groups and religious communities are dozens of paramilitaries and militias fighting against Jihadism for peace, land and power. While most of these communities strive for peace, some cannot accept a person of different religion or ethnicity, which often will result in violence.

So, just imagine your neighbor disliking you for only your religion, while you share the same ethnicity. On the flip-side, perhaps they dislike you for just your ethnicity, yet you share the same religion. But, your neighbor's son, dislikes both your religion and your ethnicity, so much so, he would be willing to hurt you if you don’t convert to his religion. Then, your neighbor’s cousin down the street likes your neighbor’s son, but dislikes his father for the way he prays. You and the son are just collateral damage.

It all sounds like the Wild Wild West, right? Well, It's complicated.

I woke up the next day with a headache. I felt tired and beaten down. I haven’t shaved in over a month and I haven’t showered since leaving Louisville. The United States Military uses a term for pressing through hardship, which I stand by on every tough project on foreign ground; “Embrace The Suck.” I had to constantly pinch and remind myself that we were in Iraq, the most dangerous country in the world. The gesture brought my head to level ground and forced me to tie my shoes tighter than normal. We all had to put aside normal comforts for safety and time.

Our second day in Qaraqosh began early. The air was thick with emotion that weighed heavy on our hearts. It was a day that we truly had to be candid and treat the situation with the utmost respect. The family of women and children had not seen their home since that frightful night where they all evacuated their homes in the middle of the night to evade ISIS. We expected the home to be ravaged and destroyed, so it all had to be captured in sensitivity. We were used to warmth and sympathy in foreign countries, but never to this level of intensity.

The family traveled through all the checkpoints in one large van, while we followed in a SUV not far behind. Occasionally, we would pass the van to capture the children peering through the windows or the women silently praying. Fortunately, Rauf and Jamir talked their way through all the Kurdish checkpoints and we finally made it into Qaraqosh.

As the family entered their home for the first time, we all began to feel the emotional burden. The only thing that could be heard was the children quietly playing throughout the house. The house had been trashed and only a few family remnants remained. All their pictures had been destroyed and all of their Christian relics had been beheaded or torn. The men didn’t hesitate to start the clean-up, while the women slowly paced around each room gathering tarnished heirlooms and dusting off the ash.

It was a moment that will always remain with me and close to my heart. The pain was silent but could be felt in the room. When the women paused, I paused and respected their silence by refraining from the shutter. Even with a silent shutter, the sound of my camera felt like a gun shot that reverberated throughout the room. So, I creeped around corners, remained low to the ground and hugged the cracked walls to do my best to remain out of sight and out of mind.

After a short time, I headed back out of the house with our private security Troy and scouted the exterior of the house as well as the entire block. The house next door had been completely demolished with a missile air strike and the business next door to that had been destroyed by a suicide bomber, who had used an armored truck as the delivery device. Adjacent to that business was a ground level operation ISIS had created to manufacturer improvised explosive devices otherwise known as IEDs. It was an aftermath of war and this family was situated directly in the middle of it all. Fortunately, there was no sign of life, anywhere.

It truly felt like a city of ghosts. Troy and I wandered back around the home to find a church courtyard connected to the back gate. The exterior had been charred black with fire and it smelled of death. A dried dog carcass sat parallel to a fire pit surrounded by artillery shells and trash from what looked like a sobering celebration. As we entered the church, we were hit with a distinct air that felt thick of charcoal and synthetics. ISIS had attempted to destroy the entire sanctuary with C-4 and burn the rest. We had to tread lightly, but I knew this would be an incredible location for a series of portraits. I loved the juxtaposition of this incredibly strong family, placed in a torn environment on the very day of their return to the city. The message symbolized a reckoning and a stand. It was powerful.

After an amazing lunch prepared by the family, we headed to the roof of the church where the brothers would repair and re-construct the cross that had fallen on the dome of the church while the rest of the family watched from the roof of their home. We would circle the dome with the DJI Mavic Pro Drone back and forth, until we secured a beautiuful shot. Within moments, the brothers had lifted and re-positioned the steel-beam cross upright and anchored the base with large cinder blocks. The family chanted and prayed while I frantically sprayed the shutter in every direction for the best shot.

I took a deep breath and prepared the for final stage of portraits. I was given a bright sun and had to do my best without any diffusion whatsoever. We couldn’t shoot inside the church, because the family didn’t want the children to be anywhere near the airborne C-4 by-product. So, I instinctively headed for the open shade at the front of the church where there was plenty of burnt chairs, tables and props to be used as foundational elements for staging and posing.

The families all gathered for a quick group portrait. I knew that they had lost everything, including all of their family pictures, so it was important for me to capture these images in a light-tone, simple, natural light and nothing too dramatic. Although, there was a dark undertone, due to the blackened church background, the mood was happy. They were finally making the first step to rebuild. Once the family portraits were complete, we knocked out a few individuals including the mother, Jamir and of course a group portrait of the documentary crew. It’s always a relief to finish the most difficult part of my job, especially under such extreme pressure and circumstances but I’m usually left wanting more or better. I guess you could say I’m my own worst critic.

While the family packed and headed out of Qaraqosh, we opted to stay later for a candid interview with Charmaine, the founder of Shai Fund. I took the time to explore the surrounding area as safely as possible and capture more rooftop imagery. Alone, I remember it being a moment of solace and reflection. Roughly an hour later, we jumped in the van to exit Qaraqosh for the final time. Our last stop was the large community church, where we closed the project with a quick portrait of Charmaine, the last piece of the puzzle.

That evening we headed out for celebratory food and drinks. It wouldn’t be a solid trip if weren’t able to visit some of the local scene. While we remained in Ankawa, the Christian quarter of Erbil, Iraq, we walked into a large courtyard packed with dozens of long plastic patio furniture and a live band. As many people arm themselves in Iraq, all firearms had to be checked at the door. The environment was happy, people were cheering, dancing and laughing. We were in Iraq, but we all felt safe. As tradition in foreign countries, we ordered several hookahs, a lot of random appetizers and a lot of beer. It put a large smile on my face to see these people who are under so must strain just relax and have fun. After dozens of drinks and tons of amazing Middle Eastern food, we left the courtyard at closing time. It was the relief we needed before we wrapped the project.

Sunrise hit hard. We all felt rough as we headed into our last full day in Iraq. Our last day focused on the Dominican Sisters and their impact on Iraqi people that have been displaced from the military movement of ISIS. With the help of Shai Fund, the Dominican Sisters have rebuilt schools, businesses and churches. They are slowly making progress in Erbil and surrounding Christian cities. They are also providing on the ground support to IDP camps around Mosul where Unicef and World Health Organizations has failed.

After we documented the Dominican Sisters and the their effort to help innocent families with Shai Fund, we opted to head out to the Dayro d-Mor Mattaia monastery, which dates back to roughly 363 A.D. The historic monastery is located atop Mount Alfaf in northern Iraq and is less than 12 miles from Mosul. It is recognized as one of the oldest Christian monasteries in existence. Shadows from the sun created beautiful parallel lines and strong contrast which only added to the overwhelming power of the warm stone facade. We explored every corner and opened every unlocked door, but after an hour we had to get moving and beat the sunset back to Erbil.

The day ended with an incredible dinner at the home of our focus family. As we wrapped our meal in prayer and goodbyes, I handed them prints of the family portraits I snapped the previous day in Qaraqosh. It was a beautiful moment that I owe to Charmaine who devised the gift from the start and worked to have the prints made locally. Although the evening was bittersweet, we were all ready to leave Iraq and get to United States sovereign ground. We spent several hours making sure our backpacks were underweight and the footage was backed up and stored with several different people. 

Our exit from Erbil, Iraq to Frankfurt, Germany was interesting. The six security checkpoints, including customs was nerve-wracking. Unfortunately, much of our “souvenirs” didn’t make it through security and the “broken” drone created a small headache. But, despite the odds we made it through the tight security and on the plane with all of our equipment and hard drives. As the wheels lifting off the ground, I took a deep breath and a wave of anxiety lifted from my shoulders, we did it. I nearly kissed the ground as we walked down the tarmac in Frankfurt. The weather was hot and slightly humid, but that didn’t stop us from immediately heading to the nearest beer hall to celebrate the successful trip into one of the most dangerous places on earth.

Similar to most of our international projects, there was an intense adjustment period of settling back into the comfort of my home. The shower and fresh shave pushed the process, but the sheer exhaustion caught up with my body and I came down with an stomach sickness, which required two weeks to recover.

The complexities of Iraq was eye-opening, like a dark red curtain pulled-back. I can only hope our project makes an impact and pierces through the black cloud of faulty perception we may have of these 35 million innocent people, who are struggling to restore their lives after so much war and terror.

Fear has a direct control over many aspects of our every day life and I’ve always preached the larger the risk the larger the reward. I believe that conquering fear only makes us stronger. In the end, the only regret will be the risk you didn't take.