#marshie drug talks

[marshber]

ok guys do NOT take stimulants when you have arrythmia. just learned the hard way

#i'm ok but like #i'm fist fighting with death at this point #my heart's been fucky the whole day and ough i don't wanna go to the hospital #nope! nuh uh #marshie drug talks

[pupcuck]

black water - one !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. cop!leon, corruption, mentions of harassment/rape/drugs, body horror, raccoon city incident never happened but there r bioweapons, suicide ideation bc leon, character death, there’s smut in later chapters i promise, public sex, creampie, hate sex, slapping, choking, gore descriptions

note. hi trying something new! i know raccoon city is in the midwest somewhere but to be frank idgaf ab the usa and know nothing about any part of it so i decided that it’s a southern state in this fic bc i wanted to make reader have the cute accent bc she’s a farmer :3 only the first chapter so like um this is honestly just more of a test to see if anyone would like this erm smut comes soon prommy.. reader implied poc but like um :3 PLEASE GIMME FEEDBACK N IGNORE MISTAKES!!

summary. there is something in the water, you want it gone before it eats more than just your livelihood.

You know pigs, so you know men.

This one has blue eyes, it is the type of blue you’d dip your toes into, you let the waves lap at your calves until it drags you under. His gaze taps a gun to the back of your head and demands full attention.

He is subjecting you to himself, and you hate it.

The glint of his blue-gold badge is nebulous in the dark. “Officer Leon S. Kennedy.” He offers you a look at his ID card - has the sort of face that lets him get away with things. “Criminal Investigations Department.”

Beside him, a dog with intelligent eyes stands sentinel. Officer Kennedy drops the leash and the dog sits back on its haunches. “Now, what’s this about pigs?”

The RPD is one great big circle jerk. Brian Iron’s doctrine is an easy one to follow, and Leon is not opposed to easy. His innards spill into the middle of it all as the lump in his throat dislodges, adding to the slurry of toxic waste that coats their blackened underbelly.

There is a horrible liminal quality to the place, footfall echoes in halls lit by jaundiced bulbs. The scent of sex is a wisp of smoke in his nose as he passes the chief’s office.

Raccoon City is a backwater bog, and to match the inhabitants are insular primitive beings who cling to antiquated ways. To be stationed here by choice was a lapse in judgement - snark is the currency of social interaction.

Leon is often taken by women.

He met this one back in Brooklyn, where he and his family lived above a Deli, an older southern lady with a gap in her teeth. Had the pleasure of crossing her path—Something about her just stuck. Led him to believe that all women round these parts had big hearts and even bigger bosoms. A place to rest his head for the night, a neck to hide his face in, blonde curls just shy of silver to tickle his skin flower-pink.

She talked all like:

Well, ain’t you just the sweetest peach I’ve ever seen! Oh, I could just eat a feller like you up, get me full as a tick.

Whatever it was that she said and meant, he liked it. And so guided by the expertise of his dick, Leon landed himself here.

There are a handful of beautiful women that Leon has seen, met, fucked.

(He weeded out the ugly ones the moment he was given access to the file room.)

The thing is, small town beautiful is different to New York pretty.

He has an ex over in Manhattan who could turn the sidewalk into a catwalk. She had Leon, a man built like a god, fumbling like a teenage girl. The last girl he fucked here was homely - she had the hushed urgency of a military wife and her monotony was sobering.

One girl he dated on and off for a year or two. She worked at a car wash and she was needy. Real needy. She missed the taste of his dick so he provided her with the scent of pussy instead. Every weekend he’d drive over and watch her clean the sex from the backseat of his cruiser just because he could.

Things are slow in this marshy cesspit, a never-ending conveyer belt of nothing much. The wind carries the scent of magnolia blossoms and sewage. It gives Leon a lot of time to think of the filth that is his underfurnished life. He lowers his head to the desk, allowing himself to fall in and out of spasms of lucidity.

Leon has done bad things, but he doesn’t qualify as a bad guy. The badge and the blue forbids it. Take Redfield for example, that guy got deployed in Penamstan. Y’know what happened there? He shot a kid or two and now he can’t get it up. He’s not a bad guy, not at all, he’s got a photo of his smiling face plastered in the lobby.

He’s a hero.

The only problem folks have with him is that heroes have nice, hard cocks and they fuck for hours. No matter his sex drive atrophied by gore splattered on the barrel of his gun, or how the studded underside of his boot caused flesh to crumple like the newspaper with his name on it—It doesn’t matter. To be built like a brick shithouse and have something soft between your legs, well, that just ain’t right, is it?

Over in Penamstan, he would say, you introduce yourself over the sound of gunfire, shake hands as the earth is split in half, kill an orphan to bond.

A good man for sure. So good his little sister went ghost.

(Leon finds her postcards in the mailroom. For Redfield’s sake, he hides them in the bottom drawer of his desk alongside all sorts of ephemera. He’s acquired quite the stash.)

Valentine is alright. She’s quiet. The moral fibre has been plucked out of her with a pair of forceps, and now she doesn’t think much about where she points her gun. They often sit in shared silence, and sometimes it is like looking in a funhouse mirror that creates a shape far slinkier than his bulk.

Chambers is too nice. Vickers is fat. Burton is old. Frost is ugly. These are all irrefutable flaws, but none of them are bad, and none of it is intentional. Not bad by Leon’s standards at least.

(The entirety of the STARS unit would be better off if they stopped kissing Captain Wesker’s flat ass, but that is like asking for sympathy from the devil.)

Man, he has too much time on his hands.

“Kennedy, you busy?” Rita knocks on his desk. The fabric of her shirt creases inwards to grasp the dip of her waist as she places a hand on her hip. She’s poised, but something about her gait is wobbly.

“Mighty busy.” He nods.

What they have is not history, but something much smaller. It is a word blotted out on a torn page from a burnt book, it is ground into powder by mortar and pestle.

It is Leon’s hand in her back pocket when nobody’s around.

“I’m sure.” She straightens her spine, eyes heavy with the weight of her lashes. “Up in Black Water, something about a dead pig.”

“They have gators,” Leon points out. He may be bored to the point of suicide, but he is not in the mood to wrangle any gators.

“I know,” she says, lifting her eyes from the ground to meet his sidelong gaze, “go check it out, she sounded real spooked, take a dog if you have to.”

She, huh.

Wonder what she looks like. He hopes she has big tits. He hopes she isn’t a cousin-fucking, peat-smelling hick.

Black Water has a lot of those.

“Took ya long enough.” Your voice skims the air like a bullet, it strikes Leon in the chest.

You are she. And you, well—You’re both the needle and the spoon.

Doused in the lantern glow, the egg-whites of your eyes are streaked by small, bloody streams, your mac is zipped up to the chin, and your rainboots are the same colour of boxed rubber duckies.

You’re no sole-crushed peach, making the ground its canvas in a pitiful splatter, you’re a tart cherry that he would like to pick, melt into a glaze and store in a jar.

“Oh, we’re mighty busy.” Leon wipes Rita’s wet from his fingers on the front of his tailored pants, it’s gotten sticky like pomade. He thinks of her tailbone digging into the flesh of his stomach as he sits her on his lap.

“I bet.” You raise your brows. “How many lines did’ja do?”

Leon leans forward to watch your face with unblinking eyes. “Don’t say that too loud, Wesker’s gonna get worried, y’know, start digging through his stash.”

“Hah.” Your laugh is hidden into the collar of your mac. “He seems like the type.”

“You met him before?” An unpleasant squelch is heard when he steps where you do, it seems deliberate for a moment, that you’re avoiding a well-trodden path to give him a hard time. He stumbles forward in the dark—His shoes are fucked, and these socks deserve a funeral service.

“Think we all have.” Your body is lost in the shapelessness of your attire, clothes draped over your frame like you are more hanger than human. Effortless femininity lost to androgyny. “You’re not from these parts.”

“You don’t look like you’re from these parts, pumpkin pie,” he mocks your twang and is met with a tut.

You stop and Leon bumps into you with a grunt.

He shines his torch at the ground and isn’t quite sure of what he’s looking at. “That’s a pig alright.”

#leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy angst #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy angst #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[its-lick-the-lollipop]

Hello tumblr! It’s been a while. I have another post in drafts that I will be publishing later! But let’s talk about @reversedshinyoumaru aka @gravitybeetie on twitter!

Now we were discussing AI art and I don’t actually defend it. But I said Marshie’s art is probably less likely going to be used for machine learning and teasingly called it “special”

What followed was me being called an extremely offensive term

"Degenerate" is a buzzword used by neo-Nazis and the alt-right to refer to all kinds of people that they consider to be sexually or otherwise immoral or deviant.

That includes a lot of different kinds of people: sex workers, women who have sex outside of marriage, people in interracial relationships, drug users, anyone with an STD, anyone with any sort of paraphilia fetish or kink, Jewish people, political progressives, and of course, all LGBTQ+ individuals.

It's extremely sexist, homophobic and bigoted.

"Degenerate" is also a eugenics term. It expresses an opinion that someone is subhuman, literally less evolved than normal humans, in a biological sense. It's an insult to someone's DNA.

It's the kind of word that there's never really a very good reason for using to refer to anyone. Everyone human is actually human, not literally subhuman, no matter how much we might dislike them.

Also they were told to do this as seen via curiouscat.

I didn’t send the ask but why would I deny that you used right wing buzzwords on a queer person?

Or that you are ableist?

Remember that it’s autistic and disabled people who are called a freak the most?

#antiship #antishipper #antis are transphobic #antis are queerphobic #antishippers are right wingers #degeneracy #antishippers are radfems #exposing puritanism #transphobia #queerphobia #bigotry #right wing extremism #antis are radfems #antishipping #don’t call anyone degenerate #reversedshinyoumaru #gravitybeetie #proship vs anti cw #antis follow christian conservative propaganda #eugenics

[gwenbrightly]

The Great Flower Chain Making Competition

Written for the @ninjago-calendar project. The Ninja take Lloyd on a picnic and Cole teaches everyone how to make flower chains.

“He needs normalcy,” Lloyd heard Nya tell his uncle in a hushed voice. He paused outside of his uncle’s room to hear what would come next.  

“But his training-” Wu started in, but Kai interrupted him. 

“But nothing, Master Wu. You can’t expect him to adjust to being the Green Ninja right away without problems. He’s just a kid, so let him be one.” 

There was silence for a moment and Lloyd could easily imagine Nya giving Wu her signature you’d better do as I say or else look to prove her brother’s point. He waited to hear the response, not quite sure what they were talking about, but knowing it involved him. 

“I… suppose you have a point,” Wu admitted eventually, “you can do what you asked on one condition: Everyone stays nearby and return to the Bounty immediately if I contact you.” 

“That’s technically two conditions,” said Nya, pointedly. Wu sighed.  

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

“We won’t,” Kai assured him and then the door opened before Lloyd could disappear around the corner. Nya raised an eyebrow when she saw him.  

“Lloyd, were you… eavesdropping?” 

“N-no,” he insisted at first, but both siblings immediately saw through his lie. 

“How much did you hear, Lloyd?” Kai asked quietly. Lloyd shrugged.  

“I dunno. Not much. But you guys really didn’t have to get on Wu’s case for me over training. I’m fine.” Another lie.  

“Considering we literally just got you back from a group of traitorous snakes, I’d say it’d be completely understandable if you weren’t fine. And besides, it’s our duty to protect you. Even from your uncle,” Kai stated fiercely, ruffling Lloyd’s hair. Nya nodded in agreement.  

“Which is why we convinced him to give everyone the day off so we can take you to do something fun!” she announced. Lloyd blinked.  

“Fun?” he repeated blankly. He had to admit that doing something to get his mind off of, well, everything, sounded appealing. But there was so much to be done now that he knew he was the Green Ninja. Could he even afford a day off? Lloyd wasn’t sure how all this destined savior business worked.  

“That’s right! We’re going on a picnic!”  

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lloyd questioned, not sharing Nya’s enthusiasm, “I mean, the Serpentine probably want revenge for what happened at the fire temple.” 

“Sure it is. We’ll just have to be careful,” Nya assured him at the same time as Kai insisted, “We only have good ideas!” 

They rolled their eyes at each other, but neither backed down.  

“We’re not taking no for an answer, Lloyd. Fresh air is good for shrimps like you,” Kai continued, giving Lloyd a smile. Lloyd knew he was probably right, though he didn’t know much about fresh air. Darkley’s had always been kind of stuffy.  

Nya looked at him expectantly. He bit his lip.  

“Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I’m telling Pythor to eat you first,” Lloyd relented. A few hours away  couldn’t do any harm.  

_________________________

“I think we’re almost there,” Cole announced. Lloyd could just make out the clearing up ahead. After gathering the rest of the ninja and packing lunch, which had been a hectic affair, the group had set out to find the perfect picnic spot. Cole claimed to “know a place” and the others had eagerly followed his lead.  Lloyd had never been on a picnic before, so he wasn’t really sure what they were looking for, but hopefully it would all make sense sooner or later.  

“Awesome,” Nya said, running her hands together enthusiastically.  

“Yeah,” Kai agreed, sounding less excited, “what did you put in this thing, Zane? My arms are starting to get tired.” 

“Oh, just the picnic essentials.” Zane called over his shoulder. Kai held the picnic basket in front of him, giving it a distaste glare.  

“You sure you didn’t pack the kitchen sink?” 

The nindroid deigned not to reply and Kai continued to mutter complaints as they continued down the trail. Deciding to have mercy on Kai after a few minutes (he was a little tired of the complaining), Lloyd asked,  

“Want me to take it for a sec?” 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Cole cut in, “we’re here.” 

“Thank goodness,” Kai declared, staggering forward to set the basket down on a tree stump. Lloyd rolled his eyes at his dramatics before wandering off to explore while Nya and Jay spread out the ginormous picnic blanket they had stolen from Wu. 

 He found a stream not far from where Kai had left the picnic basket. Sitting down amongst the reeds, Lloyd watched the water ripple and swirl. He could see tiny minnows swimming in and out of the shadows. What other creatures might be lurking nearby?  

Maybe after they ate, Kai would be interested in helping him find out. There could be water snakes, turtles, or maybe even frogs! Frogs liked marshy areas – didn’t they?  

Lloyd could just imagine the look on Jay’s face when he and Kai brought back the biggest, slimiest frog they could find. He giggled maniacally as he skipped a stone across the stream. It bounced a few times before sinking with a soft plunk. The minnows scattered. Lloyd sighed happily, watching them.  

There was something so peaceful about this place. About the way the gentle breeze tickled the flowers that covered the meadow. Maybe he should pick some for Nya. Girls liked flowers, didn’t they? There hadn’t been many girls at Darkleys.  

Of course, there was always the possibility that she was allergic to flowers. After all, Nya had once told him that she had a perfume allergy. He should probably ask Kai about that before he went and picked too many flowers for her…  

“Lloyd! It’s time for lunch.”  

Someone called, interrupting his thoughts. Plans for pestering his honorary siblings would have to wait. Lloyd sidled over to the picnic blanket and plopped down next to Kai, who handed him a plate.  

“So, Cole. How did you know about this place?” Jay inquired as he set out the sandwich supplies. Cole smiled wistfully and explained,  

“My parents brought me here a few times when I was a kid. We would play in the stream for hours and then Mom would teach me how to make flower chains and force Pop and I to wear them. It was really fun.” 

“Aww. That sounds nice,” Nya commented. She held out a jar of peanut butter to Lloyd, who happily accepted it. He slathered some onto his bread, listening to Cole share more stories about his childhood. Lloyd wished his own parents had been around to take him on picnics and have water fights with him. But that wasn’t the way the world worked.  

With a sigh, Lloyd took a bite of his sandwich. Just the right ratio of jelly to peanut butter. Perfect.  

“You mentioned flower chains, right?” Jay asked through a mouthful of food. It sounded more like he was saying, “Ooh entond oor Jane’s ight?” 

“Yeah?” Cole replied, raising an eyebrow. Jay swallowed before continuing.  

“This might sound kinda silly, but… I’ve always wondered how people make those.” 

“Oh, it’s easy!” Cole announced with a grin, “want me to teach you after we finish eating?” 

“I, for one, would love to learn,” Nya stated. She took a bite of jello salad and glanced around at the others, who nodded.  

“As would I,” Zane agreed serenely. Kai smirked and said,  

“Sure. Why not. But I say we make it a competition.” 

“A competition?” Lloyd asked curiously, his eyes widening. That sounded promising.

“Yeah! I’m thinking we each make a flower chain, and whoever has the best one wins. We can, like, have Master Wu judge them when we get back to the Bounty, or something,” Kai explained.

“That sounds kinda fun,” Nya decided, before turning to Lloyd, “whaddya think? You in?”

Lloyd shrugged noncommittally, but ultimately agreed to join in. He had nothing better to do and was awfully curious about these… flower chains, anyway. What was the point of making chains from flowers? It wasn’t like you could use such a chain to trap enemies or anything exciting. Oh, well. He knew this entire trip was just to distract him from Green Ninja stuff. So it was probably okay if there were no practical applications for flower chains that he could use to cause chaos later on.  

The small boy shoved what was left of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed messily as he gazed around the meadow. There sure were a lot of flowers to choose from. He wondered how they would know which were best to use. And how long it was going to take the others to finish their food. Lloyd was starting to get bored of sitting there with nothing to do. 

“All right, listen up, people. What you’re looking for is flowers with nice long stems, like this,” Cole finally announced. He held up a daffodil. “That makes it easier to weave them together. Once everyone has their supplies, meet back here, and I’ll explain the rest. Everybody ready?” 

“Aye, aye, captain!” Jay said. He gave a teasing salute and trotted off across the meadow. Cole rolled his eyes as he watched him go.  

“Apparently, we have started,” Zane observed with a wry smile. The others laughed. 

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say the competition has begun.” Cole agreed. 

“Well? What are we waiting for?” Nya asked before nudging Lloyd, “We can’t let Jay beat us!”

She grabbed his arm and drug him off toward the opposite end of the meadow from where Jay had gone.

“Are teams even legal?” Lloyd heard Kai ask in the distance. 

“I never said they weren’t.” came the response. Nya giggled and came to a stop. 

“This looks like a good place to start picking flowers,” she said, bending over to examine a patch of irises. Lloyd nodded and plucked one, careful to make sure the stem was long enough to meet Cole’s standards. 

“Perfect.” Nya smiled approvingly. She began gathering an armful of flowers of her own. Red, then pink, then white, then purple. The two soon had sizable clumps of irises and various other flowers they had found growing nearby. Ready for the next phase of the competition, they returned to the picnic blanket just as the others began heading back. 

“Congratulations, competitors. You have completed the first challenge,” Cole stated in his best announcer voice. The rest of the group cheered with much more vigor than was truly necessary. They were all quite invested in the competition by this point. 

“Now you must learn how to make flower chains from the pro himself. Watch as I demonstrate,” Cole continued. He showed them how to weave the flowers together by taking clumps of 3 and braiding them in an intricate pattern. Next, he showed them how to connect new flowers to the braid by counting several stems as a single strand while braiding. 

The project had mixed results. Cole kept having to jump in to assist Kai before he could tear his flowers apart in frustration (they wouldn’t stay in place), while Jay’s weaving was so complex that even Zane couldn’t make sense of his strategy. 

Nya and Lloyd were hard at work designing a pattern of colors that was extra appealing to the eye when they realized that they had neglected to collect any blue flowers. Nya nodded her head meaningfully towards Jay’s pile of flowers, which contained a variety of blue wildflowers. Lloyd grinned and swapped spots with her, giving her easy access to Jay’s stash.

“Hey, Jay- I seem to be having trouble with this part… mind helping me out?” she asked ever so innocently. Jay flashed her a smile and scooted closer to her before launching into a tirade about the art of braiding. 

“Mhm. Oh, that makes sense,” Nya commented, pretending to be interested as she slipped a few of the flowers from Jay’s pile into Lloyd’s waiting hands. She continued to do this for several minutes before Jay finally caught on. 

“Hey. Hey wait! You can’t do that!” he protested in frustration. Nya simply smiled. 

“All is fair in love and war, Jay.”

“Yeah!” Lloyd agreed, nodding vigorously. Jay glared at him. 

“Do you even know what that means?” he asked. 

“Nope!” Lloyd said, happily adding a blue flower to his chain. All in all, the picnic had been way more exciting than he’d expected. 

#ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #Ninjago Calendar #March #Lloyd #Cole #Flower chains #my fics #validate meeee

[justsomeartsthings]

Fireworks

Summary: During a slow day in the lab, Sans picks Gaster’s brain about some human thing that’s been nagging him. Established Sanster, Sans POV, Fluff.

.

“hey, boss?”

Gaster doesn’t look up from his paperwork. You can barely see him past the stacks of paper and your own feet, which you’ve propped up on your desk. 

You toss a crumpled piece of paper at him. A conjured hand bats it out of the way. 

“Must you?” he mumbles.

“what’re fireworks?”

He stops writing for a brief moment. Then he shakes his head and resumes. “Have you ever fought a moldsmal?”

“m’not really the fightin’ type.”

“Of course not. My apologies,” he says insincerely. And then doesn’t elaborate.

You stare at him, but as always, he’s got the Underground’s worst case of tunnel vision. His hand is moving so fast over the forms you can barely see it. “k. so. you gonna tell me why you’ve been bullying moldsmals?”

“What?” That gets him to look up. Finally. “I have not been bullying moldsmals.”

“no, see, ‘cause i was wondering why i don’t see them around anymore.”

“That would be because they prefer Waterfall’s marshy climate. The temperature at which moldsmals melt is far below the average temperature of Hotland.”

You turn sly eyelights on Gaster.

“…melting point.”

“Yes, melting point. Hell, without the CORE stabilizing the air currents, I presume it would even get hot enough to reach their boiling point. Hence their absence,” he says, and adds, “Not because I have been ‘bullying’ them.”

“‘course not. you’ve just been melting them.”

“Sans.”

“jeez, doc. how many moldsmals have to go before your reign of terror is complete?”

“The majority of moldsmals have a traditional bullet pattern reminiscent of fireworks,” Gaster growls. “If you keep talking, I will be sure to give you a demonstration.”

“there ya go. that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He glares at you. At least, you think he does— his expression’s hard to read, given that his permagrin is different than you or your brother’s. It leaks lacivious intent at random intervals, especially when his eyes go all half-lidded like that. 

Not that you would ever tell him that.

You’d rather just admire from a distance.

He goes back to his paperwork. You crumple up another piece of paper and toss it between your hands. You wait just long enough for the silence to get comfortable.

“alright, doc. you’re killin’ me. tell me already.” You shoot the paper towards his desk. He catches it mid-air with a conjured hand.

“Perhaps if you would stop lobbing confidential documents at me, I could tell you.” 

“they’re reports based off bad data. fruits of a poisonous tree, an’ all that. shredding ‘em is as pointless as keeping ‘em.”

“Of course. After all, why shred them when you can just as easily make projectiles out of them to pester me with?”

You wink. “they told me you were a smart one.”

Gaster sighs, putting down his pen to scrub at his face with two real hands, cored palms and all. “It’s one hundred and twelve degrees fahrenheit, if you must know. Do not ask me how many unfortunately itinerant moldsmals I have had to transport back to Waterfall in a beaker.”

“uh. heh. yikes. nice image, but not what i was fishin’ for,” you say. The expression he shoots you is blank. Probably. You splay your fingertips. “fireworks, doc. fireworks.”

“Ah.”

“any day now.”

“Yes, yes. Fireworks were explosives the humans were quite fond of using during festivities and the like. They would make colorful… patterns in the sky. They were also terribly loud.”

“wait, so they just sent stuff up in the sky and blew it up ‘cause it looked nice?”

“Essentially.”

“huh,” you say, sliding your feet off your desk. “sounds kinda like us.”

His permagrin might not allow for many clear expressions, but it’s perfect for incredulity. “How on earth did you come to that conclusion?”

“well, think about it. potentially dangerous things flying through the air in patterns ‘cause it’s pretty?” You scoff. “i know i don’t use bullet patterns that much in my day-to-day, but i know ‘em when i hear ‘em.”

Gaster hums. He’s got that stillness that always comes over him when he’s thinking through a problem. He’d solidify completely if he thought it would make his thoughts faster. “I suppose there are similarities. I wouldn’t be surprised if fireworks were the product of human envy over our traditional patterns.”

“or maybe they just liked the look of them.”

“Possibly.”

“well, it sounds to me like you don’t like ‘em.”

“Humans?”

You splay your fingers. “fireworks, doc. fireworks.”

“Yes, of course. I mean— no, I did not like them back when I was. Er. Younger.”

“mm.” You nod slowly. “…think you’d like ‘em now?”

“I couldn’t say for—” You physically see the thought hit him. It’s better than drugs. “…certain. Oh, dear.”

“yeah, doc?” If you weren’t grinning since birth, you’d be splitting your skull trying to smile even wider.

“Sans,” he says.

“yup,” you say.

“Do you have fireworks,” he says.

“yup,” you say.

“Where did you get them,” he says.

“the dump,” you say.

He takes a deep breath. And then another. And another. “How… did you even know what they’re called?”

“i’m gonna call that a lucky guess.” 

From your pocket, you pull out one of the rocket-shaped things and toss it to Gaster. Despite his earlier dexterity with the paper balls, he fumbles the explosive. It slips straight through his palm.

When he picks it up, the look on his face is priceless. You know why— the word ‘fireworks’ is branded on the side of the rocket in faded lettering.

“I can’t believe this,” he says. He quick to correct, “I can’t believe you. This— this isn’t even damp.”

“yeah. i found ‘em a couple days ago, figured i’d let ‘em dry. wanted to ask you about ‘em in the meantime.”

“Wh— they’ve been in your pocket this whole time?”

“uh. yeah?”

“Sans, you work in a lab that is surrounded by lava.”

“that’s why i kept them in my pocket, doc. c’mon. it ain’t rocket science.”

Gaster flattens you with a vaguely lascivious glare. “This is unbelievably reckless, Sans. Do you know what could have happened if one of these had fallen out of your pocket?”

“nope. actually, i was kinda hopin’ to find out. y’know. once i got ahold of someone who knows what they’re doin’.”

“You—” And then he stops, because he’s always speaking faster than he’s thinking, and sometimes it takes him a minute. “You wanted to set them off. With… me.”

“uh, sure? i thought watchin’ them was the point,” you say, “but yeah. thought it’d be a cute date idea.”

“But this,” he says, and then, “I don’t,” and finally, after another deep breath: “Okay. I suppose… that sounds… fine.”

“fine,” you repeat. “heh. doc, we don’t have to.”

“I… No, I think I would like to.”

“you think.”

Gaster sighs. “I am not as young as I used to be, Sans. Reckless fun caveats responsibility and consequences. It is hard to think past them.”

“you tryin’ to tell me you’re not impulsive?”

“…You have a point.”

“hey. what can i say? we skeletons are pointy dudes.” And then, because you care, “c’mon. you know your comfort zone better than anyone i know, doc. just say the word.”

Gaster appraises you for a long moment. Being skeletons, a relationship doesn’t come with much touching, or even proximity. But time is something Gaster values above anything else— and sometimes it baffles you that he chooses to spend so much of it paying attention to you.

The staring is edging you closer to mushy territory. You can’t look away.

“The word,” he says finally, “is that I would like to spend my evening watching fireworks with you.” Except he says it like he means every evening, and you don’t know if you can take this. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“…k.” It seems the melting point of your soul is embarrassingly low. Your voice sounds a little like you swallowed a vat of melted moldsmal slime. “guess that’s settled.”

“Indeed,” he says evenly. You’re pretty sure he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Cheeky bastard. “We will not, however, be setting off dangerous explosives after work if we do not finish working.”

“yup.”

“Please use the shredder this time.”

“right.”

“And Sans?”

“yep.”

“I love you.”

Your soul boils in its cage. 

Bastard, bastard, bastard. Not for the first time, your permagrin feels too small for the smile you feel bursting in your soul.

“yeah,” you say, helpless. “love you too, doc.”

.

AO3

#sanster #undertale fanfiction #undertale fic #sans #gaster #fireworks #wrote this because if my neighbors can do whatever they want with fireworks at ungodly hours i will do the same but with words #=3

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 9

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 9: And then, the tides turned.

That morning, John was sitting in his room upstairs, in Shady Bell, thinking and staring out the window. He was thinking about his conversation with Arthur from the day before, when they had been in the grave yard, pondering the meaning of their existence as men outside the law. Down in the yard, he could see Jack, having woken up maybe half an hour before. He was with the dog, and they were minding their own business. Jack was like that. He minded his own business. He had a stick and he was drawing shapes in the mud leftover from the storm, and the dog was just lying there, with his little face on his paws, watching. Much of the camp was still sleeping, Abigail among them. He’d shared a bed with her that night. They had only slept. They had not touched. He knew it would be a long time coming if she was ever going to touch him again, but he could wait. She was waking up now, pushing the dark hair out of her face, looking around as if she could not remember where she was. When she saw him, she propped up onto her elbows and sighed. She smiled, wearing her night clothes, which she had sewn herself many years before. He remembered her doing it.

“Hey,” he said. He had been whittling a little horn out a piece of wood. He set it down on the windowsill now.

“Where’s Jack?” she said.

“Downstairs,” said John. “Don’t worry. I can see him from here.”

She nodded, reassured, and swung her bare feet over the side of the bed. They dangled a little. She was a short woman. “I ain’t slept like that in…years.”

“Yeah,” said John, smiling. “You was out cold.”

She blushed.

“Abbie,” he said. He turned toward her in his chair, with real conviction.

“What is it?”

“We need to talk,” he said. “Can I—?”

She seemed to read his mind. “Yeah,” she said, looking concerned. “Come on over here, John. It’s fine.”

He got up, joined her on the bed. He gathered her hands up into his, looked down at the shapes their palms made, like a little nest.

“What the hell’s the matter?” she said. “You seem so serious.”

“I am,” he said. He looked at her. “I am, Abbie.”

She waited, her cheeks still flushed from sleep. “What’s going on?”

“We need to get ready,” he said, nodding to himself. “Abbie. We need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

"For leaving. You, and me, and Jack.”

“Leaving?” she said. “John, you’re scaring me.”

“No, don’t. Don’t be scared.”

“Where we going to?”

“I don’t know,” said John, shaking his head. “I ain’t—I ain’t thought it that far through yet. I only just got to the realization last night.”

“What realization?”

“That this—this gang. This whole thing. It ain’t good, Abbie. Not no more.”

The sun was getting brighter, poking through the tupelos, coming in through the window now, and lighting her face. “You saying you wanna leave the gang?”

“Yes,” he said. “I am. And I want you and Jack to come with me, for us to be a family.”

She got real quiet now, like she was soaking in something. She glanced toward the window. You could hear Jack now, shouting for the dog to follow him. Sadie was there. She said, Hey Jack. Come help me feed the chickens, okay?

“Is this because of Arthur?” she said. “I mean—is it something he said to you?”

“It is,” said John. “He’s making me realize, it ain’t no picnic here no more, Abbie. Jack got kidnapped. It just ain’t safe.”

“I know,” she said. “I know, and I agree with you.”

“So you’ll be ready. To go. When it’s time.”

“When’s it gonna be time?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said John, still with her hands in his. “I just don’t know. We need some money, probably. We need a place to go.”

“Where is Arthur, John?” she said. “I saw him leave last night, real late. He rode away from the camp. He’s been so…distant. Where is he?”

John cleared his throat, searching her eyes. She was genuinely curious, and she still had not taken her hands back and this was encouraging. It emboldened him. “Arthur is in St. Denis,” he said. “That’s where he’s been.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He, uh. He sort of met someone.”

“Met someone?” said Abigail. She got real bright. She looked happy. “You mean like, romantically? A woman?”

“Well, no,” said John, taking a deep breath. “I mean…like, a man. It’s what you’re thinking. It’s romantic, but it’s a man. And I’ve met him. He’s real decent, Abbie. He’s good. He’s rich, like. High society, from Philadelphia. He’s a nature photographer. His name is Albert Mason.”

Abigail was just staring at him, like she didn’t know what to say. She had these eyes that looked sort of like melting ice caps. Her features may have been a little stark to some people, but to him, were like a home. He knew them so well. “Arthur is getting on with a high society nature photographer?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “They met, maybe a couple months back? He was helping him with a project and I guess it just sort of…evolved.”          

She looked down at her bare feet, then to the door. “Sweet Jesus. I had no idea.”

“Me neither,” he said. "Well, I mean, not till recently."

“Does he seem happy?” said Abigail. “Arthur?”

“Yes,” said John, seriously. “He does. And I think—I mean, Albert, he’s got money. They could go anywhere.”

“You think Arthur is gonna leave,” said Abigail, looking back at him. “That’s why you wanna leave.”

“I wanna leave, because it ain’t safe. Not for you, and not for Jack. But yes. I think—I think that Arthur is gonna leave, Abbie. I can’t say where to, but I can say why.”

Outside, you could hear the birds chirping as the camp roused into life. Pearson put the coffee on, and somebody was cooking what smelled like bacon over a spit. Javier was bringing in the day on his wistful guitar, and for a moment, it was almost bucolic.

“It’s sort of romantic,” said Abigail. “Don’t you think?”

“I guess,” said John.

“Big tough guy, Arthur Morgan, outlaw, gunslinger, getting swept off his feet by some rich guy from Philadelphia.” She laughed to herself. “It figures. What’s his name again?”

“Albert Mason,” said John.

“Albert Mason,” said Abigail, looking down in silliness. “Same initials even. What’s he like?”

John shrugged. “He’s real nice,” he said. “I don’t know. Calm, and generous. He cares about Arthur, a lot. You can tell. He likes tea.”

“Is he good-looking?”

John laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Oh, you’re such a tough guy,” she said, fooling. She pinched his cheek, and shoved him in the shoulder. “John Marston. Well, maybe one day I’ll meet him myself, and I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Maybe you will,” said John.

They watched each other closely, in the warm light pouring through the windows from the late morning sun. “Does anybody else know?” said Abigail. “About Albert?”

“Just Mary Beth,” said John.

“Hmm.”

John knew what she was thinking. “Yeah. I know. It’s a whole…thing, isn’t it.”

“She’s been carrying a torch for that man,” said Abigail, fussing with her hair now, putting it in a braid over her shoulder. “I’ve always known. I told her he’s hopeless, time and time again, but she never heard nothing of it. Anyway, she’s too damn smart for this sort of living. I always thought, if I could read and write like her? I’d be out of here in an instant.”

“You can read just fine,” said John. “You’re getting better.”

She waved him off, embarrassed. “Oh, I read like a moron.”

“I’ll help you,” he said. “We can practice more, if it’s what’ you want.”

This undid her a little and she looked at him like she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The sunlight made her cheeks look golden. She finished with her braid, laid it flat. She said, “Maybe some night? When there’s time of course.”

“Sounds good,” said John.

The next day, Arthur and Albert had gotten on their horses and rode north to a ridge above the Kamassa River, where they camped in privacy amidst the enchanted forest and the marshy air in the foothills of the eastern Grizzly Range. As had been their plan from may weeks before, they were finally on their hunt for moccasin flowers, which Albert had been wanting to photograph for a long while. For the time being, however, it was sundown and they had already had their dinner. Arthur was deep inside him, their bodies pressed together, making indents in the earth at the foot of a tall and unwieldy White Oak tree. Arthur was a gentle species, but Albert urged him that night. Emboldened by the natural world and the freedom of the woods, he wanted them both to get past the brink and with enough encouragement, Arthur brought them there, jagged and moaning. It was like he didn’t know what hit him. It went on. It took a long time, and Albert felt proud and undone, exhausted once they finished. It was ecstasy. Arthur leaned forward to steady against the tree. He pressed his lips to the back of Albert’s neck, pushing away the hair and the sweat, catching his breath. They kissed, pondering, processing what had just taken place. When they both surfaced from the rubble, Arthur pulled out of him, slowly, and Albert shuddered in the aftermath, collapsed to the earth and they held one another until the sun was all the way down behind the trees and they were too cold to stay undressed any longer.

Back by the fire, they wore their regular clothes again, leaned against a big, hardy rock as they shared a joint of hash and smoking tobacco. Together, they blew the smoke into the air and grew bleary-eyed from the drugs, falling deeper and deeper in love as the night washed over and through them. After a while, they fell asleep. The night was quiet, and their bodies were warm. But Albert woke up at some point when the fire got low. He was thirsty, anxious. He leaned forward to stoke the flame and lit another cigarette and let Arthur continue to lean against him, eyes closed, his breathing long and even. Albert ran one hand through Arthur’s hair, where it curled behind his ears. Even as it looked dingy in the dark of the evening, it would be gold by morning again, almost flaxen, bleached in highlights from the sun. He almost couldn’t take it, the things he was feeling.

He hadn’t told Arthur yet, about California. He knew why, as he sat there by the fire, smoking his cigarette. He just wanted things to stay simple, a little longer. It felt limitless, physical, full of romance and also speed. He had never been taken so quickly by anyone. It messed him up, in a good way, and it made him certain about what he wanted. As he pondered the future now, Albert feared that Arthur would reject him—any suggestion that they move forward, leave this place. Arthur held so much, so tightly within himself. Pain, history. He told Albert little of his life. It’s just who he was, as a man, and Albert accepted him. There was no way to bridge this part of Arthur, not completely. Of course, certain elements of his heart could be coaxed free. He was generous, and loving, full of warmth when they were together, but that was feelings. It wasn’t feelings that Arthur struggled with, strangely enough. It was the choosing. Albert could meet him halfway, and he could wait. He could wait forever, he thought, but he did not want to wait. He would, but he didn’t want to. He put the hair behind Arthur’s ear, finished his cigarette, and waited. He read a little, trying to clear his mind. In the distance, you could hear the coyotes. It was a beautiful place.

About a half hour later, around midnight, Arthur roused, suddenly. He sat straight up off the rock, as if he had been woken by a nightmare. He looked around frantically and placed his hand on the pistol at his side. Albert was startled at first but just clasped one firm hand to Arthur’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay.”

Arthur came to, shook his head out, immediately. He went almost limp, back against that rock and he took a deep breath. His eyes were a little wide, glazed over. He was breathing fast. “Shit,” he said, his chest rising and falling. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you have a bad dream?” said Albert.

“No,” said Arthur, digging the heel of his palm in his eyeball. “I mean, not really. More like, I just don’t normally fall asleep like that, so hard, not out in the wilderness.”

“Yes, I know,” said Albert. “But it’s okay. Everything’s all right, just where you left it.”

Arthur closed his eyes and set his head back, taking deep, even breaths until he settled down. “What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight,” said Albert. “I woke up a little while ago. I couldn’t sleep.”

“What you been up to?” said Arthur. He plucked a cigarette from the brim of his hat. He lit it and smoked, hanging his head between his knees. He seemed all right now, just weary.

“I’m thinking, mostly.”

“What about?”

Albert took a deep breath. “About you,” he said.

Arthur grinned, glanced up at him, smoking that cigarette, looking canny in the firelight. “You’re pretty smooth when you want to be, Mr. Mason.”

This made Albert laugh to himself. “I try.”

Arthur studied him then, his blue eyes washed out to gray, but even still, his focus could rip right through. “Al. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just—I’m torn about something.”

“You know you can tell me anything,” said Arthur. He flicked the cigarette.

“I know.”

“Then go ahead,” said Arthur. “I’m listening.”

Albert removed his cigarette case from his pocket. It was silver and very fine. He withdrew one, lit it with a match, then offered the case to Arthur who declined. He just smoked then, absentmindedly as he looked at the fire. He scratched an itch above his eyebrow, listened to the loons, going off in the distance with the coyotes. He looked down at the cigarette case, which he held in one hand. He was running his thumb over its delicate engravings: E.L.M., it read. Elijah Lawrence Mason, his father. “Do you remember how I told you that I got a letter from my mother the other day,” he said.

Arthur nodded. He had his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah. You said she’s doing well. What’s her name again?”

“Cynthia,” said Albert, flipping the case open and shut, then putting it away in his pocket. He smoked.

“Cynthia Mason,” said Arthur. “What was her maiden name? I’m just curious.”

“Ruffalo.”

“Ruffalo. So she’s Italian?”

“By half. Her mother was French.”

“I see,” said Arthur. “That’s very American of you.”

“What about you?” said Albert.

“I don’t know much,” said Arthur. He plucked a long piece of grass from the earth, began to shred it into ribbons with his fingertips. “My family, they lived here as long as I can remember. I think my grandparents, on my father’s side—they came from England. They was farmers. But my mother’s side, I don’t know.”

“Do you remember her maiden name?”

“No,” said Arthur. “I know I saw her buried. I remember the funeral. It even said it, her maiden name, on the tombstone, but I can’t remember.”

“You were little,” said Albert. “It’s all right.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. He tossed the grass into the fire.

“Where is she buried?”

“Baker City,” said Arthur. “Oregon. That I do remember. It’s near the Blue Mountain range. Pretty country."

“I’ll bet. Have you been back there, since she died?”

“No,” said Arthur, shaking his head, growing distracted. He didn’t go on any further, and so Albert changed the subject.

“Arthur,” he said after a minute.

“Yes.”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Go on,” said Arthur. “I told you. I’m listening.”

“A long time ago, when we first had that drink together, in Valentine.” He smoked. “I mentioned that my mother may be moving to California. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Arthur. He was coming back from a distant place. “Why?”

“Because she is moving to California,” said Albert. “Finally. She said so in her letter. My uncle, he bought a ranch near the Monterey Peninsula, but he’s taken a wife, apparently, and moving to San Francisco. He’s left the ranch to my mother.”

“That sounds amazing,” said Arthur. “When’s she headed out?”

“Soon.” Albert took one last drag, studied his dirty fingertips, the burned out cigarette, flicked the nubbin into the fire. “It’s a big ranch, with water, stables, a couple different homesteads, privately arranged. It’s on a cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, near a town called Carmel-by-the-Sea. She has invited us, Arthur. To come out, to live there. That is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The sky seemed to stop turning, rotating on a dime. Arthur was giving him a look. He had that wrinkle in his forehead, the one that only popped up when he was totally confused. “Come again?”

“After the gallery opening, this Friday, my purpose in St. Denis is very…up in the air,” said Albert. He removed the cigarette case again, took out another cigarette. “Things can change, if we let them. We have a place to go. Both of us.”

“She knows about me?"

"Yes," said Albert. "She does."

Arthur seemed lost for words. "Al."

“Yes?”

“Why the hell are we talking about this now?” said Arthur. “Midnight, in the enchanted forest. You brought up your mother’s letter yesterday morning. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because,” said Albert, sighing. “I panicked. To be perfectly honest, I was terrified.”

“Terrified?”

“That you would say no,” said Albert. He lit the cigarette. “I just—I know you, Arthur.”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t know a lot about your gang and what you do, but I know you.” He smoked, fanned the smoke out of the air. “You’re a loyal man. You value your relationships—with John, his family, Mary Beth. God knows there must be more.”

“And?"

“And I’m asking you to leave them, and to come with me, to California.” Albert cleared his throat, shook his head over and over again through the smoke. “I love you so much,” he went on. He was lost, in his own idiotic rambling. He closed his eyes to get lost further. “I want you, selfishly, to myself, to be with me, to let me take care of you. But I know there is a chance you’ll say no. And if that is the case, then I want you to know, that is okay. If that is the case, then I’ll stay. We don’t have to go to California. Not now. We can wait, or stay indefinitely. I’d like to get out of that apartment. It’s too small. So maybe we can lease a bigger place, in the city, or we can buy a place, or buy a cabin outside it. If that is what you want, to stay, then I will stay. I can make that work. But I don’t want you getting shot, or getting hurt anymore, Arthur. It worries me sick. Every time you walk out the door, every time you leave. So if it is the case, that you want to stay, then we need to...talk about that, honestly. Figure something out so that I know, rationally, what to expect. Or else, we can leave. I won’t lie. I want to do this with you. I want to go west, and I did before we met, but more than anything now, I just want to be with you. I want you to come with me, as it is a chance at a new life, privacy. A home. I want you to come with me, Arthur. I want you to let me keep you safe. I will stay. I will do whatever you want, whatever it takes, but know that what I want is for you to leave, with me.”

All around them, the wilderness was breaking into pieces. It was atomizing, becoming all of the same things from the distant places they were born. Albert glanced at Arthur who was staring down at his hands. He always seemed to be doing that, looking down at his hands as if they were the source of all his wisdom, and all his strife. The loons and the coyotes cried distantly, and the stars overhead swam around like little fish in a dark sea.

“Okay,” said Arthur, out of nowhere. He nodded his head, as if resolved.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I want to go with you.” Arthur was looking at him now like it was no big thing, his hair gold from the casual firelight and falling in his face. “When do we leave?”

Listening for this chapter: “Passenger Seat” by Death Cab for Cutie (youtube | spotify)

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #albert mason #arthur x albert #arthur morgan x albert mason #albthur #that he may hold #<3

[xthexrawringx20sx]

Hey! So @marshmallowcreame and I are thinking about making a group chat on here, maybe for fictionkin or something?

We have a couple kintypes that are sometimes considered problematic, so don’t worry about that for the most part! There’s a couple sources we’re not comfy with, but everything else should be okay ^^

 Sources so far are:

Marshy (no doubles)

The Arcana (Asra Alnazar)

Good Omens (Aziraphale)

Tobie (doubles welcome!)

The Arcana (Julian Devorak)

Good Omens (Anthony J Crowley)

Gravity Falls (Dipper Pines)

Hetalia (Finland)

Mystic Messenger (Saeran Choi)

Creepypasta (Toby Rogers)

Otherkin (alien)

More information (triggers/things to avoid in chat, DNI information, etc) under the cut!

Triggers/things to avoid in the chat:

Fur///ries/anything similar or related to this

Radio///dust & Baku///Deku

Images/graphic mentions of teeth, gore, body horror, self-harm, suicide

Any sort of abuse mentions

Ya///oi/yu///ri, fetishizing people

Eye strain/flashing images & videos

Drama/discourse

Drug mentions

Images of knives without warning

Matrix-style conspiracy theories (If it involves the world being fake or anything like that please do not talk about it, that’s a massive trigger for my schizophrenia)

cancer

blackmail mentions

the term ps-cho (it is used in a derogatory way and adds negative and violent connotations to terms that are not inherently violent)

Terms like r-t-rd and f-gg-t

Loud noises/yelling

DNI/Do not join:

If you are an ace/aro exclus///ionist, you are tru///scum, a t//e//r//f, if you meet basic DNI criteria 

you engage in c//g//l or c//g//l//r//e (or anything like that - non sexual age regression is fine)

You’re pro-sh///ip or ship things like pine///c-st, support ki//ing sta/king, etc

m//a//p or no//m//a//p or whatever the hell they’re calling themselves now

You’re here for discourse or drama

You participate in or support Cringe Culture

You use your kin to excuse bad behavior now. Same goes for mental stuff.

You are kin from Boy//friend to De//ath, Ki//ing Sta/king, Beas//tars

Interact with this post and/or dm me for more information or to show if you’re interested! Thank you!!

#kin #fictionkin #group chat #kin group #fictionkin group #the arcana kin #arcana kin #good omens kin #go kin #gravity falls kin #gf kin #hetalia kin #mystic messenger kin #mysme kin #mm kin #cp kin #creepypasta kin #otherkin #alienkin #kin chat #otherkin chat #fictionkin chat #kincall #kincalling #fictionkin call #fictionkin calling

[humbae]

Whumptober 10: Bruises

The forest was initially dominated by coniferous trees, but as I neared what I estimated would be the coastline, I saw more maples and birches and willows. At least the vegetation proved that my sense of direction had been accurate during the parts of the drive I was awake for, and I had a rough idea of where I was. The bad news was that my feet were taking me further away from civilisation. There were beaches near the suburbs, but outside of them there were only rocky shores and marshy forest beyond them. A beautiful place to live in, and lovely for a Sunday stroll, but for trying to reach any sort of authorities as fast as possible, not so ideal. I had no shoes, no phone, no wallet, and I was wearing green pyjamas made of the thinnest material I had ever rubbed my skin against. I suspected it might even be paper. Not the best guard against the elements. The autumn wasn’t particularly cold, but my bare feet were starting to feel the cooling of the ground quite acutely, in addition to every pinecone and scraggly root that hit my path.

I ascended a wide rock that sloped gently, climbing higher to hopefully get a better view of the environment. As I cleared the tops of the trees, I saw the sky more clearly. Many stars, and the moon hanging near the horizon. I wasn’t savvy enough to tell whether it was rising or setting. It made little difference to me anyway: either I had the whole night in front of me, or could expect the dawn soon. The night would help me stay hidden for longer, though I hadn’t heard Tom take pursuit. But at least in the dark I could see the lights from the suburbs better.

I would probably head towards the houses. If I was careful, I could slip past Tom and the doctor in case they were keeping watch. I doubted anyone in the neighbourhood knew what they were up to. Knock on the nearest door, ask for help, go rescue the person they were keeping prisoner. It sounded like a simple enough course of action. I took my bearings from the rock and started descending towards the lights. They were some distance away, I must’ve run in panic for longer than I realised. I was still sore from grappling with Tom, and the not-at-all-yet-healed stab wound was aching fiercely. My knees were also bruised from the tumble down the stairs by the front door. The material of my pyjama pants was torn away at the site. I looked down at the blood on my knees and missed a step. I tried to regain my equilibrium, but I had too much momentum already. The rock took a turn for the steeper, and I lost all ground beneath my feet. Making an alarmed squeak, I dropped off the edge.

The rolling and bouncing seemed to last forever. I managed to wrap my arms around my head, leaving my elbows to bang against the unyielding surface of the rock. I felt each jolt in my spine, and gave up completely on my poor knees. As I went faster, I started to fear the impending impact with the ground, but I finally caught a bit of luck. What broke my fall was the ocean, further softened by moss and ferns and seaweeds. But after I realised I was alive, I scrambled up in pure shock as the freezing water assaulted my senses.

Gasping for breath, I climbed up from the shallow water, grabbing tufts of grass and sapling trees to pull myself up. When I finally reached firm ground, I lay on the hard rocks and just breathed. And shivered. I knew I had to get out of my wet clothes before they chilled me further, but I was too sore to move. Every hurt of the day and night and preceding week caught up with me in that moment and I had to fight back tears.

My greatest ambition was to help others. It wasn’t very complicated. My life was quite boring on the surface: go to work at the finance department of a medium sized company every day, come home and cook dinner. Maybe watch a bit of TV, train my body, or play a computer game in the evenings. Repeat the next day. What broke the monotone, brought excitement and an element of unpredictability was my additional sense. Whenever I felt something amiss, I would follow it and go see what I could do. I met many different people that way, some just needing someone to talk to at their moment of despair, while others had more tangible problems. On occasion I would invite trouble for myself as well, but so far I had been able to deal with it. It all went wrong when that one person had a knife.

It had seemed like an ordinary evening. I was just going about my day when I felt such a spike of fear that I knew something was happening. I ran to the location and saw a man in the alleyway. He was looking around in utter terror, yelling at the walls. I suspected drugs or psychosis and approached with care. He seemed to calm down when someone was connecting with him, and I relaxed. The knife came out of nowhere. When it sank to my side, we both were looking at each other in surprise. He pulled the weapon out and ran away, while I dropped to the ground and tried to keep my innards in. And that was how I met the woman who called Tom to pick me up.

I dabbed at my side. The wound was bleeding again. It had most likely been stitched shut, but my activities that night had ripped it open at some point. At least there was a bandage around my torso. I kept my hands off it and pulled the shirt over my head. I tried to remember if having the wet garments cling to my cooling skin was worse than having nothing at all to protect me from the nocturnal breeze. I wasn’t much of an outdoorsy person. I enjoyed nature as much as anyone, but I didn’t go on long hikes or any other expeditions. Had I possessed the skills, I would’ve made a fire to dry myself as I was so deep in the forest that I wasn’t worried about the smoke being visible in the night. But as I had no tools, a fire was beyond me.

Rubbing my arms vigorously, I started walking towards what I reckoned was the right direction to reach the houses. My knees were hurting quite a bit now, as were all the other parts of my body. I wondered if I had hit my head tumbling down the rock, but there was really nothing to do about it if I had.

“Try not to die,” I whispered to myself. A bird replied to me with an ugly squawk, which in turn made a flock of smaller birds take flight. I followed their path across the sky, tiny black dots visible against the stars. How easy it would be to spread one’s wings and soar to safety.

“Definitely hit my head,” I muttered to myself as I stumbled on. I considered fashioning some sort of footwear for myself, but again I ran into the problem of not having any materials on hand. Unless I gathered a pile of leaves and tore my pyjama top in half to use it as twine to wrap around them, but I was still hoping to be able to put the shirt back on eventually. The night was getting colder and colder.

#whumptober #whump #fiction #fucked up shit #so behind again #but who says whumptober can't become whumpember

[lee-minhyuk-stole-my-puddin200]

💝👯TAG A FRIEND👯💝

Rules: Answer the 30 questions and then tag 20 people

I was tagged by @chngkyniebear

I’m gonna tag three because I don’t have rhat many social interactions ☺️☺️… @brokeboizclub @tabiispink @milynna

Nicknames: Ami, Mandy, Mandy, Marshi, Manders, Limperson, and Ice Bitch.

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Pisces🌊

Height: 163 cm (5’3”)

Time: (current?) 11:30 (time of birth??) 12:00 am

Birthday: February 25th

Favorite Bands: Monsta X, Bts, Vixx, Drug Restaurant, One Ok Rock, Guns N’ Rose…+

Favorite Solo Artists: … Agust D, I.M, Jooheon, Drake, Lana Del Rey, Birdy, Jessi, Zico, Crush, Dean, Rhodes, Thomston… +

Song Stuck in My Head: “Mistake” by Drug Restaurant

Last Movie I Watched: The Beauty Inside

Last Show I Watched: Family Guy

When did I create my blog: about four years ago.

What do you post?: Mostly are just reblogged posts of what I find interesting and such. Sometimes me ranting about more love for monsta x.

Last thing googled: Either how to convert dog years into human years, or The Big Bang Theory Season 11 Episode Guide.

Do you have other blogs?: Yep, five of them.

Do you get asks: Unfortunately not. But my box is always open. If you want to talk just message 🤗

Why did you choose your url: because a handome devil by the name of Lee Minhyuk stole my heart away from my last beau Kim Namjoon. (If any of you know me you will get it.)

Following: 4047…. um… 😮

Followers: 199!!!!!!

Favorite colors: Anything sea like, soft violets, pastels, blues, lots of cool tones, rich emerald green.

Average hours of sleep: 4-7 hours.

Lucky number: 2, 3, 12201, 200

Instruments: I play the Piano. I wanted to try out the cello. But it didn’t work out. M

What am I wearing: sweatpants, crop top, and a hoodie.

How many blankets I sleep with: one

Dream Job: I want to either be an idolized singer, wedding planner, makeup artist, or interior designer. Although the thought of opening up a small cafe with friends is nice.

Dream Trip: Ireland, Vietnam, Japan, Italy and South Korea

Favorite food: Sushi 😻

Nationality: I’m Canadian 🇨🇦

Favorite Song Right Now: Anasthetic - Thomston, Shine Forever - Monsta X, In Time - Monsta X.

#tagged #Q and A #personal #about me

[marshber]

drugs were in my hand i really was boutta do it on a week day 😭 this ain't fun. i need to buy some CBT joints that will only calm me down

#marshie drug talk

[bloggingbri-blog]

Day ten,

Today we took a ferry ride to the city of Enkhuizen and walked around the open air Zuiderzeemuseum. Unfortunately it was raining, but the city had beautiful views of the water and was very green. We walked around the museum and were able to enter the homes that were staffed with actors and sound/visual effects. The houses were set up and decorated just as a Dutch house during the 17th to early 20th century would have been, so it was interesting to see what life could have been like living in the Netherlands during that time. 

We were able to walk around the city after the museum and it is very different from Amsterdam, Delft, and Utrecht. Each city has something unique to offer. This city in particular is very quiet and laid back, which contrasts with the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam. It would be nice to visit Enkhuizen and the Zuiderzeemuseum again when the weather is sunny and free of rain. 

We got the chance to see a windmill called “Leeg De Polder” that took the water out of a small pond with a polder contraption that could spin a large screw that would then push the water out of the pond into a metal tin. The purpose of these polders were to regulate the water level in the surrounding area. This was an interactive part of the museum so I was able to try to push the water out of the pond first hand. The caption of this polder talked about how the land can be inhabitable due to a buildup of rainwater that causes marshy land in this area and read “And before the steam engine was invented, the Dutch kept their feet dry by draining the land with windmills”. We talked about the use of windmills for water level regulation in lecture on July 4th so it was nice to see how it works in person. 

This city provided an embodiment of the stereotypical Dutch characteristics I was expecting to see before coming to the Netherlands: windmills, clogs, and water. These are shown in the images of the Netherlands that the tourist industry portrays, as we discussed in lecture on July 2nd. This perception contrasts with the images the media portrays of the Red Light District and the use of soft drugs. This just goes to prove that the Netherlands is a culturally and environmentally diverse nation.

Till next time,

Bri

[keiithmingo]

Herbal Antibiotics and Gut Flora

This week, we have a very interesting question that comes up from time to time in regard to whether an herb can actually work like an antibiotic and the possible benefits and risks in terms of using herbs to treat pathogenic infections.

Antiviral and Antibacterial Herbs in the Time of COVID-19

This is a pretty relevant topic these days as we are in the midst of the COVID-19 situation. I’m seeing more and more people reaching out to plants as a way of strengthening their immune system and wanting to look at antiviral and antibacterial herbs and how to protect themselves and their families.

As most of us know, standard antibiotics can have pretty detrimental effects on the body, specifically in regards to the gut flora.

So we’re going to be talking about antiseptic or antimicrobial plants and weighing their benefits and risks.

We’ll also have a really excellent discussion in terms of the difference between how an herbal medicine works in the human organism in contrast to how a lot of pharmaceutical medications, and specifically antibiotics, work in the human organism. 

Can Herbs Destroy Our Gut Flora?

Sharon LeMay, who’s in our Material Medica Monthly program, asks:

“Since Lomatium kills off microorganisms, is there a danger it will destroy our gut flora the same way an antibiotic would, especially if we drank it as a tea? Does using the tincture keep it in the respiratory system so it never gets down into the gut in any meaningful strength? So when used for a cold/flu situation, the gut flora is not impacted? Although since it also affects the urinary tract, it seems its powers go throughout the body. So I’m just wondering if we are nuking our gut flora with Lomatium.”

This question brings up some really interesting dynamics in the way that we think about how an herbal medicine works in contrast to how drugs work. This is a question that I get actually quite a bit, not just around Lomatium but around other herbs too. I especially see this one with a lot of the berberine-containing plants like Hydrastis canadensis (Goldenseal), Mahonia aquifolium (Oregon grape), and Coptis chinensis (Goldthread). Really any plant that you look up in your herb book and you see “antimicrobial” or “antibacterial,” is this going to adversely affect the gut flora?

Generally speaking, I think that the best answer to that question is, for the most part, “No.” I don’t really know if there’s been a whole lot of scientific research where they measured someone’s gut flora and then they took some of these whole plants, or tinctures, or teas of these plants and then measured it again and found that they were adversely affected. 

Lomatium (Lomatium dissectum)

Clinical Uses of Antimicrobial or Antibacterial Herbs

But from a clinical perspective, through utilizing these remedies, we don’t really see any of the after-effects that are pretty common from, as Sharon said, nuking the gut flora with an antibiotic, where we often see fatigue or, post-antibiotic use digestive imbalances.

It’s common these days for people to have digestive symptoms or issues. And we need to really do some digging into the case and figure out, “Well, when did it start?” What I’ve found with many clients, is that a lot of times it can be traced back to a time when that person was put on a round of antibiotics. 

I’ve used a lot of herbs that are typically considered antimicrobial or antibacterial herbs and have never seen anything that would indicate that it’s adversely affecting the gut flora. And especially in the case with Lomatuim, this is not something that I’ve seen. 

One study was done on a berberine isolate—so this would be an isolated alkaloid—berberine, the relatively famous alkaloid that we find in Goldenseal and Oregon grape root that has been demonstrated to have a very strong antibacterial property. Berberine isolate was administered to people in doses much higher than you’re going to be able to get from taking capsules or drinking a tea or taking a tincture. There were no signs of any type of gut flora imbalance. And that was a study where they measured the gut flora. And, after a period of time of administering pure berberine alkaloids, they did not see it adversely affecting the gut flora. 

I think that is a really good case at the very least for the berberine-containing plants. 

Treating the Digestive System

So in regards to tinctures: generally speaking, when we’re talking about antiseptic plants, we’re seeing that there are certain compounds in the plants that will have a direct antiseptic effect, meaning they have to come into direct contact with that pathogen in order to render it ineffective or kill it or do whatever they’re going to do. Technically we can consider this a topical action, as the plants have to come into immediate contact with the afflicted tissue. 

Now, when it comes to the digestive system, most tinctures don’t actually really get all the way down into the intestines. This is why oftentimes when treating the intestinal lining—like leaky gut protocols or bacterial imbalances in the gut, SIBO, parasites, things like that—we generally don’t use tinctures for a few reasons. 

First is that people typically dose tinctures anywhere the range of, on the low dose range, a couple of drops, to standard dosing, maybe one or two squirts of a tincture, 30 drops, 60 drops, to on the higher dose range up to five mLs. But a lot of that tincture is getting absorbed through the mucosa in the mouth and in the stomach. Most of it is not reaching the intestinal tract.

Second is that if we’re thinking of the intestinal tract, there’s a lot of surface area there, and even if you’re taking on the higher range of one of these tinctures, such as five mLs, that five milliliters is not nearly enough liquid to actually come into direct, topical contact with the entire intestinal tract.

This is why powders and water extracts like infusions or decoctions are preferable for treating the intestinal tract. When we’re wanting to have a topical action, maybe tonifying the mucosal membrane, or having some sort of antiseptic property in there, the powders and water extracts are going to get in there significantly more readily than a tincture.

Then if we think of surface area, if you’re drinking a quart of tea a day, that quart of tea is going to have much more contact with the surface area of the intestinal lining than five milliliters three times a day of a tincture. 

Oregon Grape (Mahonia aquifolium)

So that’s a really important factor here as well, in that oftentimes those plants taken in tincture form aren’t actually going to get into direct contact with the intestinal microbiome and therefore not really be able to adversely affect it.

Herbs Are Different Than Pharmaceutical Drugs

I think another aspect is thinking about plants in a very different way than just them being antimicrobial or antibacterial. We have to understand that herbs work differently than drugs do.

It’s common to see herbs referred to as “natural antibiotics.” I don’t know how I feel about referring to herbs in that way because herbs do a lot more than just kill bacteria. Lomatium is doing a lot more than just killing bacteria and viruses in the lungs. Oregon Grape is doing a lot more than just killing pathogenic bacteria in the gut. 

An antibiotic pretty much does one thing. It kills bacteria… (in fact, antibiotic literally translates to “anti life,” as “biotic” is the same root as biology). Plants are so much more complex than isolated singular compounds that we find in most pharmaceutical medicines.

So there’s a difference here in terms of our orientation or how we think about the way an herb works. Through the lens of vitalism (the belief that nature is intelligent), we see that the human body is a reflection of nature. Herbs obviously are of nature as well, not only growing in ecosystems, but being embodiments of those ecosystems. Vitalism also sees that the human organism is a microcosm, or reflection of nature. That we, like the plants, aren’t just a mass of chemicals, but are a living ecosystem unto ourselves. Thus plants heal by shifting the ecological state of the body. This is really what the tradition of energetics is all about. 

And this is one way in which plants have an antiseptic or antimicrobial or bacterial property. Maybe it’s not necessarily that the plant is going in there and killing bugs in your body. It’s more that they’re shifting the environment of the body and making that environment less hospitable to those pathogens. They change the ecological habitat.

A Vitalist View on Infections

This is one of the things about infection. When we get an infection, it’s very common for those parasites or bacteria to change the ecological state of the tissue that they’re infecting, to make it more hospitable for them.

From an energetic perspective, this more often than not is in the form of dampness. If you think of nature, that makes a lot of sense. In a swampy, marshy bog, or really stagnant ponds, bacteria tend to flourish and thrive in those types of environments outside in nature. The same is true within our own body.

Goldenseal (Hydrastis canadensis)

And so a lot of these remedies we see—thinking of these examples of Oregon Grape or Goldenseal or Lomatuim—these are all damp clearing remedies. Lomatuim is a very pungent, resinous, aromatic, stimulant expectorant, very good for clearing fluid stagnation in the lungs. Goldenseal and Oregon Grape are both very powerful, bitter tonic plants that drain fluids down and out, tonifying, astringing, and drying the mucosal membranes. 

Oregon grape to a degree, but Goldenseal specifically is also very astringent. So it’s not just draining fluids but also locally tightening and drying those local tissues out as well. And this is most definitely contributing to their property in terms of making bacteria not thrive and flourish in the body.

So another important point to make here is this concept of an antibacterial plant or an antiseptic plant. Yes, there are compounds there that can “kill bugs,” so to speak, to use super layman’s terms, but we also have to remember the humoral, or the energetic effect, of these plants as absolutely contributing to that net effect by creating an inhospitable environment for pathogens to flourish. 

The Innate Intelligence of Plants Prevents Imbalance

So I would say the short answer is no, I don’t think you have to worry too much about Lomatium nuking the intestinal bacteria.

On a little bit more of a philosophical level, I believe that plants have innate intelligence, medicinal plants in particular. They just know how to work within the human organism.

And while, yes, certain plants if used incorrectly can lead to certain degrees of imbalance, I don’t think plants on their own if worked with in an intelligent way, in a holistic way, and used in a moderate to standard dosing and protocols, I don’t really think we have too much to worry about in terms of plants severely imbalancing the microbiome.

We also have to keep in mind that typically when you’re treating some sort of infection, this is typically an acute situation. So you’re usually not taking plants for months and months in huge heroic doses for prolonged periods of time.

Maybe in those situations there’s a possibility there could be an adverse impact, but typically that’s not how these plants are used. Our antiseptic herbs are usually used in short-term acute situations and once the infection is cleared up, we stop using the herbs. 

And I think if you just follow good dosing strategies, and proper forms of the herbs, I don’t think you’ve got too much to worry about.

Herbal Antibiotics and Gut Flora published first on https://nutriherbsstore.tumblr.com/

[sanjayjain]

Fascinating story of the connexion between Hydroxychloroquine, British India, Srirangapatna and Gin & Tonic.......

As most of us are already aware, Hydroxychloroquine has taken the world by storm. Every newspaper is talking about it, and all countries are requesting India to supply it.

Now, a curious person might wonder why and how this chemical composition is so deeply entrenched in India, and is there any history behind it.

Well, there is an interesting history behind it which goes all the way to Tipu Sultan's defeat. In 1799, when Tipu was defeated by the British, the whole of Mysore Kingdom with Srirangapatnam as Tipu's capital, came under British control. For the next few days, the British soldiers had a great time celebrating their victory, but within weeks, many started feeling sick due to Malaria, because Srirangapatnam was a highly marshy area with severe mosquito trouble.

The local Indian population had over the centuries, developed self immunity, and also all the spicy food habits helped to an extent. Whereas the British soldiers and officers who were suddenly exposed to harsh Indian conditions, started bearing the brunt.

To quickly overcome the mosquito menace, the British Army immediately shifted their station from Srirangapatnam to Bangalore (by establishing the Bangalore Cantonment region), which was a welcome change, especially due to cool weather, which the Brits were gavely missing ever since they had left their shores. But the malaria problem still persisted because Bangalore was also no exception to mosquitoes.

Around the same time, European scientists had discovered a chemical composition called "Quinine" which could be used to treat malaria, and was slowly gaining prominence, but it was yet to be extensively tested at large scale. This malaria crisis among British Army came at an opportune time, and thus Quinine was imported in bulk by the Army and distributed to all their soldiers, who were instructed to take regular dosages (even to healthy soldiers) so that they could build immunity. This was followed up in all other British stations throughout India, because every region in India had malaria problem to some extent.

But there was a small problem. Although sick soldiers quickly recovered, many more soldiers who were exposed to harsh conditions of tropical India continued to become sick, because it was later found that they were not taking dosages of Quinine. Why? Because it was very bitter!! So, by avoiding the bitter Quinine, British soldiers stationed in India were lagging behind on their immunity, thereby making themselves vulnerable to Malaria in the tropical regions of India.

That's when all the top British officers and scientists started experimenting ways to persuade their soldiers to strictly take these dosages, and during their experiments, they found that the bitter Quinine mixed with Juniper based liquor, actually turned somewhat into a sweet flavor. That's because the molecular structure of the final solution was such that it would almost completely curtail the bitterness of Quinine.

That juniper based liquor was Gin. And the Gin mixed with Quinine was called "Gin & Tonic", which immediately became an instant hit among British soldiers.

The same British soldiers who were ready to even risk their lives but couldn't stand the bitterness of Quinine, started swearing by it daily when they mixed it with Gin. In fact, the Army even started issuing few bottles of Gin along with "tonic water" (Quinine) as part of their monthly ration, so that soldiers could themselves prepare Gin & Tonic and consume them everyday to build immunity.

To cater to the growing demand of gin & other forms of liquor among British soldiers, the British East India company built several local breweries in and around Bengaluru, which could then be transported to all other parts of India. And that's how, due to innumerable breweries and liquor distillation factories, Bengaluru had already become the pub capital of India way back during British times itself. Eventually, most of these breweries were purchased from British organizations after Indian independence, by none other than Vittal Mallya (Vijay Mallya's father), who then led the consortium under the group named United Breweries headquartered in Bengaluru.

Coming back to the topic, that's how Gin & Tonic became a popular cocktail and is still a popular drink even today. The Quinine, which was called Tonic (without gin), was widely prescribed by Doctors as well, for patients who needed cure for fever or any infection. Whenever someone in a typical Indian village fell sick, the most common advice given by his neighbors was "Visit the doctor and get some tonic". Over time, the tonic word was so overused that became a reference to any medicine in general. So, that's how the word "Tonic", became a colloquial word for "Western medicine" in India.

Over the years, Quinine was developed further into many of its variants and derivatives and widely prescribed by Indian doctors. One such descendent of Quinine, called Hydroxychloroquine, eventually became the standardized cure for malaria because it has relatively lesser side effects compared to its predecessors, and is now suddenly the most sought after drug in the world today.

And that's how, a simple peek into the history of Hydroxychloroquine takes us all the way back to Tipu's defeat, mosquito menace, liquor rationing, colorful cocktails, tonics and medicinal cures.

[dangeroussheepbread-blog]

Abortions in Nigeria are legally restricted unsafe – and common Al Jazeera America



Abortions in Nigeria are legally restricted, unsafe – and common

In the West African country, unsafe abortions are a major cause of maternal death

LAGOS, Nigeria — Bunmi Aiyenuro slips through the cramped alleys and crowded marketplaces that twist through her neighborhood. Mostly, her impeccable manners and quiet demeanor help her fade into the mass of vendors and pedestrians. But every so often, she runs into teenage boys catcalling her or clashes with an uncle, her evening walk devolving into a screaming match next to the train tracks.

Aiyenuro grew up in Badia East, a crowded slum tucked off a Lagos highway, hugging a rail line. The neighborhood is dense and urban, and Aiyenuro has learned to negotiate the frenetic scene. But at 23, she is still learning to juggle the conflicting expectations for her as a young woman.

At 16, she fell in love with her second boyfriend, a student. They spent seven years together. Over the course of the relationship, she had seven abortions.

In Nigeria abortion is legally restricted, permitted only to save the life of the mother. But at least 760,000 abortions happen every year, mostly outside the legal parameters, and from 3,000 to 34,000 women die annually from unsafe abortions, according to reports by the Guttmacher Institute and the government of Nigeria. (The numbers range widely because of the difficulty tallying the secret procedures.) While safe abortions have a very low complication rate, unsafe ones — those performed by providers without adequate training or in a setting that does not meet medical standards — can lead to hemorrhaging, infection and perforation of the bowels or uterus and death.

Abortion providers here are part of a shadowy economy. Many are poorly trained, and the market is unregulated. But while abortions are secret, they happen all the time and across the social spectrum. Some wealthy Nigerians can access and afford skilled doctors; many poor women like Aiyenuro are left with dangerous, cut-rate quacks.

In the United States, where abortions are legal, there are 0.6 deaths for every 100,000 procedures; in sub-Saharan Africa, the rate is 460 deaths per 100,000 procedures, according to Guttmacher. Africa has a higher abortion rate than the U.S., despite restrictive laws in most countries. Across the continent there were 29 abortions per 1,000 women in 2008, compared with 19 in the U.S., Guttmacher figures show.

Nigeria has one of the highest rates of maternal death in the world, with 545 per 100,000 live births in 2008, though estimates vary. In Lagos, abortions cause half of the deaths of pregnant women, according to the Campaign Against Unwanted Pregnancy, an advocacy group.

"We all know that septic abortion precisely has a lot of impact on maternal mortality in Nigeria," said Dr. Bose Adeniron, head of the reproductive-health division at the Federal Ministry of Health.В

Abiodun Ibrahim lives in Badia East, a slum built on a marshy landfill. She is four months pregnant and newly homeless. The man she calls her husband is in prison. In a country where abortions are legally restricted and often unsafe, dealing with an unwanted pregnancy is particularly difficult.В

Watch a slideshow of women in Badia East and read more here.В

But aside from a few abortion-rights activists who are pressing to promote safer conditions and to liberalize laws state by state, abortion remains taboo. Reproductive-health activists are reluctant to discuss the issue for fear of undermining progress in other areas, such as access to contraception.

Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan last year pledged $33 million to increase funding for contraceptives and push states to provide free contraception in public clinics. But that program generated controversy, with Catholic organizations calling for the money to be redirected to education and other health issues.

This summer, meanwhile, the southern state of Imo passed a law that would have permitted abortion in cases of rape, incest or mental or physical health consequences for the mother. Abortion-rights activists considered this policy a victory. But after intense lobbying by the Catholic Medical Practitioners Association, the state assembly repealed the law.

Along with national and state laws, cultural perceptions of fertility, morality and religious obligation — Nigeria is the second-most religious country in the world, according to a 2012 Gallup poll — have created a deep stigma around abortion.

Clinics and pharmacies provide abortions that are paid for under the table. In Badia East, women can buy abortifacients from herbalists hawking homemade remedies or from drug vendors with pharmacies crammed into baskets on their heads. Women also go to clinics, but the low price they pay there (typically $12.64 to $31.64) is an indication that the service will be substandard and may lead to long-term pain, infertility or other complications.

"The one person who will do it for really cheap is the quack, and he will cause the abortion complications," says Olasurubomi Ogedengbe, a professor and consultant ob-gyn at the public Lagos University Teaching Hospital.

Aiyenuro has been living in a clinic — an open-air concrete structure run as an informal community center called Better Life — since she and nearly 9,000 of her neighbors were evicted from their homes to make way for a new housing project. She unrolls her mattress and lies down with dozens of other displaced people. She tries for privacy in hallways and corners, so when she speaks of her abortions, her voice and gaze drop in secrecy.

Both of her parents died when she was young, she says, so she depends on an unstable tapestry of friends and extended family. Before that, she depended on her boyfriend, who supported her and made the decisions in their relationship, including when to have her abortions and where she would go.

He paid $18.87 for each of her procedures, on the lower end of the scale. She declined to say where she got them done but described it as a clinic. The health worker suspended her legs, then, she said, "pumped" out her uterus and gave injections for the pain and antibiotics. Aiyenuro most likely had a manual vacuum-aspiration procedure, which is a suctioning of the uterus and, from the rate she paid, most likely was not seen by a doctor.

She said that, in between her abortions, she never used contraceptives. In fact, she said she didn't know what contraception was. While it seems implausible that an urban woman who studied to sixth grade, speaks English and styles hair around the city wouldn't know about birth control, only half of young Nigerian women surveyed in a 2005 study had heard of contraception. While almost two-thirds had had sex, only 11 percent had ever used contraceptives. Contraceptives are free at government health centers, and the rate of contraceptive use has crept upward, but it remains in the midteens.

After Aiyenuro's seven abortions, her boyfriend decided he was finally ready to have a baby with her. But after two miscarriages, he lost patience. "After the miscarriage, he started hating me, beating me, talking to me anyhow because I didn't have the pregnancy," she said. He left her and started dating her best friend.

Terminating her pregnancies was never her idea, Aiyenuro said. "I wanted the baby, but my boyfriend didn't want it. We had a big quarrel about it. He said if I don't go remove it, I would raise the baby by myself."

For many Nigerian women, providing their partner with children is a central role in their lives. Fear of long-term infertility, meanwhile, surfaces regularly in family-planning and abortion debates.

Adeniron said this is a key reason abortions are controversial and secret. "If a woman continues to do that, eventually when she gets married legally, she may not be able to have children, so there is a lot of stigma attached to it," she said.

"It's the cultural setting," she said. And a huge part of the culture is the country's boisterous religiosity.

In Lagos, churches and mosques dot almost every street, and services can be heard every day of the week. In addition to influencing politics, religion plays a central role in Nigerians' daily life. Nowhere is this more obvious than in the abortion debates. One former provider, who requested anonymity, said that he quit his practice after being hounded by Pentecostal Christians, who would call and tell him he was headed to hell.

Aiyenuro has attended church for many years, if not with perfect consistency; her evangelical faith has left her with regrets about her abortions. "They say in church, 'Don't do it. Anyone who does it is a sinner,'" Aiyenuro said. She was vehement, a sense of guilt evident in her voice as she said, "I've killed an innocent soul."

Walking through the bustle of sunset in Badia, she looked fresh in her pink plaid shirt, ready for church. But when https://www.the-essays.com/professional-writing-service arrived for a prayer service, she wilted next to Kudi Okere, the pastor's wife, clad in pumps, a fitted blazer, business pants and pearls. Okere has been leading services for several years and saw Badia as a neighborhood ripe for revival. "We used to call this neighborhood Sodom and Gomorrah," Okere told Aiyenuro. "Now we call it Jesus City. We go inside there and minister to them, and some of them, their lives have changed, through the word of God." Aiyenuro listened politely.

They were chatting on a balcony just over the busy paved avenue as the sun set. The sidewalk market spilled onto the road, competing with pedestrians, SUVs and rickshaws for space.

Later, after the service started, Aiyenuro prayed in an empty row. The six rows of plastic chairs, stamped with "I love God" on their backs, were more than enough to seat the small congregation, composed of three adults, three lounging toddlers and five organizers from the Christ Embassy Church. "Abortion is no good. If you abort, you are going to hellfire," she said later. "So I'm thinking when he's praying, I'm begging God for forgiveness for my sins."

Adeniron said she felt the country would not shift its approach to abortion.

"In the life of any country there are stages," she said. "The stage (where) we are now is that, for us, abortion is illegal, although we know that a lot of abortions do occur." She said she did not think Nigeria was ready to move past that yet, though she had faith that eventually change would come and policies would liberalize. "The next stage is … (to) review the existing policy on (the) ground so that we will be on the same page with other countries of the world."

But not, she added, anytime soon.

The reporting of this story was supported by a grant from the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting.

[tobiasenfagan95-blog]

Jou Herbs, Chinese Herbs, HERBS

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How jade, the precious stone, is funding ethnic conflicts in Myanmar

Myanmar, also known as Burma, is a country with many names. Yet, ‘land of jade’ remains the most evocative of all, at least for the distant observer. But, behind this otherwise benign sobriquet, thrives a murky world of exploitation and high-handed subversion. 

A seminal 12 months-long investigation by the British NGO, Global Witness (GW), reveals the nasty face of Myanmar’s jade mines: slush-filled, begrimed stretches of uneven land dotted with diminishing rocky hills, rumbling heavy machinery, and armed personnel in military fatigues. Very tellingly, Burma’s jade is a gem shackled in the unenviable politics of blood and corruption, not unlike the diamonds of Africa.

What, really, is the story of Myanmar’s precious green stone?

Burma’s jade is a gem shackled in the unenviable politics of blood and corruption

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Stone In The Dark

Myanmar holds in its womb the world’s largest deposits of jadeite, a high-value ore that yields jade, a green ornamental gemstone famous world across, and particularly in China where it is popularly known as the “stone of heaven”. While jadeite deposits in Myanmar are spread out across the country in Lone Khin (Kachin State), Hkamti Township (Sagaing Region), and Mogok (Mandalay Region), the largest ores are concentrated in the country’s remote north, in and around Kachin State’s Hpakant Township. 

The Burmese jade industry is massive in scale and scope: according to GW, jade worth $31 billion - nearly half of the country’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP) - was mined in 2014 alone, while annual profits amount to nearly $40 billion. In the first quarter of the current fiscal year, Myanmar earned $23 million from jade exports, mostly to China and India. A mere kilogram of the stone can fetch millions in overseas markets.

This lucrative industry operates within the confines of a sprawling black economy controlled by the country’s post-colonial elite, secretive companies owned by the military, and local drug lords.

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But, a large fraction of this lucrative industry operates within the confines of a sprawling black economy controlled by the country’s post-colonial elite, secretive companies owned by the military, and local drug lords. In fact, GW has called it the “biggest natural resource heist in modern history."

The GW investigation, presented through several multimedia reports including a 7-minutes long documentary called Jade and the Generals, unapologetically unravels the full scope and nature of Burma’s nefarious jade business. The elaborate investigation - called ‘Jade: Myanmar’s Big State Secret’ - reveals an unscrupulous past, an evolving present, and a contested future for the country’s most precious natural resource.  

Besides cronyism and vested profiteering by domestic stakeholders, the nefarious jade industry has thrived on unyielding demand from China where the gemstone features as a prime luxury product in popular culture. China’s imperial fascination with jade has continued through the ages till this date, with most of the rough jadeite extracts from Kachin ending up in the hands of nondescript Chinese producers. 

According to GW’s findings, $6.2 billion worth of mine site tax was lost in 2014 alone. But, very few in the region even know what transpires in these rocky, marshy mines.

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However, none of this happens legally, as exporters routinely bypass existing customs and export tax regimes. According to GW’s findings, $6.2 billion worth of mine site tax was lost in 2014 alone. But, very few in the region even know what transpires in these rocky, marshy mines.

Clearly, what happens in Kachin’s jade mines stays in the mines.

Stone in Shackles

Burma’s jade mining is a heavily ghettoised affair. Since the Tatmadaw (military) forcefully wrested control of the Hpakant mines from the powerful Kachin Independence Army (KIA) in the early 1990s, inconspicuous companies with links to the army – once the dominant organ of the Burmese state – have remained at the helm of extracting the precious stone. These include conglomerates like the military-owned Myanmar Economic Holdings (MEH) and the defence ministry-owned Myanmar Economic Corporation (MEC). 

A large part of the jade trade is tightly controlled and protected by families of top generals from the erstwhile junta that ruled Myanmar for six decades, including former Prime Minister, Than Shwe.

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To be more categorical, a large part of the jade trade is tightly controlled and protected by families of top generals from the erstwhile junta that ruled Myanmar for six decades, including former Prime Minister, Than Shwe, and senior minister in Kachin State, Ohn Myint. Most of these shadow businesses are shielded from public view via front companies and shell entities based in Mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan.

“Most of the jade companies are connected to the army. It is very obvious that the army is protecting the jade business and trying to control the land,” the head of Kachin Baptist Organisation (KBO) is heard saying in Jade and the Generals.

The existence of these subcutaneous profit-making entities has created a toxic shadow economy in the region, one that is grossly extractive, corrupt, invasive, and reckless in nature. The gargantuan profits, which seem to flow in only one direction (outward from Kachin), have served little for the region’s upliftment and only deepened the pockets of a select group of powerful elites. The largely non-competitive economy is premised on a well-guarded monopoly wherein the dominant stakeholder – the Tatmadaw – keeps outside entities at bay through both direct and institutional violence. For the powerful men behind the jade trade, “outsiders” is a broad category that includes journalists, recalcitrant politicians, humanitarian workers, and even locals. 

Army personnel shooting at stray jade-pickers, leading to both injuries and deaths, are not uncommon in the ashen mines of Hpakant. 

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The GW investigation quotes locals, who have little idea of who runs day-to-day operations in the sites or who the bulldozers and trucks belong to, complaining about how they are arrested if they lay their hands on high-value jadeite. What more, army personnel shooting at stray jade-pickers, leading to both injuries and deaths, are not uncommon in the ashen mines of Hpakant. 

Further, the shadow operators of this trade have shown little regard for environmental ramifications of rampant mining, gorging through large jadeite deposits for maximum output. The consequences have been drastic: in November 2015, a massive landslide in the Hpakant jade fields killed 116 people and swallowed 100 others. In the GW film, we also see locals ruefully talk about disappearing jadeite hills, indicating high topographical disruption.

Thus, a high-value natural resource that could have formed the backbone of the national economy is today seen as a wretched curse, mostly by local Kachins living on the capricious, blackened land. Subdued by the barrel of the gun and the ensuing sense of fear, the local population has been systematically and rather, ruthlessly deprived of the potential benefits of the jade commerce, despite being the traditional owners of the ore-rich lands. At the most, they manage to accrue minuscule profits by occasionally hand-picking leftover stones after big miners have rummaged through the ores using heavy machinery. 

Beyond the sight of long convoys of trucks rumbling out of the towering jadeite hills and gun-toting military personnel patrolling the mines, the world has seen very little of Burma’s jade mines.

But, is discriminatory extraction the only dark side of Myanmar’s imprisoned jade mines? 

Stone Soaked in Blood

Myanmar has been ravaged by a six decades-long violent insurgency, involving the national army and a diverse set of ethnic armed groups, or Ethnic Armed Organisations (EAOs), fighting for political autonomy. The protracted war has destroyed a significant portion of the country’s domestic economy, displaced millions, pauperised frontier ethnic populations, and diminished the country’s human capital dividends. 

A pivotal part of the GW investigation is the intersection of the armed conflict and the nefarious jade business. Both sides of the conflict - the army and the various EAOs – happen to be the prime stakeholders in the jade trade. In fact, the whole business forms a core part of the broad conflict economy that has sustained the violent civil war for so long and buttressed the self-serving, rival interests of those directly engaged in the violence.

Kachin State happens to be one of the most politically contested and restive regions of the country, sitting next to the porous Chinese border.

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What has particularly sharpened the intersection between political violence and the extractive mineral industry is the endemic (and unfortunate) geographical location of the jadeite mines. Kachin State happens to be one of the most politically contested and restive regions of the country, sitting next to the porous Chinese border. The desire for autonomy has always run strong in the northern frontier peoples, translating into strong support for armed struggle. 

This, in turn, has fostered an ideal environment for a long drawn-out tussle between the army and powerful rebel groups in the region, most prominently the KIA and United Wa State Army (UWSA), for control of the jade mines in Hpakant. The chaotic mix of such one-off endemic factors has ultimately led to unending cycles of violence, massive internal displacement, and a thriving cross-border smuggling racket. Simply put, the gemstone commerce and violence have maintained a symbiotic relationship with one feeding the other.

The GW investigation categorically highlights how the KIA maintains its own systems of revenue collection in the mines. Notably, top UWSA operatives to have direct interests in the shadow business. GW points at strong evidence of a longtime drug kingpin and UWSA commander, Wei Hsueh Kang, controlling a certain group of companies that are now dominant players in the jade industry. In fact, private entities owned by Kang – who has a $2 million US bounty on his head – and other UWSA affiliates have been frontal players in the jade industry since the 1990s. 

Everyone wants a slice of the pie – quite a big pie here – by taking advantage of the secrecy around the whole industry and the overall lawlessness created by the insurgency.

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Unsurprisingly, everyone wants a slice of the pie – quite a big pie here – by taking advantage of the secrecy around the whole industry and the overall lawlessness created by the insurgency.

Thus, the gun has emerged as an effective instrument for operational control in a situation where the jade mines dole out large sums of profit for its extractors. On the other hand, the precious mines serve as near-limitless treasure chests for both the army and the rebel groups to maintain their ranks, arsenal, and strike capacities, in addition to surplus profits. In a way, whoever controls the mines, enjoys the upper hand in the near-symmetric conflict. 

Jade and Democracy

Myanmar today stands at the crossroads of history, with a popularly-elected government led by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi spearheading the country’s landmark transition to democracy. A key component of this transition is an ambitious peace process that intends to engage almost all ethnic groups that operate in the country. The ultimate aim is to reach a permanent negotiated settlement based on a federal structure, much like the one envisaged by Suu Kyi’s father and pioneer of Burmese democracy, General Aung San, in 1947. 

But, does every political actor in Myanmar want peace? Enter, jade.

An end to the conflict would mean greater transparency and fairness in administrative dealings in addition to new institutional safeguards against unilateral actions by private entities.

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The highly rewarding jade industry is, unquestionably, one of the key hurdles between the Suu Kyi administration and an effective national peace deal. An end to the conflict would mean greater transparency and fairness in administrative dealings in addition to new institutional safeguards against unilateral actions by private entities. This openness would be highly disadvantageous for the shadow operators of the jade trade, who have traditionally benefited from the opaqueness of the transactional environment, institutional corruption, and absence of legal safeguards. Naturally, the powerful benefactors of this trade would do everything in their capacity to maintain the status quo.

GW’s investigation, once again, sheds light on this aspect. It reveals a certain ‘recognisable pattern’ of conflict intensification in light of fresh scrutiny by the new civilian government. In April 2016, just a few weeks after Suu Kyi’s party, the National League for Democracy (NLD), came to power in Nay Pyi Taw, the Minister of Natural Resources and Environment toured Hpakant for an inspection of the mines. The visit was immediately followed by fresh military offensives by the army against KIA. Since then, the fighting has only gotten worse, with thousands displaced and rendered impoverished due to lack of basic resources and no access to humanitarian services. 

The deliberate flare-up in violence was a clear attempt by the Tatmadaw – the key benefactor of the jade trade – to deflect attention from potential reforms under a democratic state structure. What was perhaps more surprising was the government’s refusal to grant access to the UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights in Myanmar for her proposed visit to Hpakant, something that she mentioned bluntly in her January 2017 report. 

Clearly, even the reformed Burmese state is hesitant to open its jade mines up to public scrutiny.

Clearly, even the reformed Burmese state is hesitant to open its jade mines up to public scrutiny

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But, it would be wrong to say that the Suu Kyi government has blindly protected the shady jade business. In fact, a lot of progressive action has been undertaken by her administration on this front. After all, no ‘ethically upright’ country would want to invest in a country that runs a parallel shadow business.

In July 2016, barely three months since it came to power, the NLD government moved to halt fresh licensing of mines in Hpakant till a revised legal framework is not put in place. The new licenses, to be doled out pursuant to a fresh gemstone law, will also follow a certain Environment Management Plan (EMP) that the Department of Mines is currently preparing.  However, the moratorium does not cover extensions of previous licenses and those that are yet to lapse. Hence, operators continue to mine jade in Hpakant and are lobbying for favourable laws so as to continue their activities. On 11 July, moreover, the national parliament approved amendments to the Special Commodity Tax Law (2016) that would render revenue collection on items like jade more effective.    Despite the progress made, the civilian administration remains apprehensive of taking full-spectrum action against illegal jade mining and trading: bringing past offenders to account and cleansing the mines of nondescript operators. The reason behind this is apparent: the military controls most of the mining business, and the fledgling civilian administration remains hesitant to indict the powerful Generals out of fear of forceful subversion. This skewed dynamic has emerged as a peculiar, and rather reverting, feature of post-2015 Burmese democracy and is continually redefining state-society relations in the country. Without negotiating this impasse, the popular government would find it impossible to effect multi-sectoral reforms. 

The Way Forward

The jade issue is intrinsically tied to political aspirations of the Kachins, who seem to be fast losing faith in the Suu Kyi administration, and forms a core element in the ethnic desire for greater autonomy.

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The government of Suu Kyi must tackle the jade business on a priority basis, for it could be the key to managing the violent conflict in the north and achieving a durable ceasefire. The jade issue is intrinsically tied to political aspirations of the Kachins, who seem to be fast losing faith in the Suu Kyi administration, and forms a core element in the ethnic desire for greater autonomy. As GW points out, past experiences of conflict resolution in Kachin have proved that imposing a ceasefire or disarming rebel armies without dealing with the root causes of the violence is an exercise in vain.

But, what does tackling the jade issue even entail? 

The idea is not to completely stop jade mining and the commerce around it but to simply allow the local community to decide how it is to be undertaken. This is because they are the ones who face the direct consequences of the mining.

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In the short term, it involves ensuring open access to critical information about day-to-day operations, equitable sharing of profits amongst national and local stakeholders, local ownership of profits, installing an environmental protection regime, instituting legal safeguards against rights abuses, and democratising the decision-making structure around the entire business. The idea is not to completely stop jade mining and the commerce around it but to simply allow the local community to decide how it is to be undertaken. This is because they are the ones who face the direct consequences of the mining. 

One local Kachin activist puts its aptly, “My dream is a situation where communities are allowed to choose themselves which [mining] company is best.”

At the core of democratising the industry, lies throwing open the information matrix to the public. GW highlights how "ordinary people have been unable to access basic data on which companies hold mining licences; who those companies’ real owners are; how licences are allocated; what the terms of their contracts are; what they are paying the government; and how much they are producing.” This information black hole has fueled greater suspicion and lack of trust, triggering in turn, political violence.

Furthermore, the introduction of legal safeguards against corruption and human rights abuses must be part of a broader framework of labour rights protection and commercial ethics, wherein the state ensures that industry owners do not exploit locals for their own benefit or to maximise outputs. All stakeholders must have institutional grievance redressal mechanisms to voice their concerns, rather than resorting to violence for resolution.

Needless to say, the jade industry must be a central agenda point in the ongoing peace process. Without addressing this, a permanent ceasefire in the north will remain a distant dream. Giving back control over natural resources – a penumbral component of land-oriented local identity – to the local community would automatically pave the way for deeper consensus on other political and economic issues between the union government and the frontier populations.

Thus, Myanmar’s emancipatory shift to democracy will remain incomplete if its precious green gemstone remains imprisoned. There is little doubt that the powerful forces, which benefit from the trade, will continue to defend the status quo, largely by force. But, Nay Pyi Taw has to step in and stand tall to establish rule of law and a robust regulatory regime before its too late.

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