#fair warning this is 2007 so it's...depressing...

[some-greatreward]

well...i've only seen it in chopped up pieces so im posting it: this is the Libertines bit from Seven Ages of Rock Ep7 (British Indie)

seriously guys if you like something on the internet make sure you nab it or else it'll be gone...

#the libertines #i needed to amputate carl's beginning statement that they used to hang around blur's record label trying to get signed #fair warning this is 2007 so it's...depressing...

[itsmealaiah]

Still interested?

tags/ warnings: reader and andy being friends when they were younger, andy leaving reader and leaving her alone when the band gets bigger, them reuniting years later, p in v, head (m receiving), cursing, mentions of loneliness/ depression.

pairing: andy black x fem

also i got inspo from @buckyalpine so go check their stories out their amazing ❤️

MDNI ⚠️

a/n: finding myself more, trying to get better at writing, expanding my horizons ❤️

your POV:

1998

"Andy!" I called out, rushing over to his house, elated to see him after the very-seemingly long day of school I had endured, knocking rapidly on his front door, waiting for him to answer. A smile was permanently etched onto the features of my small face, impatiently getting bored as I heard footsteps reach the screen-door, signaling he was here. I nearly squealed in pure excitement. "Hi!" I giggled when he stepped out, engulfing him in a tight hug. He coughed, and I backed off. "Sorry, just so happy to see you" I was very hyper, practically bouncing up and down with joy.

"wanna go play on the playground?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. He nodded, and we ran off, laughing at stupid things he said. When we got to the park, I called "dibs!" on the swingset, and he groaned, dashing after me. "come on y/n! that's not fair!" He whined, moving to the side so he wouldn't get hit by my swinging. I stuck my tongue out teasingly, and he grabbed the chains of the swing. "Off" he demanded.

"No" I replied, still mildly swinging back and forth. He halted it to a complete stop, hands grasping the rough metal. "hey!" I complained, trying to start a rhythm once again, but he shut it down. "my turn" he pushed me off, and started to swing, leaving me on the woodchips covering the ground. I grumbled, stomping my feet as I trudged away slowly, anger coursing through my veins.

I went up and down the slides a few times, getting bored by the fifth time. I glanced over at andy, who was still laughing, enjoying the sweet swingset he had forced me off of. "rude" I whispered under my breath, going onto the monkey bars, and slipping when I tried to leap for the other. I winced as my hands now felt sore, trying to soothe the skin as my chest heaved up and down, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "y/n!" I heard someone yell, and saw andy sprinting towards me, his face deeply worried for me, as I sat helplessly on the spiky chips of the small wood. "are you okay?" he breathed as he reached me, checking me for any injuries or bruises, to which he found one, not too big.

I felt a hot tear make its way down my cheek, and he picked his head up, glancing at the watery mark, wiping it quickly. "hey hey hey, you're fine, don't cry" he pleaded, bringing my sorrowful frame up with him, still a little wobbly. He pulled my left arm over his right, and began to lead me back to his house. I felt more tears glide down my face, sniffling each time as he sent me more worried glances at each little noise that escaped my pink lips. It took a while to reach his home, me being quite heavy for him to drag me along, while I was currently tearing up.

He opened the door, setting me down on his couch, and went to get an ice pack, his mom calling around the house for him. "andy? that you?" she yelled. "yeah mom! y/n slipped on the playground so I brought her back" he responded, and I felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I shrunk into the couch, feeling incredibly small as his mom made her way towards my small body, seeing my tears and how I felt about the whole situation.

Andy walked into the living room, seeing his mom next to me, whispering small words of reassurance as he handed her the pack of ice, and she placed it on my bruise. "Hey, you're going to be okay, everything's fine" they told me, and I believed them, a smile forming on my wet face.

2007

"hey, you're going to be okay, you know that right?" Andy asked, and I nodded, tears coursing down my face and neck, soaking my shirt as I couldn't stop them. He hugged me, attempting to comfort me in some way, but it didn't work, as I continued sobbing into his arms, my heart breaking at the thought of him leaving for God knows how long to go on tour, produce new records, make new albums and music. I had been quite a supporter of the band since its inception nearly a year ago, but I never knew they could go on tour so soon.

I didn't let go, knowing if I did, I would never be able to do anything ever again. Who knew how long they would be on tour? Would he ever return, to be with me? I had almost convinced myself that he would never dare to show his face in this small, desolate town ever again, afraid he wanted to get away, to never come back, that I would have to start a family without him, the man i'd loved since forever.

However, I had to let go, and when I did, my heart shattered, watching him get onto the tour bus, the final waves from him doing little to calm my aching heart, seeming like it was going to burst out. I didn't come out of my room for months on end, interests? lost. Passions? didn't matter. I knew I had fallen into depression, with not being able to cope with whatever the hell I was feeling.

I had to move on, somehow, I couldn't keep thinking about him when he had made his choice to desert his family, his closest friends, and needed to get over myself, no matter what it took.

2012

Andy's POV:

it had been years of no contact from y/n. I had no single clue how she was doing, or how she was holding up. From what I had seen the day I left to go on the road, I knew it was already taking its toll on her, the heavy streams of sobs on my shirt and neck making it abundantly clear she was broken, and was going to be broken until I came home.

I needed her, and she needed me just as much. It broke me, seeing her sad face as we drove off, leaving her on the driveway of my childhood home. I didn't know whether or not she still cared, or if she even thought about me anymore. I know I did, everyday, all day, into the depths of the night, the break of the day when the sun streamed through the curtains of my bunk, it was excruciatingly painful, not seeing my girl, the one I had loved for a lifetime.

I had cried that night too. the first night was the hardest, my body sore from the no sleep I had received that night, my head pounding from the constant ache of my sobbing. I had gotten into drinking not too long ago, and everytime something would come up about her, a memory, or a mention, I drank it away, repeating that cycle everytime it happened. I didn't care much anymore. I sang, I did what the managers of the record labels asked, be present and sober-looking enough on stage so no one could really tell what I was putting me and my body through.

Going out to a bar tonight was what I had convinced myself would be best, get her out of my mind once and for all, make her evaporate, leave no memory of her behind, but when I entered, I saw her. My beautiful girl, and my heart nearly stopped. I gasped, my head spinning when my eyes laid on her dancing frame. She didn't seem sober.. at all? That was out of character for her, I couldn't believe what I was seeing at all. She never drank, even when she was peer-pressured, sometimes by me.

Her curves were shown perfectly by the dress, swinging around just as she did on that swingset all those years ago. it barely covered shit, the back as non-existent as our contact these past months. My eyes were heavy with tears, tears I didn't know what from. I melted at the sight, she looked so happy, dancing like her life depended on it.

I began to make my way over to her, giddy with the feeling of seeing her again. I reached for her arm, gently sliding my fingers against it, hoping she'd notice. She didn't, so I tapped her shoulder a little bit harder, and she turned around. Her face went from happy and carefree to angry in a millisecond. She slapped me on the arm, pushing me back as I gasped. "Y/n?" I rasped out, trying to calm her down. "Don't you even think about it" she growled, a hand now placed on her hip as she fumed.

"It's me" I tried to hold my tears back, my heart breaking once again. "I know it's you dipshit, i'm not that drunk" she sighed. "Why are you here?" she questioned, and I noticed she was barely able to stand up straight, leaning on her leg for support. "Y/n, how many drinks did you down tonight?" I said warily, grabbing her arm so she was able to stand up better. "Not too many, like..fourteen?" she asked, tilting her head up so she could think. "Fourteen?!" I yelled, and she nodded. "Yeah fourteen sounds about right" she shrugged, and now I was angry, angry at myself, angry at her for letting herself get like this.

I pulled her out of the booming place, dragging her to my car. We had been able to book a hotel for the night, an amazing comparison to the hard bunks on the bus. "Hey! Where are you taking me?" she slurred, trying to release herself from my grip, but to avail, she failed and sighed. I placed her in the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt and began to drive. she looked like she was going to pass out, her eyes fluttering open and closed within each second. "no, no, y/n, stay the fuck awake, okay? just a few more minutes" i breathed, beginning to speed up and push the accelerator.

When I finally got back to the place, I dragged her in under my arm, just like when we were kids. I lugged her up the elevator, her drunken body heavy as hell, ready to fall down at any given moment. I pressed the button for my room, and waited. y/n was making small whimpers, whines, and groans as she swayed back and forth, and I was getting more anxious. The doors flew open and I immediately took her out with me, stringing her along to my suite. I slid the card, and opened the door, placing her on the bed, grabbing pain relievers and water.

I forced her to take them, and seeing she was beginning to sober up, which made me sigh in relief. "Hey princess, you doing okay?" i sat down next to her, rubbing her back as i pulled her into my embrace, wrapping my arms around her. I heard her sigh, and I tried to get a better angle of her, to try and see her. she looked like she was crying, and my heart shattered once again that night. "I missed you so much" she sobbed, burying herself into my chest.

"I felt like I couldn't live without you andy, it was hell for me" she whined, and i ran my fingers through her knotted hair, and she leaned into my touch, sighing while the tears ran down her face, ruining her makeup. "I missed you too princess" i caressed her face, rolling her over so she could see me. "really?" she sniffled, wiping her eyes. "yup, all day, sometimes i couldn't even get out of bed because all i thought about was you"

"and now you're here, with me, and i couldn't be any fucking happier, i'm never letting you and me slip apart ever again" I assured her, kissing her lips gently as she gasped into my mouth. I backed away, my head mere inches from her soft lips as I awaited for a response a nod some-

"do that again, please" she begged, she fucking begged, and I smiled, kissing her lips softly, tracing the edges with the tip of my tongue, hands on either side of her beautiful face. It seemed like a miracle to have her back in my arms, holding her, kissing her. She moaned into the kiss, cinching her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. I ran my hands up and down her body, rubbing the sides, anything I could get my greedy hands on. She whined, lifting her hips up subconsciously, and I chuckled darkly. "need me that bad, huh?" I teased, and she nodded frantically. "gonna let me undress you?" i questioned, hands sliding to her dress, grazing over the thin, barely existent straps holding it up.

She let out a small 'mhm' and i seized it, baring her body to me as I sucked in a breath, seeing how her nipples poked through the fabric of her bra, desperately seeking friction as I pulled the lace down, and I latched my tongue onto one, sucking the bud fiercely and harshly as she writhed beneath me, kneading the other roughly, as she moaned and whimpered, beginning to yell my name. "patience baby, you're doing s'good, don't wanna have to stop" she only let out a small noise in response, seemingly begging for more.

I stopped my actions, and she grumbled. "be a good girl and don't test me, got it?" I smacked her side and flipped us over so I was lying down on the pillows, still fully clothed. "take em off baby, ev'rything" I demanded, and she obliged, unzipping my low rise jeans, and relieving me of my boxers, the tent painful as fuck before she took them off, throwing them across the room.

"what should I do now?" she asked, her eyes weary and innocent. Had she not fucked anyone all those years I was gone? "suck" I commanded, placing her head onto my dick, her lips wrapping around it as she quickly deepthroated me, swallowing me whole as moan after moan escaped my throat. "ngh, doin' so well baby, keep going" i urged her on, my hips bucking up in her face as she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue sometimes slipping against the underside of my cock, to which I cried out each time, her tongue now abusing the swollen tip that leaked pre-cum, all while looking up at me, trying to get the knowledge she was doing it right, she was making me feel good.

"oh god baby" i groaned as my orgasm approached quickly, the tightening sensation becoming more unbearable by the second, each lick, each suck of her dirty little mouth driving me insane, fueling me enough to release my cum down her throat, some spraying on her face as she looked to me again for instruction. "swallow" i stuttered, trying to hold myself steady, my thighs shaking and my head a little woozy.

She fell limp against the bed, and I took the chance to get on top of her again, flipping us over once more, and didn't even give her time to get used to me, I just thrust in, and she whimpered, her face etching in pain. "ow" she complained, and I realized from earlier she wasn't quite used to sex, particularly any type of sexual act. I sighed, pulling out so she could get used to the feeling, that it wouldn't hurt so much the second or even third time, hopefully all with me.

I slowly slid in, holding her hand the entire time, making sure she was okay, that she was holding up well, and when she gave me the okay to began, I still held her hand, my other pushing her legs up to her chest so I could thrust harder, deeper, to make her feel what I felt only seconds earlier.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you" I growl, and she shivers, scared. "You gonna let me ruin this good little pussy? gonna let me cum in it?" I tease once again, and she nods, a shriek escaping her lips. "yes! oh god yes!" she screams. "andy! so good-mmph!" I nearly collapse at the sound of my name leaving her pretty, parted lips as she wails from the pleasure, making me thrust harder and harder, and I dig my rough fingers into the sides of her hips, not caring if they'll leave marks.

she gropes my hair, trying to hold onto any and everything she can so she doesn't fall flat against the bed, and I let out a small groan, hips snapping up against hers in a fiery manner. She lets out multiple sounds of praise, begging for more, for me, but I feel another orgasm coming, and the tightening sensation also coming back as I repeatedly hit her cervix, bruising it, and I know she's close too. I moan loudly as I release myself in her warmth, her cum spreading across my lower abdomen as she releases, falling limp on the bedsheets, eyes shutting and opening back up within spurts.

"did s'good baby for your first time, promise there'll be more" I reassured, kissing her forehead, tucking her into the covers with me as we both fell asleep, wrapped tightly in each other's embraces.

#andy biersack imagine #andy biersack fanfiction #andy black #andy biersack #black veil brides #itsmealaiah #andy sixx #american satan #johnny faust #paradise city

[positivementalaxolotl]

Just a reminder:

TW the use of reclaimed language. "Queer" and "Fag" are reclaimed, and you can absolutely use those terms to identify with all you want, but other people are uncomfortable with it. People have legit trauma surrounding these kinds of words and it's not fair to such a large portion of people that when they get a flashback, you tell them to suck it up. I recently RBed a post saying this exact same thing because someone was making fun of people asking them to TW the word Faggot. I want to make it VERY clear right now: It was the full word, which does hold a lot more power then the shortened Fag. Faggot has a very long, very violent and lethal history. Even today people are called faggot in a derogatory way, and are bullied relentlessly. This causes trauma and PTSD which not only is a mental health concern, but has physical symptoms. I wanted to clear up some things that were being said in the replies before the replies were turned off.

It doesn't matter how the word is being used, if it's used everyone in the vicinity needs to be okay with it and you need to know if it is or isn't beforehand.

Trauma isn't just getting "slightly uncomfortable", it's flashbacks and panic attacks and long depressive episodes and periods of paranoia. Someone literally said what's in the quotes and I had to hold myself back from being toxic fr. Not a very common urge of mine, btw.

The original post wasn't about getting "cancelled", they RBed it with a screenshot of someone saying "trigger warnings would be nice" and then proceeded to make fun of people who need trigger warnings.

Queer isn't a new slur: When I was in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL it was still a common slur, and that was 2007-2012. I guarantee you it was a common slur long before that too. To the person saying it wasn't a common slur until 2018 when "radfems and terfs were using it" stfu you literally don't know what you're talking about. There's no nicer way to say that.

People aren't pussies or snowflakes because they have triggers. Wait- did someone actually... Yeah someone in the replies DID call people snowflakes, you know, like conservatives have been calling the gays for about a decade now- I wonder what the connection there is. (It's that you're wrong and an insensitive jerk-)

PTSD and traumatic flashbacks don't just happen randomly. They don't always start from words or visuals. ANY sensation can cause flashbacks. You'd be surprised how many people get massive flashbacks from familiar smells and textures.

Triggers aren't something that you just "get over" and you can't just decide to take back the slur when that slur is a trigger for you. The people who were talking about how "freeing reclaiming a slur" is, or "Got called a slur but I got over it" don't understand that that isn't a possibility for everyone. You can't sit there and tell a huge group of people to embrace this word and get over being called it when MOST of the people telling them to use a tw are telling them to because *gasp* they have triggers, and therefore CAN'T get over the use of the word, and CAN'T feel free with it. You can't be triggered AND free from triggered language.

It's really not that hard to put a TW in your tags, would you rather take the 2 seconds it takes to do that or cause several people terrible episodes for the next 2 weeks. The tagging system and removal is there for a reason, these people took the time to properly put their triggers in the removal system, you need to make sure that those systems work because otherwise it's completely pointless.

People with trauma shouldn't be shoved off of the internet just because they have trauma. This is literally the exact same thing that us Queer people have been fighting for for so long: To be included and accepted. You can't fight for acceptance then turn around and fight people on the ethics of you being a jackass and other people should deal with you being a jackass and if they don't like it then they're snowflakes. It's the exact same thing homophobes and transphobes are saying everywhere and hypocritical. If you're a jackass then you're the one in the wrong and keeping you here and getting rid of good people would just make the internet a statistically worse place to be. You need to be the one to leave.

"Tranny" isn't a widespread reclaimed word. MOST trans people are still really uncomfortable with it, if it's freeing for YOU then good for you, but not everyone is you and you need to respect that.

Many people don't want to reclaim these words because of fear that homo/transphobes will pick them back up and use them for actual harm. We need to also respect people with this fear because words don't only have the power you give them. It has the power that ANYONE gives them, so a father telling his son to hate "trannies and queers" is still a negative power that can do actually PHYSICAL harm to others. If derogatory language is used, and they know it's derogatory, it can cause these people to be more aggressive when fighting back. This isn't just about people with triggers, but for anyone who uses these words for any reason.

This is all the same with racial slurs too. If using them empowers you, great, but it can cause problems for other people. All you gotta do is put a tw or ask people if they're okay with it. It's not that hard.

People shouldn't feel uncomfortable because of your labels. I don't mean "Homophobes shouldn't feel uncomfortable because you say you're gay/trans", because there's nothing wrong with being gay or trans and those words don't have a long negative history. Those are simple adjectives that haven't been used to hurt people. (Gay has been, and people probably do have trauma associated with it, but it's not a very common one because gay's history may have been negative, but it wasn't nearly as long as queer or faggot) This doesn't just mean other people who are queer. CisHet people also shouldn't be made uncomfortable with this language either, because they know the history behind it, maybe they were called these slurs even though they aren't a part of the community, maybe it makes them uncomfortable because their families are phobic and/or they have gay friends who don't like these words. Maybe they used to be phobic themselves and don't want to be reminded of that because they've grown and become a better person.

I want to make sure you guys know about this: I have a STRANGE trigger. When I see a marching band or see people marching, it causes flashbacks. I get thrown right back into those awful moments in my life and it causes depressive episodes that last weeks at least, and months at worst. It's not a trigger I can realistically ask others to TW for me. (Obviously you CAN, but I can understand why you wouldn't too.) I don't want possibly tens to hundreds of people to be put on the same boat as me just because people are being too lazy and passive-aggressive to put a tw in their tags. If you forget to that's one thing, but actively refusing to is unacceptable, and bullying people for having triggers should have you in jail because what happened IS BULLYING and causes trauma in and of itself, mixsed with the reclaimed language? If you don't want to tag it, don't say it or talk about it. You'd probably be fuming if the same thing were happening with other kinds of common triggers, and the thing is that PTSD can be just as strong with reclaimed language as it is with other things that I know you'd be pissed about.

I don't have a problem with the words queer, fag, or faggot, but getting so bent about putting a tw in your tags is the ableist version of conservatives getting bent about pronouns in bios. If you can't respect people with common triggers, get the hell off the internet and learn how to be a decent human being before coming back.

#TW #Queer #pride #gay #sexuality #trauma #PTSD #flashbacks

[tcrumb]

Eminem’s Whole Life Story is Right There in his Music

Throughout this article I am going to link to every song I can think of that tells the more personal parts of Eminem’s story. Feel free to read about his rise to fame, or take a moment to listen to it.

Em was born October 17th 1972 and grew up as Marshall Bruce Mathers III, his bastard father gave him his name and then took off when Em was still very young. He was left to be raised by his mother Debbie, a single mother struggling with a drug addiction. The household was toxic and unstable. They moved around a million times before somewhat settling in Detroit. (Contrary to popular belief Em was not born in Michigan, he has Missouri southern roots.)

 It was in Detroit where he found his love for music and rap, it is also where he met his first love Kim. Kim and Em were teenagers when they first met, Kim had run away from home when Debbie invited her in. The relationship started from there, and was rocky ever since. They had their one and only child together in 1995. I’m sure we have all heard the name Hailie Jade by now, even if you aren’t an Eminem Stan. He struggled to raise a daughter while pursuing his dreams at the same time. He had to flip burgers by day, and do underground shows by night. He managed to release his first album 1996, it was titled Infinite. The album didn’t sell, well technically it sold 1,000 copies, with critics saying it sounded too much like Nas or the delivery was too soft. 1996 was a difficult period for Em, his album flopped, he was fired from the burger joint he was working at right before Christmas, and he had to move back in his mother’s trailer home, bringing his daughter and Kim with him. With the pressure building Eminem hit one of his lowest points, he downed a bottle of Tylenol and attempted suicide. 

It’s crazy the difference a year could make. In 1997 Em competed in the Rap Olympics, a rap competition the gains quite a bit of attention. He ended up coming in second place to the rapper Otherwize (who, never heard of him?). Otherwize won in a slimy way. During Em’s turn in the battle the man walk off stage and left Em to verse no one. After the whole ordeal he was crushed. A man came up to Em right before he was about to leave and asked for a demo, Em chucked it at him, still fuming from the loss. What are the odds that chance encounter would result in Em’s music being passed along to Dr.Dre?

 We all know the rest right? Hi, My Name Is  floods the airwaves and the public consciousness, the Slim Shady persona is born, The Slim Shady LP sells millions, Kim and Em get married and then divorced, The Marshall Mathers LP comes out, sell millions, forms a rap group with a few of his closest friends called D12, is critically acclaimed but politically demonized, Em stars in 8 mile, it wins a fucking Oscar, the best album ever made comes out and it’s called the Eminem Show, goes on tour after tour after tour, gets Encore comes out and it eh, Eminem gets married to Kim once again, they push out a greatest hits album, and it all comes to a screeching halt.

2006 was the next lowest point in Em’s life. On April 5th, three months after he got remarried to Kim, he was filing for divorce. 6 days later on April 11th, Eminem’s best friend of many years, a member of the aforementioned group D12, someone he was inspired by and looked up to, someone he loved like a brother, was shot and killed. 

This sent Em into a depression that lasted for years. He retreated from the music scene entirely, spiraled further into drug addiction, something he has been dealing with for a while at this point, and disappeared from the public eye. During this time his health was deteriorating, he put on bit of weight, started to struggle with insomnia, and grew dependent on prescription drugs. The few glimpse the media could get of Em during this time were still exploited.

In late 2007 Eminem overdosed on the equivalent of 4 bags of heroin. The doctors told him if he would have gotten to the emergency room two hours later he would have died. He decided it was time to get into a recovery program. After trial and error Em got clean in 4/20/2008, and began dipping his toes back into music. His first album back was titled Relapse and it received a lukewarm reception. It was a very playful and experimental album, a sound his fans with used to, but he came back swinging with Recovery. 

Again, I think we know this part. Put out Recovery and it returned him to the world stage, had record breaking hits like Love The Way You Lie and Not Afraid, released the sequel to the Marshall Mathers LP, released a collaborative album titled ShadyXV to promote Shady Records, toured (rarely because it was a trigger for him), dropped Revival which received mixed reactions, released Kamikaze with no warning as a huge fuck you to the critics of Revival, and finally released Music to Be Murdered By just this year. And that brings us up to date.

There are a million little details that I am missing, but to be fair his career has lasted longer than I have been alive. I think that plays into why I’m so obse-ssed with him, he as music for anything I could be going through or feeling. He is and will always be my goto. When I’m fed up with my own life I can fall completely into his world instead.

#Eminem #proof #d12 #the slim shady lp #infinite #the marshall mathers lp #the eminem show #encore #relaspe #recovery #the marshall mathers lp 2 #shadyxv #slim shady #em #revival #kamikaze #music to be murdered by #addiction #mariah carey #drugs #drug abuse #music #rap #kim

[creativitycache]

ngl asking for people who self-identify as "antis" is already biasing your results because the term originated from fans being defensive over getting called out (eg the types who sincerely think fandom culture is ""puritan""). fair number of people started to use the term ironically and it might be evening out but overall the post calling for responses on the survey still comes off as something written in bad faith?

I wrote a rather long and involved response and then tumblr ate it. Goshdarn.

Fair warning, this is a hyperfixation and I’m coming off of a migraine so this may not be very cogent. Please read this in the over excited tones of someone infodumping about emulsifiers, with no animosity intended.

So, tl;dr and with a lot fewer links, I’m incredibly interested by your perspective that “anti” originated as a derogatory term.

As far as I am aware, the etymological history of the word “anti” being used pejoratively is coming from some very new debates.

I’m also noting that you had no feedback regarding the content of the questions themselves, which I would be interested in hearing as I am genuinely coming from a place without censure.

The term “anti” actually is a self-descriptor that arose in the Livejournal days, where you’d tag something as “Anti ___” for other like minded people to find. (For example, my cursory google search pulled up 10 Anti Amy Lee communities on LJ).

I’m a self-confessed old. I was back in fandom before Livejournal, aaaall the way back in the Angelfire days. Webrings children! We had webrings! And guest books for you to sign!

I’m going to take a swing for the fences here Anon, so if I’m wrong please let me know, but I’m going to guess you became active as a fan in the past 5-8 years based of your use of the term puritan.

There’s actually a HUGELY new debate in fandom spaces! Previously, it was assumed that:

a) All fandom spaces are created and used by adults only.

b) If you were seeing something, it’s because you dug for it.

These assumptions were predicated upon what spaces fandoms grew in. First you had Star Trek TOS fandom, which grew in 1970s housewives kitchens. They were all friends irl, and everyone was an adult, and you actively had to reach out to other adults to talk about things. (By the way- a woman lost custody of her children in the divorce when her ex husband brought up to the judge she kept a Kirk/Spock zine under her bed. The judge ruled this as obvious signs of moral deficiency. That was in the 80s! Everyone is still alive and the parents are younger than my coworkers!)

Time: 1967-1980s. Is Anti a term? No. Who is the term used by? N/A Is fandom space considered Puritanical? No.

Then, when the internet came about, it was almost exclusively used by adults until The Eternal September. 1993 was the year that changed the internet for good, but even years after that the internet was a majority adult space. Most kids and teens didn’t have unlimited access if their parents even had a home computer in the 90s.

This is the rise of Angelfire, which were fansites all connected to each other in “rings”. You had to hunt for content. If you found something you didn’t like, well, you clicked out and went on with your day because you’d never see it again unless you really dug. This was truly the wild west, tagging did not exist and you could go from fluff to vore in the blink of an eye with nothing warning you before hand. All fannish spaces were marked “here be dragons” and attempts were made to at least adopt the “R/NC-17″ ratings on works to some limited success, depending on webmaster.

Time: 1990-1999. Is Anti a term? No. Who is the term used by? N/A Is fandom space considered Puritanical? No.

In 1999 LiveJournal arose like a leviathan, and here is where the term Anti emerges as a self descriptor. Larger communities began to form, and with them, divisions. Now, you could reach so many fans you could reach a critical mass of them for enough of them to dislike a ship. The phrase “Anti” became a self-used tag, as people tagged their works, communities, and blogs with “anti” (NB: this is at far, far smaller rates than today). Anti was first and foremost a tagging tool used and created by the people who were vehemently against something.

You could find content more easily than in the past, but you still had to put some serious elbow grease into it.

In 2007, Livejournal bans users for art "depicting minors in explicit sexual situations”. The Livejournal community explodes in anger- towards Livejournal staff. The account holders/fans view this as corporate puritanical meddling. The outrage continues as it is revealed these bans were part of a pre-sale operation to SUP Services. SUP Services, upon taking over Livejournal in 2008, proceeds to filter the topics “bisexuality, depression, faeries, girls, boys, and fanfiction”.

The Great LiveJournal Migration begins, as fans leave the site in droves.

Time: 1999-2009. Is Anti a term? Yes. Who is the term used by? People self describing, seeking to create communities based off a dislike of something. Is fandom space considered Puritanical? No.

Where do fans go? Well, in the last decade, they migrated to Tumblr and Twitter (sorry Pillowfort- you gave it a good try!)

What’s different about all of these sites? Individuals are able to create and access content streams. These are hugely impactful in how communities are formed! Because now:

a) finding content is easier

b) finding content you dislike by accident is easier

c) content you dislike requires active curation to avoid

d) truly anonymous outreach is possible and easy (for example, you anon! Isn’t it much easier to go on anon to bring up awkward or sensitive topics? I’m happy you did by the way, and that’s why I keep my anons open. It’s an important contextual tool in the online communications world!)

Now the term Anti gets sprightly. Previously, if you didn’t like content, there was nothing you could really do about it. For example, I, at the tender age of way-too-young, opened up a page of my favorite Star Trek Deep Space 9 fansite and pixel by pixel with all the loading speed of a stoned turtle a very anatomically incorrect orgy appeared.

I backed out.

1. Who could I contact? There was no “message me here” button, no way to summon any mods on Angelfire sites.

2. If I did manage to find a contact button, I would have had to admit I went onto a site that wasn’t designed to keep me safe. I knew this was a site for adults, I knew there wasn’t a way to stop it from showing something. There was no such thing as tags. I knew all of this before going in. So the assumption was, it was on me for looking. (Some may have argued it was on my parents for not supervising me- all I can say is thank GOD no one else was in the living room and my mom was around the corner in the kitchen.)

But now? On Tumblr? On Twitter? In a decade in which tagging is so easy and ubiquitous it’s expected?

Now people who describe themselves as antis start to have actual tools and social conventions to utilize.

Which leads to immediate backlash! Content creators are confused and upset- fandom spaces have been the wild west for decades, and there’s still no sherriff in town. So the immediate go-to argument is that these people who are messaging them are “puritans”.

And that’s actually an interesting argument! A huge factor in shaping the internet’s social mores in the latest decades is cleanliness for stockbrokers. Websites can become toxic to investors and to sales if they contain sexual content. Over time, corporations perfected a mechanism for “cleaning” a site for sale.

Please note there is no personal opinion or judgement in this next list, it is simply a description of corporate strategies you can read during the minute meetings of shareholders for Tumblr, Twitter, Paypal, Venmo, Facebook, Myspace, Yahoo Answers, and Livejournal.

1. Remove sex workers. Ban any sex work of any kind, deplatform, keep any money you may have been holding.

2. Remove pedophilia. This is where the jump begins between content depicting real people vs content depicting fictional characters begins.

3. Remove all sexual image content, including artwork of fictional characters.

4. Remove all sexual content, including written works. If needed, loop back to step 2 as a justification, and claim you do not have the moderators to prevent written works depicting children.

I would like to reiterate these are actual gameplans, so much so that they’ve made their way into business textbooks. (Or at least they did for my Modern Marketing & App Design classes back in the early 2010s. Venmo, of course, wasn’t mentioned, but I did read the shareholder’s speeches when they banned sex workers from the platform so I added them in the list above because it seems they’re following the same pattern.)

So you have two groups who are actively seeking to remove NSFW content from the site.

A) Corporate shareholders

B) People are upset they’re seeing NSFW content they didn’t seek out and squicks them

Now, why does this matter for the debates using the term “puritan” as an insult? 

Because the reasons corporate shareholders hate NSFW material is founded in American puritanism. It’s a really interesting conflation of private sector values! And if Wall Street were in another cultural context, it would be a completely different discussion which I find fascinating!

But here’s the rub- that second group? They're not doing this for money. If there are any puritanical drives, it’s personal, not a widespread cohesive ideology driving them. HOWEVER! The section of that group that spent the early 2010s on tumblr did pick up some of the same rhetoric as puritanical talking points (which is an entirely separate discussion involving radfems, 4chan raids, fourth wave feminism, and a huge very nuanced set of influences I would love to talk about at a later time!)

These are largely fans who have “grown up” in the modern sites- no matter how old they actually are, their fandom habits and expectations have been shaped by the algorithms of these modern sites.

Now HERE‘s the fascinating bit that’s new to me! This is the interpretation of the data I’m getting, and so I’m out on a limb but I think this is a valid premise!

The major conflict in fandom at this time is a struggle over personal space online.

Content creators are getting messages telling them to stop, degrading them, following them from platform to platform.

They say “Hey! What gives- we were here first. The cardinal rule of fandom is don’t like, don’t read. Fandom space has always been understood to be adult- it’s been this way for decades! To find our content, you had to come to us! This is our space! This is my space, this is my blog! If you don’t like it, you’re not obligated to look!”

Meanwhile, at the exact same time, antis are saying “Hey! What gives- this content is appearing on my screen! That’s my space!  I didn’t agree to this, I don’t like this! I want it to be as far away from me as possible! I will actively drive it away.”

This is a major cultural shift! This is a huge change and a huge source of friction! And I directly credit it to the concept of “content stream” and algorithms driving similar-content to users despite them not wanting it!

Curating your online space used to be much simpler, because there wasn’t much of it! Now with millions of users spread out over a wide age range, all feeding in to the same 4-5 websites, we are seeing people be cramped in a technically limitless space!

Now people feel that they have to go on the offense to defend themselves against content they don’t like, which is predicated upon not only the algorithms of modern websites but ALSO talking points fed from the top down of what is and what is not acceptable on various platforms.

Time: 2010-2020. Is Anti a term? Yes. Who is the term used by? People self describing,and people using it to describe others. Is fandom space considered Puritanical? Depends!

So I, a fandom ancient, a creaky thing of old HTML codes and broken tags, am watching this transformation and am wildly curious for data.

Also...I uh....I can’t believe this is the short version. My ADHD is how you say “buckwild” tonight.

Anyways...um...if anyone has read to the bottom, give me data?

#Asks&Answers #fandom #anti #fandom discourse #gosh I've been on the internet a long time... #started at the 90s now we hear #I still sometimes think about the dudes who were HELLA salty about the eternal september #they talk about it like it was a war...you bring up Usenet and they go #I was THERE Gandalf

[prorevenge]

But I Don’t Even Have a Contract!

When I was 16, I had a stint as a small-time social media star on Twitter — not because I’m particularly interesting or anything, but for two reasons: a) I got on Twitter really early in 2007 when it was way easier to get followers and engagement due to the site being less noisy and more ‘stupid’ in terms of algorithms and b) I stood out from a lot of other minor Twitter stars because I didn’t let it get to my head; while a lot of them were egotistical and haughty, I followed everyone back, turned ‘haters’ into friends instead of retaliating, etc.

Through this fleeting fame, my former boss found me. He said he was setting up a regional media studio to help small- and medium-sized local businesses with their social media marketing, and he planned to eventually franchise the business into other cities. He hired me on the basis of my large social following (81,000 followers at the time). Obviously, having a large social following doesn’t automatically mean you know how to market businesses on social media, but I adapted and studiously researched how to do my job properly.

My boss didn’t come from a creative background or a marketing role — he came from a property background, and was just sort of winging it in finding an alternative source of income after the housing crash. Being as young as I was at the time, I didn’t really think about any of this stuff. The outcome was that I never received any training, had no real guidance in what I was doing, and was generally left to my own devices. Younger me thought it was great! I saw it as ‘freedom’, but looking back, I realize it was far too much freedom.

The side effects of this disparity between my social media skills and his inability to communicate creative ideas manifested themselves as people trying to cut past the business and come straight to me, asking me directly as an individual whether I’d do work for them rather than give my boss the money. I was respectful (or naïve) enough to open up to my boss about this, and that’s when things started getting a little bit manipulative. He told me I could go my own way or remain part of a business that’d soon be growing across the country.

Fair enough, I thought. So I stayed, and one year in (I was 17/18 at this time) I realized that managing brands via social media had naturally morphed me into something of a graphic designer. A lot of my time was spent creating eye-catching visuals in Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign etc. and so I suggested to my boss that we expand our media offering to include logo, graphic, and print design, and visual branding consultancy. Again, I received no training — I worked all day and self-studied late into the night.

  This pattern snowballed over the years. By the time I was 21, I was a social media manager, visual branding designer, copywriter, photographer, video editor, and web developer — all skills I developed independently with no input or guidance from my boss. The business was still operating in just one city, and my boss had started spending less and less time in the office. I still didn’t realize this wasn’t particularly normal, until clients who came to the office to meet me constantly asked where he was.

One day, a client went as far as to say: “You’re basically running the business at this point!” It was a huge ‘glass shatter’ moment for me, and I suddenly realized that, yeah, although I wasn’t actually managing the business and its admin work etc., without me, there wouldn’t be a service or product to sell. What’s more, my wages hadn’t gone up, even though my ‘this is great, I have so much freedom!’ mind-set had motivated me to continue working on stuff related to the business when I got home.

As I was nearing 22, the owner of the building where the business’ office was located asked me if I’d help him fix his computer (it was just running really slowly because he hadn’t managed his files very well). Not really thinking of it as work, I agreed, and headed into his office after work to help him out. As luck would have it, my boss walked in to hand over that month‘s rent, so he saw me there. He looked surprised, but didn’t comment — he just gave the dude the rent and left the building.

The next day, my boss wasted no time in probing me about what I was doing. He was speaking to me like a cop would speak to a suspect, asking me how long I’d been doing work for the landlord, what kind of work I was doing, why I hadn’t folded the work into the business, etc. I explained I was just fixing up his computer, and he leapt into a lecture about how we needed to keep all work inside the business, or else we would never be able to grow into other cities.

  I turned 22. I’d been there for five years, my wages hadn’t gone up, I wasn’t allowed to do any work outside of the business, I hadn’t witnessed any of the growth I’d initially been promised, my boss was only in the office 25% of the time, and I saw him uploading Instagram Stories from him lunching, working out at the gym, walking his dogs, taking day trips etc. while I was in the office managing everything. A lot of the time he didn’t even warn me he’d not be in the office. It became the norm that if he didn’t turn up, I’d be running everything for the day. Because I’d grown with the business from my youngest working age, I didn’t know any different, so all of this felt completely normal to me. And because I worked all day and all night and had no firm social life, I never got any outside perspective, until one day, on a whim, I opened up to the landlord about it. He hadn’t even realized I was the one doing all the work — he figured it was split fairly 50/50. He said the amount of work I was producing was on the same level as an agency with three or four employees.

I started managing all of the branding, social media, and website maintenance for the landlord’s business, but didn’t broadcast that news to anyone. As I was nearing the age of 23, I met my now-fiancée, a perfectly feisty woman who, as soon as I told her about my situation, passionately advised I start my own media studio. This is where I entered the ‘long breakup’ period of my job, where I got increasingly depressed at work and physically felt my productivity slow to a near-halt. My boss noticed, but never talked to me about it face-to-face. He started sending me irritated emails full of swear words demanding explanations for why I hadn’t delivered certain work by certain times and dates, while he was off sunning at the beach. It was like someone had pulled out his cork and let all the toxicity out in one torrent. My girlfriend hated him, and gently pushed me to the point where I felt like I was ready to confront him about the dead end we’d wound up in.

I asked a few of my friends about it, just to get a wider set of viewpoints on how I should go about it. They asked me things like, what does your contact say about you leaving the company and working with other businesses independently? Legal stuff, y’know. And that’s when I realized my lack of training over the past six years had also left me ignorant of the formalities of employment — I never had a contract! The real kicker was, I never had employee liability coverage either. My boss wasn’t even doing the admin stuff properly.

Obviously, that meant he also had no control over me when it came to contracts, so I literally just walked in (without my laptop — I’m now just realizing he never provided equipment either, yikes) and sat there waiting for him to arrive. Thankfully, it was one of the days he decided to turn up. He went and sat down in his chair, asked me where my laptop was and why I wasn’t working etc., and so I just straight-up told him that I was leaving the company to start my own media venture.

He laughed a patronizing laugh and simply said, “Alright, good luck then.” Part of me felt like this was normal, because he was usually quite cold like that, but another part of me knew that there should have been some sort of emotion and deeper discussion in that moment. I wanted to say, “so that’s it, then?” to try to flesh the talk out, but that really was it. He just turned to his computer and began typing away as if I wasn‘t there. So I just turned around and left, went home, and that was it.

He did WhatsApp me a message later that day (all his caring and considerate communication came through digital means — perhaps he hired someone on a zero-hour contract to inject emotion into his texts?) asking if we could meet at the pub for a proper goodbye. And we did. It was a nice gesture, but it felt very awkward and forced, as if he’d spoken to someone about it and they’d coaxed him into doing it. He shook my hand, wished me good luck (much more genuinely this time), and we parted ways.

  Three months later, I’d tripled my income as a freelancer. All of those clients who’d try to come to me directly over the years — it was like a floodgate had opened, and they all came rushing to me. I hadn’t told them I’d left, but obviously, they realized it themselves when they went to the office and I was never there. I felt bad about ‘stealing’ clients away from my former boss, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just abandon the people I’d been working with just because of morals. That‘d be immoral, if anything. I continued working with the landlord and even travelled with him a few times to build my solo filmmaking portfolio by documenting his brand’s work across the UK, including his talks at business seminars. We developed a very close working relationship, to the point where just my work for his company was earning me more than all the work I did for my former boss. He started sharing a few bits of gossip with me about how my old boss had begun paying rent later and later. I figure perhaps his cash flow had something to do with it, but the landlord also showed me an email my old boss had written in which he’d expressed his anger at the landlord for ‘colluding’ with me and pushing me to leave his company.

The further I distanced myself from the company, the more I realized how toxic he behaved towards everyone he came into contact with. I could never see it from the inside. Every time I checked the old company’s website, a new service had been removed, because it wasn’t something he could offer anyone anymore.

Back in November 2018, the landlord told me that he was kicking my old boss out of the office after he failed to pay rent for three months. A few weeks after that, the landlord proposed that we go into business together to create a separate media studio solely focused on the industry his business operates within. He said that we’d take the old company’s office once my former boss had moved out, and that I could also use that office for my own freelance venture, free of charge.

One year after leaving, I’ve taken 25% of my old boss’ clients, occupied his office, and quadrupled my income.

There’s a part of me that feels guilty about all of this — he’s a guy who didn’t quite know what to do after the housing market crashed and tried something out which didn’t go too well. But at the same time, I can’t feel too bad for someone who I believe took advantage of me for half a decade. If you treat someone with disrespect, you end up with very little. If you treat someone with respect, they give you a free office and offer to start a new business with you.

  TL;DR: Boss never did anything properly — no training, no contracts, no insurance, very little respect, not much guidance, empty promises about business growth, etc. Everything I learned independently resulted in me quadrupling my income and taking over his office within a year of leaving his company.

(source) story by (/u/Adingding90)

#prorevenge #by /u/Adingding90 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[homosociallyyours]

Playlisting!

I was tagged by @la-paritalienne and @harryincamp <3 thanks babes!!!

Rules: we’re snooping your playlist. Put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first ten songs, then choose ten victims GUESS WHAT i am gonna talk about the songs bc I like doing that! 

1) Meant to Be (Bebe Rexha ft. Florida Georgia Line) I wish there was a version of this that was all Bebe. Her part is fucking gorge. Also when she sings about guys breaking her heart I wanna hold her. 

2) Fair (Ben Folds Five) Listen I have always had a great idea for a video for this song (it’s essentially a super slow-mo acting out of the song interspersed with a high speed replay of the relationship of the couple)

3) You and Me of the 10,000 Wars (Indigo Girls) CLASSIC EMILY!!! So lyrically rich and full of metaphors and lovely imagery. You hardly ever hear this one live, which is sad. “I wanted everything to feed me, about as full as I got was of myself and the upper echelons of mediocrity,” girl WHAT? dang. 

4) A Woman’s Love (Alix Dobkin/Lavender Jane Loves Women) warning that alix d. is a terf, bleh. But this song is vintage lez, damn. Big first time loving a woman, I just realized I’m a dyke and nothing has ever felt better mood. 

5) Nothing to Prove (Jill Sobule)  I LOVE JILL!!! She’s clever and funny and she writes a good song. My fave here is her joke about moving to LA and having people say they’re in the industry-- “I ask, ‘oh are you in steel?’” If that’s not big east coaster moving west energy, damn. 

6) Filthy/Gorgeous (Scissor Sisters)  This will forever remind me of my housemate, B-Monster. It was 2007-2008 (maybe a bit longer) and they loved scissor sisters and dancing like a wildling. 

7) I Like Fucking (Bikini Kill)  CATHARSIS!!!! What we need is action strategy, I want I want I want I want I WANT IT NOW <3 <3 <3

8) Laramie (Amy Ray)  Ummm rude to throw this gay depression tune in, eh? But it’s good and important, a reflection on Matthew Shepherd’s murder from a southern gay who’s traveled all over. “Tolerance, it ain’t acceptance. I know you wanted it to be.” So much better live than the recorded version bc you could feel the intensity and rage behind the pain. 

9) The Book of Love (Magnetic Fields)  You ought to give me wedding rings. 

10) Early in the Morning (Buddy Holly)  Do you ever sit around and wonder what music Buddy Holly would’ve made if he hadn’t died in that plane crash? What he would’ve sounded like in the 70s or 80s or later on? I sure enough do. 

well that was a journey, wasn’t it? 

idk who to tag! if you don’t wanna do this no worries, and if you do but weren’t tagged please do it!!  @42mins @uhohmorshedios @greeneyedlarrie @cupcakentea @statementlou @lesbianchrispine @alienfuckeronmain @hogwartzlou @jlf23tumble @greeneyedbelle

#music #about me #my music tastes are varied and not highbrow #but i am quite proud of them #tag games

[infolibrary]

Horrors of History – Part 4: WWII Japan, and Unit 731

New Post has been published on http://www.infolibrary.net/horrors-of-history-part-4-wwii-japan-and-unit-731/

Horrors of History – Part 4: WWII Japan, and Unit 731

Just a fair warning. These pictures and concepts aren’t particularly graphic, but they may make some people uncomfortable. I just want to stress that it’s important to know that these things REALLY happened to very REAL people it’s important to recognize the past, even the stuff that might make some of us uncomfortable. Thank you. Click here for part 1, part 2 and part 3.

The man in charge

It is important to first note that the Japanese and Chinese were fighting before WW2 had even started. The 2nd Sino-Japanese War began in 1937 and spanned until Japan’s surrender in 1945. This conflict was primarily between China and Japan and some of the surrounding Asian countries, with support coming from Germany, Russia, and America. But once Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, the Sino-Japanese war merged with WWII.

Experimentation began in 1933, but Unit 731 was established in 1936 disguised as the “Epidemic Prevention & Water Purification Department”, headed by the Kwatang Army. There were many facilities, including units 100 and 531, but 731 (located in the Pingfang district of Harbin, now Northeast China) was the main center. It was commanded by General Shiro Ishii.

It was estimated that over 10,000 men, women, and children died from experiments at Unit 731. It was estimated to consist of roughly 70% Chinese, 30% Russian, but also consisted of Filipinos, and even Allied POW’s.

The experimental program was code named “Maruta”, meaning log. This was a joke, comparing the victims to logs, while also alluding to the cover up that it was a lumber mill.

Several horrendous experiments were conducted at these facilities, including but not limited to:

Amputating limbs to study blood loss.

Sometimes reattaching severed limbs to other body parts.

Freezing limbs to test for frostbite, then thawing severed limbs to test for gangrene.

Removing stomachs, livers, and bladders.

Burying victims alive.

Removing intestines then replacing them upside-down

It is also important to note that all subjects were alive and given no anesthesia, for fear that decomposition might affect the results.

A particularly gruesome process that occurred very regularly was the process of “vivisection”. This is the method of surgically opening up a “subject” (in this case, a person) to examine important bodily functions. This, of course, was also done while the victims were alive and without anesthetics.

An interview was done in 2007 with one vivisectionist at Unit 731: Dr. Ken Yuasa. “I was afraid during my first vivisection, but the second time around, it was much easier. By the third time, I was willing to do it,” Yuasa said.

One of the main purposes of Unit 731 was biological weaponry experimentation. Many subjects were infected with various diseases to test the results. In some instances, men and woman were infected with syphilis and gonorrhea, typically by rape.

One of their primary projects (and a major focus for Gen. Shiro Ishii) was the idea of a weaponized disease bomb.

Unit 731 delved much research into designing bombs to be dropped over China to spread many horrible diseases. One particularly barbaric idea was the “flea bomb”, loaded with fleas that were infected with the bubonic plague. This bomb wasn’t very successful, but Ishii attempted many ways to perfect the method, up to the end of the war.

Instead, a much more affective biological bomb was made using anthrax, and especially Cholera. Cholera bombs were estimated to be responsible for over 30,000 deaths within the 1st week of detonation. Some estimate that over 300,000 Chinese were killed by Japanese biological warfare. There were plans to eventually send these bombs to America, but fortunately it never came to fruition.

Humans were also used as test targets for several different weapons. Live individuals were used to test grenades, bombs, and even flamethrowers.

With the inevitable defeat of the Japanese, all of the experimentation labs were bombed and burned. Fortunately, many of them were made of solid construction, so many of the buildings remained relatively intact.

After the war, General Ishii demanded that all 731 Physicians “take their secrets to their grave.”

One of the highest ranking members of the Army in history, Gen. MacArthur

After the war, General Douglas MacArthur granted immunity to many of Unit 731’s physicians as well as General Shiro Ishii, on the condition that the results of their research be given to America only, to prevent the Soviets from obtaining any biological warfare information.

During the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal (Japan’s Nuremberg Trials) the accusations of Unit 731 were dismissed due to lack of evidence.

Russia punished a handful of Japanese Physicians in their trial at the city of Khabarovsk, sentencing them from between 2 and 25 years in Russian prisons. America responded to the accusations by calling it “communist propaganda.”

I’m getting the feeling that I’m turning into the Debbie Downer here, but I think it’s important to remember that these things DID happen, even if there are some people who are uncomfortable talking about it. To help cleanse your depression palette, here are SOME MORE PUPPIES THAT ARE CERTAINLY IN GOOD HOMES AND HAVE NOT BEEN HARMED! Thank you again for reading.

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#731 #history #Horrors #Japan #Part #Unit #WWII

[starspatter]

WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments.  (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.)  I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right?  Don’t worry, it’s really simple.  One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh?  A ‘demon’?  But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear.  Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within.  She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then?  Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others.  It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time.  (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~)  For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes.  The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars.  With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for.  ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building.  His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table.  Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair.  That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi.  The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another...  Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself.  (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love.  But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this.  This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates.  I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be.  In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters.  For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it.  As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes.  Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright.  The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat.  The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao.  I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger.  “In all this time, why didn’t you come back?  You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child.  But he wasn’t a child.  Children were forgiven for their mistakes.  And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s the way this town works.  We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world.  Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia.  She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry.  It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze.  Over 10 years, huh.  But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering.  It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend).  *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories.  (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;()  What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all).  I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training.  I mean that in an intuitive sort of way.  Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else.  Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about.  Perhaps not.  Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this.  As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards.  It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly.  She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes.  She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze.  She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know.  This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL).  In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher.  So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again.  However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence.  As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*).  So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference.  (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now.  They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below.  The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought.  I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real.  The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this.  I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage.  I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic.  I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia.  The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend.  I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right.  I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun.  The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved.  This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted.  However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag.  One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead.  Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It.  Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch?  It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her.  Twice she nearly caught one.  Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands.  The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone. 

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol.  I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting).  I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination.  Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East.  She knew about the Light that came from Outside.  There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through.  She had always done well to avoid them.  The brightness was like poison to her skin.  But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely.  He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream.  She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was.  Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”.  In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn.  But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway.  She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread.  I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference.  (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

#Kagerou Project #Tateyama Ayano #Mekakushi Trio #Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu #ItsuHaru #ItsuYuki #Pokemon #Gary Oak #Molly Hale #fanfiction #starstories #astrologista #atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine #benditlikegumby #cryptoriawebb #ibmiller #iceperialprincess #otherwise uncolonized

[dartmythcollege-blog]

TW: SA

Dear President Hanlon (and also, To Whom It May Concern),

As a sophomore at Dartmouth, I was sexually assaulted after a fraternity party. This experience has impacted my life physically, emotionally, and financially in ways I could never imagine. The alienation I faced from 2005 to 2007 at Dartmouth as a sexual assault victim who reported the attack was harrowing and demoralizing in many ways. Once full of hopes and dreams that I would be a graduate of a prestigious Ivy League college, my experience completely took the wind out of my sails as a young adult preparing to forge my way in the world.

After my sexual assault, which was reported to police but not ultimately prosecuted, my Dartmouth peers wrote horrible things on the Internet about wishing I was dead. I faced regular shame and ridicule which I have internalized for years. At one point toward the end of my time at Dartmouth, I honestly feared for my safety and had to seek refuge in a safe dorm on campus. On graduation day, I barely walked across the stage, teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Part of the reason it took so long for me to come to terms with the level of abuse I accepted at Dartmouth was that I left college during stressful times in late 2007 when it was very difficult for young graduates to find work. It was arguably even harder for a young graduate like me who suffered sexual and emotional trauma and was effectively “cast out” from the Dartmouth network. Ever since, I have had extreme financial challenges for most of the time (and while at school I was on a scholarship and came from a bankrupt family with very limited income). Dealing with this reality while working to recover from abuse has been difficult to bear.

Willing myself to do the typical Ivy League career-building things to land a solid job after graduation proved nearly impossible. On top of it, I was suffering from crippling anxiety and depression stemming from experiencing severe trauma without a safety net. I felt— for good reason, I might add—  that it was completely unsafe to speak about my past experiences. When it came time to network and schmooze under these extreme circumstances, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to people’s faces when they asked me about my time at Dartmouth. Many times after a job interview I would be reduced to tears, after having to keep a straight face with an interviewer while simultaneously ruminating about the difficult experiences which scarred my psyche.

People would enviously remark on my Dartmouth education during a job interview, about what a great experience it must have been. I wanted them to know the whole story, about how much suffering and sacrifice was required to ultimately hold that fancy parchment diploma. But it was a story that stayed buried for many years, hidden by shame and a desire to pick myself up by my bootstraps so to speak, to turn the other cheek and find steady work and succeed in spite of the things that happened to me.

To this day I have yet to find a permanent job that has offered me health insurance benefits— my English degree is just as unmarketable as everyone warned me it would be when I was working to obtain it. And on top of it all, I have learned that the very English degree I worked so hard to earn is not even of much use when it comes to speaking truth about all of these painful and terrible things now that the time has come for revelation and reckoning, which is long overdue.

I cannot even use my English degree to define what happened to me as “sexual assault” and “rape” without encountering significant legal risk. Whether I am allowed to identify my attacker as a rapist who committed sexual assault is currently up for debate in federal court. Even though those definitions are clear and defined by the FBI, and even though the crimes I reported to the police fall well within those definitional guidelines.

My prestigious degree should at the very least render me capable and competent to define subjects on clearly defined and cited terms. What was the point of me earning a degree in Creative Writing if I cannot even use it to write about something deeply personal of extreme importance, which seems to be increasingly relevant to the shared experiences of many other victims? What power does my degree have if my very attacker can use the power his own Dartmouth degree has afforded him to effectively render me mute?

As victims we are damned in silence and anonymity, and damned in speaking and emerging from the shadows. We are damned as we are shamed into pretending everything is OK, and damned as we are implicitly asked to hold our lips and make nice anytime anyone asks about Dartmouth. Rather than take this significant moment to truly engage with the victims of the community, Dartmouth has acted to create policies to encourage people to move on and stop talking about the problem, long before it has truly been solved. Dartmouth has explicitly stated that the class action against them should be divided, and to me the strategy for dividing the voices of victims to me seems clear. If we are divided, we cannot stand together. Things can get settled and agreements can be signed to keep quiet. Things can easily get buried once again.

It seems there is no fair path forward for victims to seek reconciliation, as victims seem to be judged more harshly by the community than those who committed heinous acts of sexual abuse in the first place. This demonization comes no matter how we behave as victims, which is why it is no surprise that some victims would choose to remain anonymous in the face of such retraumatizing tactics.

The moment I began speaking out again, I began to face the threat of a very expensive lawsuit. As a result of the limited ways I began writing publicly about my experiences, I am accused in a court of law of being a lying, defaming, and gold digging opportunist, among other things. Members of the homegrown terrorist “incel” community have made statements about how I need “to be raped and burned alive.” One said he wanted to find me and “slit [my] throat,” and fantasized about hurting my family. All because I now face the challenge of my assailant accusing me of defamation, and attempting to put all of my speech and my life on trial as the price to pay for uttering forbidden words shielded under a veil of omertà. I sometimes wonder if the stakes would be lower if I’d joined the Mafia instead of attending Dartmouth.

Back when I was at Dartmouth in the aftermath of my assault, I was unable to receive psychological care at the college because there was an emergency shortage of therapists and psychiatrists available. There was an impossibly long waiting list, and ultimately I was unable to receive the care that I needed and deserved. Which is why the accusations being leveled against the Psychological and Brain Sciences department are, to me, beyond the pale. Abusers were sanctioned and paid by the college to continue academic research in the field of psychology, and meanwhile victims were being swept under the rug and denied psychological care.

To say this is a lost opportunity in the field of psychology is an understatement. For me, poverty and governmental policy kept me from accessing necessary therapy after graduation for several years. It was only years later under the care of many therapists that I ultimately began to fully accept and come to terms with the truth about Dartmouth, which is something I ran from in early adulthood and tried unsuccessfully to forget. I sometimes wonder what my healing process would have looked like if I had been afforded community support and an adequate safety net.

I fear a generation of future female leaders has been lost to the reality of scapegoating and re-victimization. These people could change the world if allowed to come together and given the space and resources to fully heal. We have not been given that opportunity, and we have been divided and silenced to weaken our cause. We have not been treated as stakeholders nor have we been given a seat at the table to foment change.

We are the voices that are needed to find lasting solutions which honor and rectify the lives of victims. Dartmouth can do much more to provide a platform and support to build a strong future for its victims in spite of the wrongs that happened to us at the college. Dartmouth needs to step up to recognize this festering wound at the core of its institution, and recognize the harmful experiences inflicted on its own community members. Professing ignorance, as the administrators do, seems to me almost like a cruel joke.

The first time I went to the mental hospital seeking treatment for a psychological breakdown, I met another troubled former Dartmouth student, Alix LeClair, in the women’s wing with me. She was having similar visions as I was about a resurgence of divine feminine energy, and the need for women to step forward and reclaim the sexual power they had relinquished to society and to others. We bonded over these ideals and compelling dreams and visions of an enlightened future, which the medical community was all too quick to label as sheer madness.

I came to find out she had also been abused at Dartmouth, and during her time there had protested and banged on the President’s door to his mansion late at night, to urgently give her message about honoring the feminine and dismantling the toxic patriarchy within the institution. At the time, I did not grasp it all and was focused on my own recovery. She and I went our separate ways after I was discharged and I never came back to see her at the hospital. I wish I had, because she died suddenly and unexpectedly a few months after we met. My good friend and sex educator Anna Zelinsky ‘06 still has a watch that Alix gave to me in the hospital, which reminds me that the time is always now and that I can no longer afford to avoid doing the difficult work of confronting the scary and difficult truth about Dartmouth College.

I have spent the past thirteen years of my life unpacking everything that happened to me during my time at Dartmouth. This unpacking has sent me several places including the federal court in the Eastern District of New York, cost tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars along with countless hours, and introduced me to dozens of other women who have suffered in ways all too similar to the ways I have suffered. Unraveling all of this has come at a great price, but it has also brought me closer to finding meaningful connections in the face of a lot of pain.

The time has come for Dartmouth to come to terms with the very real lives of the people who have been harmed by sexual violence and grotesque harassment on its campus. Because none of those costs are ever referenced in the marketing materials or the financial aid paperwork— and even with a scholarship, for me the price of losing my sexual autonomy as well as my voice has proven to be far too great of a price to bear.

At the very least, Dartmouth’s victims need representation and support. At the most, actions should be taken in a good faith effort to bring us closer to wholeness. Covering up the past and marching forward with new policy band-aids is not going to solve the problem of institutional rot, nor will it address the plight victims have faced and ultimately still face to this day. Dartmouth needs to take the opportunity to rise to the occasion of this “Call to Lead” they have foisted upon the community, take heed of this “red letter day,” and do better.

Monica Morrison, ‘07

#dartmyth250

[respheal]

Two years of Galebound

Hey guys, Res here! Long spiel ahead because I’m getting personal and long-winded here. Full text after the cut to spare your dash.

tl;dr: A brief history of Galebound’s development and my experiences with telling a story, joining a community, depression, and living inside my characters’ heads for two solid years.

[cut]

So I was working on page 103 early last month (yeah, the week page 103 was due to go up aaaahhahahaha -cries-) when I realized what was coming up: the second anniversary of Galebound’s start as a webcomic. The exact date of the anniversary is a little nebulous. The decision to make it a webcomic was made on 4/20/16 when I completed drawing the concept art for all the main characters (which I had set as a prerequisite for going on the hare-brained adventure) and drew what would become the title page. The first page was published on Smack Jeeves (where galebound.com is hosted) on 5/14/16. So the birthday of the webcomic is somewhere between those dates but I’m going to consider it to be 5/14, which is why I’m rambling about it today. I want to talk a bit about Galebound’s history and what it means to me.

Galebound was originally a short story called Noblesse Oblige. It was written in first person POV from Conan’s perspective and published on DeviantArt back in 2007 or so. I really wish I could find that original draft because I bet it’s wonderfully terrible. I didn’t really know what I was doing with the story at the time--Conan was an untrusting jerk, Din was an arrogant troll, and Pascal was downright unhinged. The basic mechanics of the Obligation were there (simply that Noblemen could command Magicians), but that was about it.

I pants’d the story until it got to--well, just after this point actually. The conclusion of the battle on the bridge, and then I stopped. I don’t entirely remember why. But the story stuck around in the back of my mind while I met new friends (Hi, Skypernauts!), went to college, moved across the country, met my first boyfriend, got my first job, met my future husband, and casually worked on developing an RPGMaker game in my spare time (That RPG is called Memory and that story will likely get turned into a comic eventually as well).

While I was working on Memory’s battle system, I had the thought: how would I convert Noblesse Oblige into an RPG? The magic system would probably have to be something like the field generator from the original .hack games: string together words for a certain field or, in this case, magic. That way the command side of the Obligation would be integrated into the gameplay.

I played around with that idea for a bit longer, but ultimately decided it wouldn’t work; there was a major design flaw with the game. I can’t say what that flaw was because figuring out the solution to the design flaw led to the realization of a huge twist in NO’s story. I had to get this story out. Now.

Around this time I had abandoned RPG-making (because making nice maps is a PITA), so I took Noblesse Oblige through a JulyNoWriMo (NaNoWriMo, just in July). This time I took the story through Norin, Evenheim, the bridge, and on to Cymaria and beyond, compelled as if by Obligation. I accomplished my goal of 50k words, but the story still wasn’t complete. I slowed down the writing process and kept at it, but I also wanted to share the story so badly.

And uh...well. No one was interested in beta reading it except one friend, when time allowed. My fiance made an attempt, but didn’t get very far (He tried though, bless him, and said that although the beginning was rough--lord was it ever--it picked up eventually). In his eternal patience, my fiance at least let me spill the whole story at him. He didn’t like parts of it, mainly some things that happen around the midpoint and Din as a character in general (Din was a bit more actually evil back then). But he listened to the story as a whole, which was a lot more support than I felt anyone else had given the project at the time (Thanks, Mike <3). He also made a hell of a lot of puns about the ending of it, but in fairness the ending does lend itself to a lot of puns. It’ll blow you away (ba-dum-tsh).

I started getting really frustrated. There was this story that I just had to tell, but seemingly no one who would listen. I’d put a couple chapters up on Wattpad or Tablo, but got no feedback there (and didn’t learn until much later that those sites are miserable for anything that isn’t romance). An excuse would be that I wanted to know if this project had any sort of worth and if I should continue with it, but real talk: I wanted validation. I know better now what was happening then, but...well, hindsight.

While this was going on, I posted this illustration in the NaNoWriMo forums, the first drawing I had done in about two years or so.

No comments for a bit, but one day I was browsing through the thread and noticed someone quoted me and responded, asking if I was doing a webcomic. Um...No? I had tried making a webcomic before, but it was a LOT of work and I figured it wouldn’t be something I would have time for now.

Buuuuuuuuut the seed was planted. At this point I had determined the reason no one was interested in reading my rough novel was because A) the writing must be terrible (it kind of was) and B) nobody ain’t got time for reading books. So maybe this story could be told and find its audience as a webcomic. But only if I could draw ALL of the main and secondary characters. I would have to draw them hundreds of times, so no point in trying if I couldn’t even draw them all once.

Suffice to say, I succeeded. And the comic began under the new name Galebound.

Even as the comic went up, however, the need for validation persisted. I meticulously tracked subscription counts and likes and faves and everything, craving proof that people were reading this story. It got better as the story went on and some events did provide temporary boosts (Like Galebound getting featured on a “Top Five New Comics” list from Top Web Comics -excited screaming- and I met a new friend who I could talk to about the story and she actually read the monstrosity that was the first draft), but, well...

So, long story short: I was suffering from clinical depression with all that entails, and did for quite a while. Still am, technically. Just well managed now (yaaaaaay therapy and medication). It’s funny because I can pick out the pages it was hitting me the hardest because Conan was super bummed in those pages too.

I guess what I’m saying here is that this story was a big part of my life during some of the hardest and darkest times of my life.

I’m doing better now (see: aforementioned medication and therapy). Really I’m lucky because I see and talk to other webcomic artists who have similar struggles and similar feelings and the same reactions when sad or disappointing things happen and I want to suggest they get professional help when I recognize the signs of depression in them, but I realize I’m extremely fortunate in that I even had the opportunity to get the medical attention I needed. (I will recommend up and down all day long that if you’re suffering from depression and have the opportunity to see a doc about it, do so. For years I had tricked myself into thinking it wasn’t that bad even when...it was.)

There were good things, too. I met new friends and joined a community of other webcomic creators. I contributed to some drama in the community in an attempt to hold our publishing platforms accountable. I created a website to help webcomic readers and creators. I attended my first convention as an artist (and actually sold a sticker and a booklet! Woo!) and by the time this gets published I’ll have attended my second. Galebound has gained a small fanbase and I’m so proud of how clever the readers are. Seriously, you all keep me on my toes.

Regarding the story itself, Galebound is, by my estimates, about a fifth of the way through the full story, which means it will likely run for about ten years total if things don’t speed up (and I really want to speed things up). If you consult the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet, we’re somewhere in “The Debate”, that debate being “Who is Din and can he be trusted?”

Spoiler alert (warning: song with explicit language)

The whole concept of the Obligation stems from the dichotomy of what one wants to do versus what one feels compelled to do. That could be taking over the family business, going to college, going to church, even choosing a life partner based on expectations as opposed to one’s true feelings--as a character will say in the future, “not all Obligations are magic.” This sort of Obligation is something I think a lot of people face, and something Conan, too, will face throughout the course of the story.

Galebound is also about redemption and forgiveness. There are characters who have made terrible mistakes and decisions in the name of hatred and prejudice, and those who have brought harm to others out of sheer ignorance. It’s about self-worth and purpose. It’s about friendship and reconciliation. It’s about platonic and familial love. It’s about duty...and obligations.

It’s complicated, but “simple stories are inherently false. Life is complicated, and perspective matters.”

To sort of go into Conan and Din’s headspace a bit as they are now, they’re not in a good place emotionally, and it’s soon to get worse (because a certain someone Can’t Follow Instructions). They will hit rock bottom, but after that...well, there’s no place left to go but up? After this chapter, both of them will be reeling from mistakes made in the recent and distant past, but these events--as well as what will happen with the next few days--will put them in a place to rethink everything.

Long story short, I’m excited for what’s to come, but when am I not?

Anyway, that’s my spiel. Thanks for reading and for reading Galebound! My goals for it this year are to finish the first volume, start editing some of the earlier pages in preparation for printing, get a few chapters of the novel written (again), and get to the turn into act two. I’m actually so hyped for the turn I’ve edited this paragraph a millions times to keep myself from dropping even hints of spoilers because wow I want to talk about it.

So I better stop.

Thanks again for reading and Galespeed! <3

Links

Read Galebound here: galebound.com Prints and Stickers: store.synestories.com Social Media: Twitter | Facebook Support: Ko-Fi | Patreon

#galebound #rambling

[rulystuff]

https://servicemeltdown.com/how-ideology-masquerades-as-impartial-economic-analysis/

New Post has been published on https://servicemeltdown.com/how-ideology-masquerades-as-impartial-economic-analysis/

HOW IDEOLOGY MASQUERADES AS IMPARTIAL ECONOMIC ANALYSIS

Editor’s note: Nobel Prize winning economist Paul Samuelson has been hugely influential in promoting his views from the day he published his economics textbook in 1948. He also penned a regular column in Newsweek magazine for fifteen years during the 1960’s.  Little wonder then, that Samuelson has been referred to by one economic historian as the “Father of Modern Economics.” Samuelson’s book is now in its 19th printing and has sold nearly four million copies in over forty languages. Generations of students, economic scholars, business men, and government officials have grown up with few counterpoint views of what makes the economy tick. Yet, Samuelson’s belief that it is best for government to social engineer our society is still a prevalent view. He has, in fact, stated that “America spends too little rather than too much on government.” Samuelson’s ideological lens was simply too clouded to consider alternate views. Economist, Robert Nelson, after a thorough study of Samuelson’s work has concluded that “If economists have in the end been priests of a secular religion, the ‘theology’ of economics was particularly well expressed in [Samuelson’s textbook] Economics.”

It is a rare economist who doesn’t wear a mask of ideology. And, it is ideology that drives what the American lay public (and many who are otherwise sophisticated about business and finance) presumes is apolitical, clinical, and neutral economic analysis rendered for the betterment of our society. Alas, such is not the case as ideology is the predicate for much of what we understand to be dispassionate economic analysis. Ideology comes in many forms: as academic arrogance, institutional bias, or political partisanship. Maybe all of this makes sense if we view economics as more of a political ideology than an objective science. Still, Americans must be aware of the masquerade. As the noted Economics journalist Henry Hazlitt stated in his book, Economics in One Lesson, “Economics is haunted by more fallacies than any other study known to man. This is no accident. The inherent difficulties of the subject would be great enough…but they are multiplied a thousandfold by … the selfish pleading of selfish interests.”

The “can’t fail” models of Myron Scholes and Robert Merton, Nobel Prize winning economists both, were the centerpiece of the hedge fund they, with others, founded as Long Term Capital Management (LTCM) in 1994. The founders’ notoriety was based on the mathematical work they did, along with Fisher Black, to value the theoretical price of derivatives (the so-called Black-Scholes model). Big investment banks among them Merrill Lynch and UBS went for the bait with minimum $10 million investments. At the end of August 1997, the firm sported a capital base of $6.7 billion and the firm was rocking. Scarcely a year later, however, following the collapse of the Russian economy, LTCM was left with an almost worthless portfolio of assets. The firm, whose self-assessed risk of failure, had been calculated to be near zero had to be bailed out by the Federal Reserve Bank of New York in league with fifteen banks as a way to avoid a contagion of the financial markets.

Some economic models are so narrowly framed (never mind that they lack empirical verifiability) that their applicability has little or no value in a real-world context. The founders’ own post-mortem after the LTCM collapse was that their data base had not gone back far enough to pick up all historical market perturbations. So, their mathematical pyrotechnics were one-of-a-kind but their common sense was nil. Still, there is a bumper crop of economists, notwithstanding the debacle that was LTCM, whose elegant equations are believed by many to speak to science and truth in explaining some real-world phenomenon. Worse, once a certain celebrity is achieved by the PhD economist doing the theorizing or the modeling, especially when abetted by a compliant academic or popular press, if not a Nobel committee, then the individual is venerated for his sagacity in areas far afield from his narrow-gauge expertise. This makes a burlesque of the field of economics and it should be seen as such by all Americans.

“THE CENTRAL PROBLEM OF DEPRESSION PREVENTION HAS BEEN SOLVED…”

The caption heading above was a prognostication voiced by the 1995 Nobel Prize winning economist Robert Lucas. In 2003, in his presidential address to the American Economic Association, Lucas further added that the problem, “…has in fact been solved for many decades.” Then, as if to double down on his incantation, in the aftermath of the Lehman Brothers collapse, Lucas stated he was skeptical that the economy would slip into recession or that the subprime mortgage crisis was of any more general consequence. “If we have learned anything from the past 20 years,” said Lucas, “it is that there is a lot of stability built into the real economy.”

Eugene Fama, the Nobel Laureate in Economics in 2013 is the father of the efficient-market hypothesis. The hypothesis essentially argues that it is impossible to beat the market as all of the information that is available about a stock is already baked into the price. In essence, Fama was saying that stock picking was a dart throw. So far so good except that if you take Fama’s hypothesis to heart there is no place for regulations of any kind. How could there be when everything you need to know about a stock is already known? Fama’s influence was profound. It was no coincidence that in late 2000 Congress passed the Commodity Futures Modernization Act which, for all practical purposes, deregulated derivatives and credit default swaps. Brooksley Born, a non-economist and Chairwoman of the Commodity Trading Futures Commission at the time warned of the dangers posed by the unregulated market. She was summarily slapped down, however, by Larry Summers, Secretary of the Treasury and by his mentor, the almost universally deified, Federal Reserve Chairman, Alan Greenspan. Neither one of these men saw fit to rein in the gunslingers on Wall Street. Predictably, when credit markets froze in 2008 forcing the collapse of firms such as Bear Stearns, American International Group, and Lehman Brothers it was a direct result of a failure to regulate the derivatives market. At that point, the notional or face value of derivatives swirling around in the market was $683 trillion.

When asked if his efficient market hypothesis applied to housing, Fama went on to explain that: “Housing markets are less liquid, but people are very careful when they buy houses. It’s typically the biggest investment they’re going to make, so they look around very carefully and they compare prices. The bidding process is very detailed.” Fama, the brilliant economist, obviously failed to incorporate the human factor into his equations. As we have noted in a separate essay, The Service Ethic: The Ultimate Guarantor Against Moral Hazards, everyone from home buyers, to mortgage brokers, to mortgage underwriters, to regulators, to credit-rating agencies, to the Federal Reserve all had a hand in the subprime mortgage meltdown of 2007. So much, for Fama’s efficient-market hypothesis.

David Lereah, chief economist for the National Association of Realtors, in 2005 published the awkwardly titled, Are You Missing the Real Estate Boom? The Boom Will Not Bust and Why Property Values Will Continue to Climb through the End of the Decade – And How to Profit from Them. Lereah, as others before him, was lionized by the media and his message became both ubiquitous and indisputable.

To be fair, not every economist failed to read the housing market tea leaves. Two are noteworthy:

Robert Shiller. An economist who didn’t drink the Kool-Aid was a Nobel Laureate with Eugene Fama and Lars Peter Hansen in 2013. Shiller argued of irrational markets – not of efficient ones as his co-Nobel Prize winner Eugene Fama argued – and warned of a housing crash in 2006. Amazingly, Shiller also warned of a tech bubble just before the dot com fiasco.

Raghuram Rajan. A professor at the University of Chicago and a former Governor of the Reserve Bank of India as well as Chief Economist at the International Monetary Fund is credited for his prescience, when in 2005 he warned about the growing risks in financial markets. For his insight, Rajan was called a Luddite and his warnings “misguided” by Larry Summers.

“TEN THOUSAND WILL DIE PER YEAR DUE TO TAX REFORM”

British economist Lionel Robbins famously stated that the job of the economist is to report what is and not what ought to be.

It is fair to say, however, that economists then and now have failed to heed that lesson (or have chosen to ignore it) and thus theorize, not necessarily in accordance with the facts, but in accordance with their own political worldview and predispositions.

Larry Summers  did more than denigrate Raghuram Rajan as a modern-day Luddite.  While in a position of great influence and power during the 2008 meltdown Summers argued against a cram down that would have allowed the courts to force banks to reduce mortgage balances, cut interest rates or lengthen loan amortizations that would have helped millions of homeowners. Sadly, Summers’ signal policy achievement while in Washington was the aforementioned disaster known as the Commodity Futures Modernization Act. Long after the damage was done, President Clinton lamented that he had received the wrong advice from Summers in not regulating derivatives.

Summers is now on his high horse as an “intellectual” anti-Trump activist. When Summers proffered that ten thousand people would die as a result of the President’s tax reform package his rationale was couched in so many “what-ifs” as to be meaningless. And, when he told CNN that the tax plan will make “middle class Americans poorer” he demonstrated that he is pseudoscientific as well as incapable of rising above petty political jealousies. Summers is not alone, however, as a contemporary big mouth and wrong-headed economist.

“WE ARE LOOKING AT A GLOBAL RECESSION…”

Nobel Prize winning economist Paul Krugman is not to be outdone for his caustic partisanship. In the aftermath of President Trump’s election Krugman assured his readers at the New York Times that the world’s stock markets would never recover. The election of such an “irresponsible, ignorant man,” said Krugman, would bring about the “the mother of all adverse effects” on the economy. “So, we are very probably looking at a global recession, with no end in sight.” That is hardly an intelligent economic observation so much as it is unbridled animus toward the President.

The numbers, ruefully for Krugman and his acolytes, tell a different story from his apocalyptic view. During President Trump’s Administration Gross Domestic Product  exceeded 3% and the unemployment rate dropped to levels not seen in decades. Consumer confidence, too, rose to historically high levels. The stock market added over $5 trillion in wealth. And, the number of Americans receiving employee bonuses, pay hikes, and increases in benefits was in excess of 2,000,000.  Bumps in capital spending, and charitable contributions were also announced by companies in reaction to President Trump’s December, 2017 tax reform: AT&T, for one, announced plans to spend an additional $1 billion in capital spending in 2018; Comcast, also indicated it would spend $5 billion over the next five years; and Wells Fargo announced that it would pump $400 million into community chests in 2018.

It is clear that Krugman’s bias is such that he would rather engineer the economy according to his predilections than simply study it and objectively report on it. His mantra has been for years that America’s apparent economic success is due to the fact that “…our rich are much richer.” So much for the analytical prowess of a Nobel Laureate: a man whose ideology prompts an answer before a question has even been asked.

The Nobel committee’s vetting of Krugman’s work in economic geography was sloppy if not politically motivated. The field, including the mathematical elegance that is ascribed to Krugman, goes back for decades. What is worse, Krugman gives scant credit to those who preceded him. That is shameful.

Mathematical economist J. Barkley Rosser Jr., Professor of Economics at James Madison University, who has reviewed Krugman’s work has cited all of the previous relevant work which Krugman purposely ignored. Rosser concludes his review by stating that “if [Krugman] is indeed the emperor of the new economic geography, then he is an emperor who has no clothes.”

Other economists are more forthright about their social engineering biases. Economist Robert J. Gordon, notable among them, lays the nation’s lack of productivity growth at the feet of social factors such as the inequality between the haves and the have nots which he proposes to correct. Among the nostrums he points out in his book, The Rise and Fall of American Growth, are the following: drug legalization, incarceration reform to include shorter sentencing guidelines and aggressive pardoning of people behind bars, raising the minimum wage, increasing the Earned Income Tax Credit, introducing “super bracket” tax rates for high income earners, relaxing patent and copyright laws, spending more for education, and reducing occupational licensing requirements.

That the nation’s prosperity might have been eroded through decades of government overreach, imprudent fiscal policies, sleight-of-hand monetary policies, high taxes on corporations and individuals, a vast tangle of regulations, the decay of law and order, and an assault on individual liberties seems not to have occurred to these social engineers who masquerade as objective economists.

AN INFLUENTIAL PROFESSION WITHOUT AN ETHICAL COMPASS

Do economists have a code of ethics that ensures they won’t dissemble, parse the facts, or reveal their personal biases when conducting their analyses? No, says Martha Starr, Professor of Economics at American University. As editor of the book Consequences of Economic Downturn: Beyond the Usual Economics, Professor Starr states that “Unlike almost any academic profession – statisticians, physicists, sociologists, you name it – economists have always opposed adopting an ethical code outlining how they should act.”

Professor Starr goes on to say that “A well written code of conduct could make people think hard before, for instance, accepting $135,000 in speaker’s fees from an investment bank, then giving that investment bank privileged access to the White House.” This, an obvious reference to the payment made by investment bank Goldman Sachs to White House economic adviser Larry Summers in 2008.

As I suggested at the outset, it is possible that economists can’t help but show their prejudices because economics is not a science after all. When the public interest is at stake – as it often is in the hands of macroeconomists especially – then empirical evidence and not ideology should guide the work of economists. Regardless, economists will never win the public trust unless and until they abide a professional code of ethics.

[harryandmeghan0-blog]

Jill Abramson's 'Merchants of Truth': A grim eye on the state of the news business - USA TODAY

New Post has been published on https://harryandmeghan.xyz/jill-abramsons-merchants-of-truth-a-grim-eye-on-the-state-of-the-news-business-usa-today/

Jill Abramson's 'Merchants of Truth': A grim eye on the state of the news business - USA TODAY

Jill Abramson in April 2010 at the Matrix Awards presented by the New York Women in Communications at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York.

 (Photo: Evan Agostini/ AP)

One of the facts bemoaned by traditional journalists in the current state of the news business is that, with a growing banquet of news to offer on any given day, in any given hour, consumers are opting for boiled down listicles and scannable reads.

It’s the antithesis in style to what The New York Times used to embody, particularly by its former senior editorial leader, Jill Abramson, the first woman to serve as the paper’s Washington bureau chief, managing editor and executive editor – the top job in American print journalism.

But as everyone knows (because news biz gossip is as eagerly gobbled as royal gossip these days), Abramson didn’t last long at the top; just three years. In May 2014, she was fired for allegedly poor management and being too “difficult” (that ever useful pejorative applied to formidable women) for even hard-boiled Times journalists to handle.

Her account of what happened (fantasy clickbait hed: “Why I was fired and what happened next!”), as laid out in her new book, “Merchants of Truth: The Business of News and the Fight for Facts,” is absorbing and fair – and it’s likely the first section many journalists will turn to.

“There was no simple reason I was fired. I was a less than stellar manager, but I also had been judged by an unfair double standard applied to many women leaders. Most of all, I became the first woman editor at a very bad time in journalism,” she writes. 

But later, Abramson found herself with time to contemplate journalism in its “Age of Anxiety,” the existential crisis in the industry she loved. Now comes “Merchants,” published Tuesday (Simon & Schuster, ★★★ out of four).

“Merchants of Truth,” by Jill Abramson

 (Photo: Simon & Schuster)

Reviews have been generally positive so far, mixed with some sharp criticism. There’s already been a contretemps over whether she accused the Times of being biased against President Trump in its coverage, thus abandoning its “straight” approach to news. She batted that away as an exaggeration of something taken out of context. A fair reading backs her up.

Now she and her publisher are dealing with more serious charges of factual errors and plagiarism lodged late Wednesday in a series of tweets on Twitter by a reporter for one of the four news organizations she examines in the book, Vice –  which under her astringent gaze does not come off as a journalistic paragon, especially in its sophomoric early years. 

*All three* chapters on Vice were clotted with mistakes. Lots of them. The truth promised in Merchants of Truth was often not true. While trying to corroborate certain claims, I noticed that it also contained…plagiarized passages.

— Michael C Moynihan (@mcmoynihan) February 6, 2019

Simon & Schuster issued a statement Thursday promising revisions if warranted in the 534-page book. Abramson also issued a statement to USA TODAY that the passages in question involve facts that were imperfectly cited in her 70 pages of footnotes. “I wouldn’t want even a misplaced comma so I will promptly fix these footnotes and quotations as I have corrected other material that Vice contested,” she said.

So, stay tuned. Meanwhile, the book as published documents the crisis: Journalism may have not yet been annihilated but the barbarians are at the gate and banging hard. More news than ever is out there and more people than ever are in need of reliable information in order for democracy to function, Abramson observes.

At the same time, she reports, the journalism business model is stuttering and a steadier replacement is not yet obvious. Every news company struggles to produce a product for the digital age amid sharp staff cuts, while more consumers, marinated in “the internet is free!” assumptions, are unwilling to pay for it, Abramson says.

Abramson explores this grim state through the experiences of two legacy media titans, her former employer, the Times, and the Washington Post, fighting to retain their “values” in a maelstrom, and two digital titans, BuzzFeed and Vice, “improbable players” in an arena where social media drives large numbers of consumers to news. Plus, there’s a section on Facebook, so crucial in so many ways to publishing on the internet these days.    

“I was determined to capture this moment of wrenching transition – and to do it as a reporter, my first calling,” Abramson writes. “…I would chart the struggles of four companies to keep honest news alive.”

The book is about the stuff that haunts journalists’ nightmares lately: What the hell do we do now? Is there a future for the old matrix of the news industry? Why has the public trust we took for granted dissipated and can we get it back? How best to cover Donald Trump, a president who is a gobsmacking news story every minute and also calls the media an “enemy of the people”?

Abramson has her pet peeves: The sometimes dishonest nature of clickbait headlines, designed to capture attention but promising more than they deliver. Tedious business meetings watching PowerPoint presentations of eye-glazing data charts. The “ridiculously” few women in senior editing jobs at the Times, a deficit she is most proud of improving during her tenure. 

She is especially alarmed about the chipping away of the traditional wall between the news side and the business side – unremarkable to the digital media world of Vice and BuzzFeed but anathema to legacy media types. When the new CEO of the Times told her he expected new “revenue-producing products” to come from the newsroom, she snapped, “If that’s what you expect, you have the wrong executive editor…The truth had flown out of my mouth before I could edit either its substance or tone.” It did not go over well.

Abramson doesn’t see an entirely trouble-free future for any of her examined news organizations, despite their various successes. “All four are endangered,” she warns. That even goes for the Post, which was rescued in 2013 by its “white knight,” Amazon billionaire Jeff Bezos, who personally bought the family-owned paper for $250 million with the idea that “restoring its glory would be a contribution to democracy.”    

Even before “Merchants” published, the pitiless bottom line stomped all over legacy and digital news companies alike. Last week, both BuzzFeed and Vice laid off about 250 journalism workers each, just some of the more than 2,000 journalists who have been laid off or bought out since the start of 2019 (including at Gannett, the parent company of USA TODAY). So even digital natives are failing to capture enough ad revenue and subscriptions to cover their rising costs – thanks to Google and Facebook raids on advertising, another topic “Merchants” covers – and they don’t even have the enormous expense of publishing and distributing a daily print product. 

For legacy media survivors, following the trials and tribulations of two of the nation’s leading newspapers may involve equal measures of envy, dread and schadenfreude. BuzzFeed and Vice, on the other hand, may seem like alien entities. 

Abramson traces how BuzzFeed began with a steady diet viral cat videos, but founder and “virality” genius Jonah Peretti and his team figured out how to connect with a mostly disaffected young audience through their emotions – at the “beating heart of the internet.” They pioneered a new business model – native advertising – and by the end of 2011, BuzzFeed had “pivoted” to original news reporting, beefing up its reporting staff with a goal of being taken seriously enough to compete with the likes of the Times and the Post. Its content remains a “strange stew,” Abramson says, but in 2018 it was a Pulitzer Prize finalist for its investigation of suspicious deaths of Russians in Britain. 

Vice started out as a print lads mag constantly pushing the bounds of bad taste in the quest to be “edgy,” which led to such outrages as “The Racist Issue.” Later, watching the success of YouTube, Vice hooked up with director Spike Jonze and married video to news and entertainment stories that appealed directly to a huge audience of hipsters indifferent to mainstream media. By 2007, its videos were reaching more people than its magazine.Ten years later, after starting a nightly news show on HBO, Vice’s 18 hours of footage of the deadly Charlottesville, Va., Unite the Right rally garnered a total of 50 million views and became the “defining image” of the violence, Abramson says.

Abramson concludes that the Post and especially the Times have been the most successful so far in the transition to a digital-first approach to news. This week, the Times reported it now has a new high of 4.3 million total paid subscriptions, including more than 3 million digital subscribers, and is aiming for 10 million by 2025. The company also said it generated more than $709 million in digital revenue, which makes it possible to meet another goal of $800 million in digital revenue by the end of 2020.

Abramson credits former publisher Arthur Sulzberger Jr. – the man who had fired her –for “keeping the lights on” at the old Gray Lady. “The Times, despite a decade of digital disruption that had upended virtually all of its core practices and even its news standards, was still a beacon of truth and fierce protector of facts,” she writes.

Non-journalists may find “Merchants” dense and complicated, with something surprising or infuriating on every page. Journalists working today already know in their guts most of what Abramson is reporting, if not in the depressing detail she presents. 

Abramson earns three stars for her thoroughness and insights, but this is not a beach read, and certainly not a happy read. Unless, of course, you really do believe journalists are the enemy of the people – in which case, enjoy yourself.

Read or Share this story: https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/books/2019/02/08/jill-abramsons-merchants-truth-grim-eye-state-news-biz/2778350002/

Source: https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/books/2019/02/08/jill-abramsons-merchants-truth-grim-eye-state-news-biz/2778350002/

[sunnysinclair]

Spoiler Alert

 Based on this post/prompt

Darcy/Bucky, Soulmate AU

Word Count: 1855

(I know Darcy is American, but I just can’t bring myself to refer to Philosopher’s Stone as Sorcerer’s Stone so assume her copy of the book came from England or something, if you need an excuse for that).

I can’t believe Dumbledore died.

Those words had haunted Darcy since she had learned to read. Who was this Dumbledore? How did they die? And why the hell did it have to be the first thing her soulmate commented on. She was sure that meant their meeting was going to be a completely depressing affair.

For that she hated Dumbledore, whoever he was. Just a little bit.

And what kind of a name was Dumbledore anyway? When she was five her parents had helped her do a google on Dumbledore. Whoever they were was fated to die, but Darcy, in all her childish naivety, still insisted that she wanted to know and warn them, to do something with this glimpse in to the future her soulmark had given her. It was fruitless though – there simply were not any people named Dumbledore, at least none that Google could find.

When she was six Harry Potter came out. Darcy was too young to read it, so she continued on, unaware that Dumbledore’s identity was so readily available. It took another two years before she found out. At the ripe age of eight, her mother handed her a copy of Harry Potter & the Philosopher’s Stone. The woman was trying just a little too hard to hide a smile, acting a little too airy-fairy, saying how she thought Darcy might find it interesting. The little girl was suspicious, but being all of eight she just took the book and went to her room to read with no greater impression than her mum was weird.

That changed rapidly, when she shrieked loudly a few minutes later. Her mother wasn’t weird. She was evil.

Darcy, sat on her bed, stared at the oh-so-familiar name printed in the book, going through a very complex range of emotions for an eight year old. There was the initial joy at having found Dumbledore, quickly followed by relief they were just a story. That was mixed with frustration and anger though – she was only a few pages in to the book and she knew Dumbledore was going to be dead! Talk about spoilers.

She was tempted to set the book aside and just not bother, knowing what she did, but that decision lasted all of two minutes. She wanted to know what the deal was with the cat that read street signs and maps.

And she needed to know how Dumbledore died.

With all the petulance her young body could muster she flounced out to the kitchen and gave her mother a glare as she went, lower lip jutting out. Wordlessly she poured herself a glass of milk and stole several of the good chocolate chip cookies from the jar on the counter before returning to her room, picking up the book, and reading all afternoon.

Dumbledore, of course, didn’t die in that book though, and Darcy was gripped by the sudden realisation – there were more of these books, and she didn’t know when Dumbledore was going to die.

Damn soulmate.

Through all the years waiting between books Darcy had one saving grace – she knew she wasn’t destined to meet her soulmate yet. The words gave her a free pass up until that literary event happened. Where other people were wandering around in a constant tizz of when when when, Darcy was content. Not yet. It made focusing on other factors in her life much easier.

She was fifteen when things changes. Like many others, Darcy lined up for the midnight release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Of course she wanted the book for the story – even having that giant spoiler hanging over her head, the books were still good – but she was filled with trepidation for that particular thing she knew to come. There was only meant to be seven books in the series, and this was number six.

But Half-Blood Prince didn’t disappoint.

She scurried home with the book and started reading, tearing through the pages in one sitting. Her heart jumped when she came close to the end. One quick Avada Kedavra and that was it.

“Snape, you bastard,” she muttered, but she was smiling.

Not yet had become any time now.

And really, she was expecting it to be any time – people everywhere were talking about the book and she was sure she was going to meet her soulmate in the very near future.

But it didn’t happen.

There were a few false starts, a lot of people expressing their disbelief at Dumbledore’s death, but none with those exact words. A month went by, then two, six, a year…

In 2007 the last book came out, and she still hadn’t met her soulmate. She got irritated with them all over again, much as she had when she was eight. They’d stamped her with that huge spoiler and then didn’t even have the decency to read the books as they came out!

At least she assumed they didn’t – there didn’t seem much sense in making some comment years after it happened if they’d actually read it in the beginning.

The movie came and went without any soulmate too, and then it was all done. Books, movies, they had all been released, and there Darcy was, still without her soulmate.

As the years ticked by she grew more and more frustrated, trying to come up with the worst possible thing to say to her soulmate when she met them, to pay them back for all they’d put her through with those ominous words stamped on her skin.

The day she thought of it she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from cackling. It was perfect, absolutely perfect, and would pay her soulmate back for everything they’d put her through and then some.

***

“I’m just saying Jane, guy this rich, giant penis tower, you’d think he’d fork out to get his own movie theater on one of these floors. I mean come on, who doesn’t want their own movie theater? I want my own movie theater. And popcorn machines. Oh, and there’d totally have to be a slushy machine. No! A bunch of slushy machines! All different flavours. Put 7/11 to shame with my flavours.“

The statement was met with a frustrated sigh by the smaller of the two women as they walked in to the living area.

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t say yes if someone offered you your own theater!”

Bucky, from his spot on the sofa, looked up from the book he was reading. He very hastily wiped away a tear – he was not about to be caught crying over some character in a book by a couple of dames.

“Darcy,” Jane groaned. “Could you just be quiet for five minutes, or at least until I’ve gotten coffee. How the hell are you so awake right now?”

“Um, that would be because it’s almost 11. Your sleep schedule is totally whacked.”

“You did not just use whacked as a verb.”

“I did Janey, I totally did.” Darcy said and grinned. The way she’d turned her head to shoot that look at her friend had put Bucky directly in her line of sight and her eyes widened a fraction when she saw him.

He raised an eyebrow at her before lifting his book back up, licking a finger before turning the page.

The corner of his mouth ticked up when she made a strangled noise. He wasn’t all that good interacting with anybody these days, but it was nice to know he still had a little something when it came to women. His self-congratulating was short lived though, since he found her to be staring at the book  rather than at him. He was sort of glad of that though, given the contorted expression on her face.

Her mouth opened and closed and her eyes darted back up to him. Then she glared a little, and Bucky had the strangest feeling he knew exactly why.

But his first instinct was to keep quiet, so he did. The silent staring went on long enough Jane noticed and she gave another of those groans.

“Geez Darcy, leave him alone. I’m sorry about her,” she directed at Bucky. “Apparently nobody bothered to teach her manners.” Without letting Darcy get a word out in her defence Jane had grabbed her elbow and bodily pulled her through to the kitchen.

Several minutes later they both reappeared, steaming mugs of coffee in hand, and Jane was prodding a finger in Darcy’s back to keep her moving forward whilst flashing Bucky another apologising look.

They were almost to the door when he found his voice, rusty as it was.

“I can’t believe Dumbledore died.” He held the book up, thumb caught in the pages to mark his place, and watched as the girls back stiffened. Slowly she turned to look at him (and swatted Jane’s poking finger away as she did). Her face was very carefully blank and Bucky swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“Well at least you didn’t tell me Snape killed him. That would’ve been an even worse spoiler.”

They both stared some more, before, quite suddenly, Darcy was smiling brightly and then she was right in front of him and beaming down at him.

“Uh,” Bucky got out, staring wide eyed up at her. His soulmate. She was real. And she was here. And she was funny, and obviously a little vindictive.

“Seriously dude, it was stressful, knowing someone was gonna die and not even knowing who they are!”

“I can imagine,” Bucky said, a glimpse of a smile lighting up his own features. “Imagine knowing some guy named Snape was going to kill someone and not being able to do anything about it.”

Darcy didn’t look the least bit chastised. She actually grinned wider. “Tit for tat, s’only fair.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He dropped the book on to the sofa cushion next to him and held out his flesh and blood hand. “I’m James. Most people call me Bucky.”

“Duh,” Darcy rolled her eyes at him, even as she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Your face was kinda the one I drew love hearts around in my history book when I was in high school.”

A chortle escaped him and he squeezed her hand right back.

“Guess fate knew what she was doing then.”

“Yeah. Poor Dumbledore though. I mean, I was born years before the books even came out. What if our marks are the reason JK decided to kill him?”

"I've had my mark since before she was born," Bucky said, giving Darcy's arm a tug and causing her to topple in to his lap. "If it's our fault he's dead..." He paused, a hand slipping up her back and tangling in her hair. "Y'know, I really don't care."

"Bu-" Darcy started, even with the closeness of her soulmate she was fully prepared to debate fate vs freewill and the originality of ideas. Bucky wasn't giving her a chance though, as his mouth slanted over hers.

And Darcy found she didn't even mind.

#Darcy Lewis #Bucky Barnes #Darcy x Bucky #Wintershock #Soulmate AU #I should really get a Beta #because I'm sure this could use a lot of polishing

[the-chapman-family-blog1]

The News

It was never an easy call to make. As the sole living parent of her children, Marianne felt a strong weight of responsibility for her family. She had always held a career of her own but her children always came first, supporting them even when their decisions had gone against her advice. Their father had been more of a rigid personality and she had tried to bridge the gap that he unintentionally created in the family. She was always the one to smooth over disagreements between her husband and their four children, keeping the peace as well as she could manage to. 

The passing of her husband had been difficult on them all, but at the same time there was a guilty sense of relief in some of them that no one dared speak about. Frankie was just about to graduate high school, the others all attending college or working by that point. More than ever, Marianne was the one holding them all together. She pushed them all to manage their loss, insistently encouraging Frankie towards graduation. 

But back to the call, the call that she made to each of her children on that cold January afternoon. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, insisting to them that she had made a plan for treatment with her doctor’s help. She didn’t want them to make a fuss about it but it was quickly apparent to them all that they wanted to be there with her. Suddenly her odd behavior that they had all noticed during the holidays made sense, the forgetfulness and moments of withdrawal that were so unusual for her- the serious talk of retirement after they had all joked that she would probably work until the day that they forced her out of her position in the office. 

One by one they have arrived back in town, each anxious to be there for their mother. She was the one that they all looked to for support when things got hard, so now that she is the one in need they have all begun looking to each other for reassurances that things will be okay. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

List of Events in the Chapman Family History:

The Birth of Nico’s Daughter. 

Nico’s girlfriend, Vi, felt like her life was destroyed by the unplanned pregnancy. Her parents were adamantly pro-life and she felt coerced into keeping the baby, humiliated and miserable as she was forced to go to school with this ever-growing sign of her own stupidity wrapped around her mid-section. Things became too much for her and she dropped out of school, wanting nothing to do with the baby once it was born. She signed over sole custody of the child to the Chapmans and would eventually go on to earn her GED as she desperately sought to move past the situation. 

Nico was ill-prepared to be a father. Marianne took some time off of work to help with the baby until daycare was an option, not wanting it to mean that her son would drop out of high school. She wanted him to still experience everything- insisting on babysitting so that he could attend his senior prom and graduation. At the same time she made sure that he was doing his share of the work too, wanting him to understand that at the end of the day he was responsible for his own child. His parents helped ensure that he was accepted into a good college, helping him to make arrangements for childcare and lodgings. 

Thanksgiving of 2007

To be fair, Noah probably should have warned his parents before he brought home his college boyfriend for Thanksgiving. Their father had never made any indication that he would have a problem with it- he had always been a democrat that supported diversity and freedom. It turned out that he was not prepared for his son to come out as being bisexual though, caught off guard by the tall handsome stranger that Noah brought into their home. It made for a very needlessly awkward holiday that everyone is still anxious to forget. Their father was avoiding and uncharacteristically cold. He had always struggled to express his emotions but it had never felt so hostile before. Noah withdrew himself after the incident, skipping Christmas with the family that year. He had never felt particularly close to his father but there was a distinct wall of bitterness between them from that point forward. 

Frankie Drops Out of Her College Courses

Frankie took the death of her father very hard. She was only eighteen and probably closer to him than anyone else. She was the baby of the family, never assuming that she would end up the ‘faller’ of her family when Nico had managed to knock up his girlfriend in high school. 

If it hadn’t been for her mother she never would have graduated high school or enrolled in college classes. Frankie insisted on going to a local school, unwilling to leave her mother’s home just yet. She was very depressed and despite her mother’s encouragement it wasn’t too long before Frankie dropped out of her college classes. Marianne was disappointed and is still trying to get Frankie to go back to school and finish something. 

#chapmanevent

[prokopetz]

Heya, folks. The Steam Winter Sale only has about twelve hours left to go on it, so I’m going to start winding down my recommendation posts. If you didn’t see a response to yours, check the relevant tag on my blog to see if maybe you just missed it:

http://prokopetz.tumblr.com/tagged/video+game+recommendations/

Otherwise, apologies that I didn’t get to yours; my free time, while copious, is unfortunately not unlimited!

Anyway, I thought I’d wrap things up with something a little different: rather than recommending games that are currently available, I’m going to toss out the names of a few games in development that I’ve been keeping an eye on - some of them for a very long time - that have had release dates announced for 2017. If you want something to look forward to the next time there’s a big sale, these would be ones to watch for!

(As always, these all have lady protagonists unless otherwise noted.)

AER

This one’s a mostly nonviolent exploration-based title about a girl who can turn into a bird in a world of floating islands. Not much has been revealed about the story yet, but the gameplay previews have really caught my interest; I’ve always had a soft spot for true open-world exploration games, and it’s hard to get much opener than “you can fly”!

Cosmic Star Heroine

A retro turn-based RPG in the mode of the Chrono Trigger, with some of the best pixel art I’ve seen this side of Joakim Sandberg’s stuff (more on that below). The gameplay is conventional, but looks very slick in action - let the preview videos convince you if I don’t. Also, there’s a recruitable NPC whose combat style is having many guns floating around her, controlled by murder thoughts - how can you say no to that?

CrossCode

A fantastic little retro action RPG. I’ve discussed this one before, so I won’t spend too much word count on it here. Currently in early access, and a free demo is available.

Eldritch Hunter

The next project from the creator of The Amber Throne, which I’ve also discussed before. There’s not much I can tell you about this one that the videos won’t; if you like frenetic action and young ladies with large weapons inflicting grievous violence upon Lovecraftian monstrosities, this is one for you.

Ghost Song

Yeah, it’s a Super Metroid clone. It’s shaping up to be a really, really good one, though. If you’ve been hankering for the Metroid sequel that Nintendo perversely refuses to give us, this may well tide you over. Check the Recent Updates section for a link to a 25-minute preview video. Fair warning: really, really dark, both visually and tonally. Lotsa body horror, too.

Night in the Woods

You’ve probably seen me singing the praises of Aquaria in previous posts. Well, this is the next project from the creators of Aquaria (or one of them, at any rate). You play as a depressed college dropout who also happens to be a cat. It’s one of those platformer/adventure game hybrids that are all the rage these days. Nice production values, though not much gameplay in the previews just yet; based on the creators’ track record, I don’t think there’s much to worry about there.

Timespinner

Another retro Metroidvania, though this one’s fantasy themed. Thumbnail version: an Evil Empire kills a young sorceress’ family, so she goes on a roaring rampage of revenge, Kill Bill style - except her goal isn’t just to destroy her enemies, but to make it so they never existed in the first place. Very Gothic, in all three senses of the word.

I’m also going to bend my own rules here and plug a couple of games that don’t yet have Steam pages, though I’m sure they will eventually:

Heart Forth, Alicia

Hoo, boy. This one has been in development for a literal decade - you can find preview videos uploaded on YouTube with timestamps in 2007 if you don’t believe me! - and it’s undergone several changes in direction in that span, leading to continual delays. The end result is shaping up to be jaw-droppingly beautiful, though; have a peek at this combat and exploration video from just this past November for evidence. As you’ve no doubt gathered, it’s yet another retro Metroidvania, this time about a young wizard on a mission. No, she’s not a witch - she’s a female wizard. There’s a difference. And yes, I am Metroid trash.

Iconoclasts

Remember when I mentioned Joakim Sandberg? This is one of his. Like the previous entry, it’s been in development for the better part of a decade, though in this case it’s mostly because it’s literally one guy trying to crank out a AAA-scale game all on his own. Probably not the best decision of his life - but hey, it pays off for us! This one’s the tale of a young rebel mechanic in a world where understanding of technology is forbidden to the common folk; bright, poppy graphics and a cheerful chiptune soundtrack accompany a surprisingly dark story. You can download a playable alpha demo from the linked website, though it’s about five years out of date at this point.

#gaming #video games #recommendations #video game recommendations #violence mention #death mention #murder mention