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lokbobpop · 3 years

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Child children childhood

Biologically, a child (plural children) is a human being between the stages of birth and puberty, or between the developmental period of infancy and puberty. The legal definition of child generally refers to a minor, otherwise known as a person younger than the age of majority.

From Middle English child, from Old English ċild (“fetus; female baby; child”), from Proto-Germanic *kelþaz (“womb; fetus”), from Proto-Indo-European *ǵelt- (“womb”).

Child c hild chi ld c hill d

Writing the word child

You know id rather the use the word child children than i would kid even though i do right out kid probably because i cant be bothered to think about how to write out children out thinking ill get it wrong when speaking i usually use kid also but would like to use child children but see i think i might be judged as old fashioned or sill for going so. So thing brings to mind how i let myself be manipulated by what others think what i say which i most certainly do most of the time as not to get judged but as something as most simple as this do i really need to know i dont hey i just need to be authentic me.

Children writing the thoughts of children young innocent thoughts of how it was in the sixths seventies and being a child

Childhood i thing my childhood was ok my dad wasn’t drinking to get angry as much then thanks fully that started a few years later

Reading the word child or children childhood

Yes much better im not a baby goat lol

Or am i really being old fashioned nothing wrong with the word kids i could use both when ever i wanted as lone as it wasn’t within energy like would i say it in from of some people and not others as then I would be manipulated within it interesting thought

Children’s books are lovely great pictures i looked to look at the pictures hey and nowadays the the picture are so amazing i think i would of loved to see the pictures if i was a child now.

My childhood i think of school play outside playing in the fields being disappointed in myself at school why could i read why was i behind the others I couldn’t understand ho wit was so easy for others and not myself it felt unfair nice teachers horrible teachers

Saying out loud child children childhood

Your just a child what do you know thoughts of being called a child as in not being very mature and being immature comes up or saying something to some one your a child grow up judgement of an event.

Children playing in the play ground fear came up of a girl that was horrible mean i think she’s dead now well i hope so not a pleasant person any way she picked on my friend and I didn’t stand up for her i even moved away and left her in the situation she was scared and so was i but i left her and i felt guilt, also to my friend i was mean i made her put some crap on a stick and took it outside the toilet I know until this day she felt ashamed of this but so do i we cant now be close she has this underlying anger i hope she can let go one day as not to bother her adult life anymore with thoughts of being upset towards me. When we went to big school i missed her friendship as i had no one int he class i had.

My childhood i think was pretty good as i said dad wasn’t purposely getting drunk and angry i mean it did happen but not everyday under 10 years of age

I child called Jeremy mills hitting me with a book on the head I remember it made me cry it hurt a lot he was an angry kid but i was surprised when the girl Michelle dean stood up for me as i thought she didn’t actually like me at that moment because i used to copy everyone when we did class work and i think it annoyed them me coping all the time they would hide there work so i felt left out not liked i feel now i sat nest to dawn i a class before that i see it annoyed them to share what they did but with Angela she didn’t mind shed copy my math not sure why as when we got higher her math was better than mine.

Watching the women’s open tennis match at Wimbledon maybe 76 when Virginia wade won the hole class got to watch it with miss Queensborough

Ok so babysitting and making the little girl jump off the stool knickers less wasn’t a good idea got me pushed down the bank on the way home from school a bit of a fuck up there but i think it had to do with being flashed at an early age i was like whats these feeling are about its just a shame it came out like this but im sorry it obviously upset a family what i did do i how this also makes my childhood not so great with doing these things what was i thinking i affected what people thought of me and then that made me feel bad about myself and with not being very good at school. How do you feel right now ? Im in regret of what ive done im sorry for what i done but also it wasn’t a bad thing what i done just wrong and definitely not something i should sentence myself to feeling bad for the rest of my life over which i have seem to have done as it has made me feel dirty about myself we are so affected by our childhood we need to be safe feel safe we need to be better parents. How can i help myself get over my childhood your ok it’s alright it wasn’t that bad and it turned out alright your ok you can let it go you dont need it anymore it doesnt have to define you anymore you dont have to feel yucky dirty not good enough its ok your good now let it go its gone breathe.

Does this definition support me no lots of polarity here of my childhood being good scary and being mean to my friend and knowing how are childhood affects us my biggest problem was not being like others at school and being as in reading and writing and really upset at myself and not understanding why I couldn’t do it.

Child ch i held

Children child run

Childhood child hood

Child a young person learning life

Children young persons learning life

Childhood when you try to make sense of the word and your place in it anything can happen but you get over it you move on past and you dont take whats not needed with you you let stuff go and do whats best fro you and others at all times by apply sf breathe self love but see realizing and understanding that things happen which must be forgiven to lead a healthy adult life

How will you live this word ?

I will live this words to support me in letting go of my own dislikes of my own childhood my regrets with self respect self love to move past so the me now can move on be whole

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

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Salt of the Earth

Well. Hello. Welcome to my salt.

So, this is a fic that definitely fits into the series and everything, but it is also a direct byproduct of my salt at Netflix cancelling “The Punisher.”

It’ll make sense once you read the fic.

Rated T for: Multiple injuries, car accident (singular), kidnapping, mentions of child abuse, and just angst in general.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader (and kinda sorta Frank Castle x Karen Page; it’s not outright stated, but it’s very strongly implied that they like each other).

Song lyrics are from “Zombie” by Bad Wolves; bible verse is Matt. 5:13.

@marvel-is-perfection

“It’s the same o-ld thing/ in 2018/ In your head/ in your head/ they are dying…”

You sing along with the music blaring through the store speakers under your breath as you glare at the stack of sketchbooks sitting on the shelf in front of you. You’re at an art store in the small town area Piotr likes going to for outings –the very same place the two of you had your first date, in fact—and you’re trying to pick out a good birthday gift for your dearly beloved boyfriend.

Because Piotr is, without a doubt, the world’s most fantastic boyfriend, and you are not about to be shown up by your own partner.

You know, not to mention the fact that you want to get him something good. Something he’ll like.

So, first step. Art store. Always a good place to start, considering that Piotr is an artist and loves getting any art related gifts.

And, bonus! You can get there legally, without Piotr’s help, because you have a driver’s license! One hundred percent legally obtained! Go you!

The money in your bank account that will be used to buy the gift/gifts isn’t legally obtained, because it’s a mix of funds from Wade and your uncle, but the cashier isn’t going to know that and you know Piotr isn’t going to berate you for it because he understands that your situation’s a little –a lot—fucked up to begin with.

Anyway. Back to the point

You’ve made it to the art store. You are currently in the art store. You are exactly where you need to be –which, if it wasn’t clear, is the art store.

Unfortunately, there are no steps after “get to the art store” because you have no idea what you’re doing.

Yes, you do art; you’re not on Piotr’s level, but you hold your own –and, dare you say it, but you’re improving!

But Piotr’s always handled the ‘supply buying,’ as it were, and now that you’re staring down what seems like thousands of options, you’re completely lost at sea.

Okay, you tell yourself. Think. What does he need replaced?

Pens. He’s always burning through pens –and erasers, come to think of it—with how regularly he uses them.

You smile to yourself as you dart over to the proper aisle. I’m gonna own the fuck out of this.

Once you get your footing, you nail the shopping session. You’re gonna have to hide the receipt from Piotr because you definitely went a little nuts, but he deserves and you have more than enough money so why not?

You hum happily along to the pop song of the moment as you drive back to the mansion, gifts safely tucked in the shotgun seat of your car. You’re flying down the highway –not literally, in the sense that you can actually fly or the sense that you’d be speeding—and—

There’s not a single other car in sight.

And that’s… a little weird. It’s early afternoon on a weekend. You’d think you’d see more travelers on the road.

Before you have too much time to overthink it, a massive black SUV comes up on your tail out of nowhere.

You yelp and lay on the horn when it rams into your bumper. “What the fuck, asshole?” You wrench the wheel, trying to stay on the road, and press the gas pedal down harder.

The SUV keeps pace with you, barely keeping off your back bumper as it tails you down the empty road.

You honk again and shift into the other lane before slowing down.

The SUV simply speeds ahead –and spins so that it’s sitting across both lanes of the highway, right in your path.

You shriek as you stomp on the brakes, but it’s too little, too late.

Your car slams into the side of the SUV, and everything goes dark.

The first thing you register is pain. So much of it, everywhere. Your head feels like it’s been put in a vice until it cracked, and your ribs ache with every breath you take.

The second thing you register is that you’re laying on your side in some sort of cramped, stuffy compartment. You can’t sit up, can’t really even move without bumping into a barrier of some sort.

The third thing you register is that whatever you’re in is moving.

Oh, dear sweet Cthulhu have mercy, I’m in the trunk of a car. You groan as you check your pockets for your phone and swear when you come up empty handed. “Shit! Okay, taillight. Find one of the taillights.”

It takes forever, between the pain you’re in and the cramped quarters, but you manage to find one of the taillights. You rip the carpet covering it away, then use your powers to punch it out.

You’re in a city, which is better then being on some backroad in the middle of the woods. City means people, which means phones, which means you’ve got a shot at calling someone and getting back to the X-Mansion. You suck in the fresh night air –you’ve been out for a while, which isn’t good—and try to formulate some sort of a plan. Maybe they’ll hit a light soon, and then I can break the hood open and get out—

The sound of tires screeching fills the air, followed by a heavy burst of gunfire.

You suck air through your teeth –part in surprise, part in pain—as the car comes to an abrupt stop.

“The fuck was that?” one of your abductor’s voices shouts from the cabin of the car, muffled but extremely pissed off.

You know about as much as they do, it would seem, and while you’re not fond of getting out of the car while there’s active gunfire, you know you’re not gonna get a better chance.

You slam the hood of the car open, sending it flying into the air, and bolt for the nearest alley before your kidnappers can react. You barely make it two feet into the shadows before you collapse against a wall, head spinning with blinding pain. Fuck. I think some of my ribs are broken. You pant and gasp through the waves of agony, trying to keep from vomiting.

“Where’d she go?”

“She won’t have gotten far. Find her!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckuckfuck—

You grit your teeth and fly up to the nearest roof top. You do actually vomit –and almost pass out in it—once your feet hit the flat, paved surface. You collapse to your knees, arms shaking, and groan as you force yourself to your feet. Push through it. Come on. You need to find a way to call Piotr.

You manage to run across the roof top, away from the sounds of your kidnappers’ voices, tears stinging your eyes at every jolt your body takes. You round a corner, hoping to find some sort of door inside—

You run into a black clad figure –literally, full body contact and everything—and scream as the two of you go down together. Adrenaline surges through your system, and you lash out at the person wildly.

“Woah –woah! Hey!”

You stop with a gasp when you see Frank Castle’s face –a little bruised and bloody, but not too much worse for wear considering his line of work—staring down at you. You groan and go limp. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“The fuck happened to you?” he grunts as he scans your various injuries.

“Car crash. Kidnapped.” You wince. “You know, the usual.” You flinch when you hear the voices of your abductors shouting –they’re getting closer—and shoot Frank a desperate look. “I need help. Please. I lost my phone, I can’t call anyone for help—”

He pulls you to your feet and hooks one of your arms over his shoulders so he can support some of your weight. “I’ve got a van in an alley nearby. Let’s go.”

You do your best to keep pace with him and look over your shoulder jerkily when you hear more gunfire. “The fuck is that?”

“I made some friends,” he grunts as he guides you across the dark rooftop. “Left.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Gunfire pierces the air again –closer, you’re both being closed in on—and you shift your arm so that it’s around his waist and squeeze him against you as much as you can. “Which way’s the alley?”

“West, two blocks –Christ!”

If you were feeling better, you’d smirk at Frank’s exclamation when you launch the two of you into the air. As it is, you grimace and focus on not crashing into anything or dropping your only ticket out of here –here being Hell’s Kitchen, apparently.

You manage to find said alley and van –both of which could be charitably described as ‘creepy looking.’ You and Frank tumble to the cracked pavement, and then you’re retching against the dirty asphalt like a cat trying to hock up the biggest hairball of its life.

Frank gets you up on your feet an into the passenger side of the van in a matter of seconds. He mumbles an apology as he buckles you in, then gets into the driver’s side equally as fast and starts the engine.

“I’m gonna apologize in advance,” you gasp. “In case I throw up in your van.”

Frank makes the grunt equivalent of a shrug as he peels out of the alleyway. “Not the worst thing it’s seen.”

He stops behind a massive apartment building about fifteen minutes later, cutting the engine as he unbuckles himself and opens the door.

“What’re we doing?” you mumble. Now that you’re sitting down and not actively working on getting away from your kidnappers, exhaustion’s setting in. Fast.

“Can’t use my car to get’cha where you need to go,” Frank explains as he unbuckles you and half-drags, half-scoops you out of your seat. “We’ll need to borrow a ride. That, and you need some first aid for your head faster than you need a ride home.”

You frown as you touch your head, then blink when your hand comes away red and sticky. “Oh. Party.”

Frank chuckles as helps you stagger towards the fire escape. “Always is.”

“Wait, you’re gonna make me fucking climb all that?”

“Guy like me can’t exactly use the front door.”

“How high up are we going?”

“Floor fourteen.”

You give him a flat look. “I hate you.”

He chuckles again. “That how you thank all your rescuers?”

“It is if they make me climb up fourteen floors after going through a car accident.”

“Suppose that’s fair.”

You wince as you hook your arm around his waist again. “You’re gonna have to count; I need to focus on not dropping us.”

You manage to get up to the correct floor without dropping Frank once. He does, though, have to practically drag you to the right window. You whimper as he sets you down and taps on the glass pane.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hang in there.”

You can hear movement inside the apartment, and then the window opens.

A slim woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and wide blue eyes gives the two of you a horrified look. “Frank –what the fuck?”

He jerks his head at you. “She needs help.”

You stick out your hand –it’s not like you’ve got any better options. “I’m Y/N.”

Karen shakes your hand before backing away from the window so Frank can lift you inside. “I’m Karen Page. Let me grab my first aid kit.”

“I’ve got it,” Frank says as he shuts the window. “She needs a phone to call her boyfriend.”

“I lost mine in the car crash.”

It says something about Karen that she doesn’t even blink at your comment. Instead, she digs her phone out of her purse, unlocks it, and hands it you. “Here.”

“Sorry if I bleed on it,” you mumble as you dial Piotr’s number –you mentally thank your uncle for making you memorize phone numbers from an early age on—and try to avoid smearing Karen’s phone with blood as you lift the speaker end to your ear.

“It’s fine.” Karen nods in the direction that Frank went. “I guarantee you he’s done worse.”

The phone rings a few times before Piotr picks up. “Ya sluchu vas.”

You start crying; after the day you’ve had, hearing his voice is the best damn thing in the world. “Piotr?”

His reaction is immediate, relief so evident in his voice you can practically see the expression on his face. “Y/N, where are you? I have been trying to reach you all day—”

“I got in a car crash; some chickenshits tried to run me off the road, and then they threw me in the trunk of a car, and—”

“What? Slow down. Wait, are you safe? Where are you?”

You groan as Frank and Karen help you sit on her couch, then laugh when you realize how fucking ridiculous the story you’re about to tell is gonna sound. “Yeah. You’re not gonna believe who I ran into.”

Frank takes over the phone once you’ve recapped everything for Piotr and reassured your darling boyfriend that, yes, you’re as okay as you can be and you’re in a safe place; he works out the details of how you’re getting back to the mansion while Karen works on getting you relatively cleaned and patched up.

And Karen, to her credit, doesn’t seem all that alarmed by your –or Frank’s, for that matter—injuries. Concerned, yes, and maybe a little strained, but not scared.

She smiles weakly when you remark as much. “Yeah, well, you can’t really let all this freak you out to much if you associate with him.” She nods at Frank again.

“I didn’t think the Punisher had associates,” you mumble as she applies another bandage to what seemed to be a nasty cut on your forehead, if Frank’s and Karen’s reactions were anything to go by.

She huffs out a laugh at that. “I didn’t either, until I realized that I was one of them.”

“Yeah… yeah. No, we’ll get ‘er to you. Probably safer that way… nah, I’m sure. We’ll finish getting ‘er stable, and then I’ll drive her out. See you in a bit, Rasputin.”

You peer up at Frank as he ends the call and hands the phone back to Karen. “How’re we getting out of here?”

“I’ll drive you back once you’re patched up.”

Karen snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I don’t remember saying you could ‘borrow’ my car. Again.”

“I’ve got a ride—”

“What, your murder van?”

You giggle; it’s an apt description, really.

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up –and holy shit the Punisher is actually smiling. “What’s wrong with it? It’s got four wheels, it drives, it brakes, it steers. What more do you want?”

“Upholstery that doesn’t have bloodstains on them?”

“Aw, c’mon. It adds character.”

And, even with your probable concussion, you can tell that Frank and Karen are flirting. Hardcore flirting, even.

And that’s… interesting. You knew that Karen had to be someone that Frank trusted to even go to her in the first place, but you hadn’t banked on him liking her, too.

“Frank, you won’t be in Hell’s Kitchen. If you drive Y/N to the X-Mansion in your murder van, people are going to call the police. We’ll take my car.”

“‘We?’”

Karen shoots him a defiant look. “You aren’t ‘borrowing’ my car again, Frank.” She moves out of the way so he can take over your ‘patching up’ and disappear somewhere out of your field of vision.

Frank crouches in front of the couch, still grinning as he rifles through Karen’s first aid kit. He pauses for a minute –and you recognize the look on his face as the ‘I’m about to be a little shit’ expression, which you’ve learned to identify from spending so much time with Wade—then says “Technically, I didn’t borrow it the first time.”

“Not helping your argument, Castle.”

You bite back a smirk as Frank huffs out something that, on another person, might be a chuckle. Very interesting.

Once Frank declares that you’re unlikely to bleed on the interior of Karen’s car, she and Frank help you down to the parking garage of her apartment building. Frank crawls into the back with you –to make sure you don’t fall asleep, given your probable concussion and whatnot—while Karen gets into the driver’s seat and turns the car on.

You wince as you try to sit in a way that doesn’t hurt, then give up on it and settle for letting your head rest against the car door.

You’re tired. Now that you’re not running for your life or in the warm glow of Karen’s apartment, all you can process –feel—is your exhaustion. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, you’re uncomfortable, and every single tiny move you make hurts.

You are, however, wearing one of Frank’s hoodies; Karen had produced it from somewhere in her apartment –add that to the list of interesting details about whatever dynamic Frank Castle and Karen Page have going on—and wrapped you in it to hide the worst of your injuries from any passersby. It’s ridiculously soft, funnily enough, and is only adding to the exhaustion weighing down on you. You nestle yourself in as much as you can to the back seat of Karen’s car and make to close your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, hey! Do not fall asleep right now!” Frank grabs your hand and squeezes hard enough to be uncomfortable. “Keep your eyes open, you hear me?”

“Fuck you, I’m tired,” you whine. You open your eyes anyway.

“How’d you end up running into Frank?” Karen asks from the front seat as she carefully navigates out of Hell’s Kitchen. “You said something about crashing your car?”

“I didn’t crash my car,” you grouse. “Some assholes pulled out in front of me on a highway and stopped.”

“And no one called the police? Or an ambulance?”

“I’m pretty sure it was all planned ahead of time. The highway was dead empty just before it happened.”

The car goes silent for a moment, and then Karen says in a voice that’s just a little too steady “I knew working with the X-Men could be dangerous, but I didn’t think things were that crazy.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with them,” you admit. “I’m not really an X-Man, either.”

“But you live at the mansion. And you’re a mutant.”

“I am, but being at the mansion is more for my own safety,” you say with a bitter laugh. “I, uh, grew up in an anti-mutant home. Left once I figured out there was a place that would accept me.”

“You think it had something to do with your parents?” Frank asks.

“I mean, they’ve sent bounty hunters after me before,” you grumble. “It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Frank tenses next to you. “Who are you parents, ‘xactly?”

You don’t have to guess about why he’s suddenly so uptight. This is the man that spends his life gunning down gangs and crime families and other scums of the Earth; if you were him, you’d be worried about what sort of shit the person you randomly helped save might drag into your life—

Or the life of someone like Karen Page.

If there’s really something going on there, you muse, he’s gonna be protective of her. “They’re no one. Just a couple of assholes who didn’t want their kid when she was growing up, but now that’s she gone they’ve figured out they don’t want anyone else having her either, much less for her to have a life where she’s happy.” Tears start stinging your eyes, and then they’re trickling down your cheeks as you start crying. “They used to lock me in my room –my dad would beat with a belt when I had trouble controlling my mutation—” You choke back a sob, then pain racks through your body from the movement jarring your ribs.

There’s the click of a seatbelt unbuckling, and then Frank’s sliding over so he’s next to you, holding your shoulders steady so you don’t jerk yourself around unnecessarily. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths. Easy.”

“I can’t ‘breathe deep,’ asshole,” you say with a choked laugh. “Ow.”

“Is abuse really all that common towards mutants?” Karen asks from the front seat. “Not that I don’t believe you or believe it happens, it’s just… disheartening to think about.”

“Unfortunately, it is,” you say as Frank slides back to his seat and buckles himself in; you’ve calmed down again, which means you don’t need to be restrained. “There’s obviously the good families, but we’re kind of scum to society. Freakish abominations.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Karen insists. “You’re just people.”

You let out a dark laugh. “Tell that to the founders of Harmony.”

Frank’s eyes are on you again. “What?”

“An anti-mutant settlement about an hour from Xavier’s. They actively kill any mutants they can get their hands on; they’ve got a compound out in the middle of the woods where they do it.” You go quiet for a moment. “They would’ve killed Piotr, if we hadn’t rescued him.”

“I didn’t realize things were that bad,” Karen says softly after a moment. “How are people even getting away with that shit?”

“How do people get away with committing atrocities anywhere? They think they have a right to hurt people, and others agree with them. Unfortunately for us, the ‘others’ who agree with them happen to be the people in power.”

The car goes silent again, and something tells you that the wheels in Karen’s head are turning. You don’t know her that well –don’t know her at all, really—but something tells you that the woman that Frank Castle is –seemingly—interested in isn’t the type to roll over all that easy.

Then, Karen clears her throat. “Who’s Piotr?”

You smile softly. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s the one I called at your apartment. I was actually out getting him some presents for his birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. What were you getting him?”

“Art supplies. He’s an artist, so I like to help keep him stocked up.” You blink owlishly when you realize that the bags with everything you’d bought are probably still in the wreckage formerly known as you car. “I’m gonna have to rerun that errand. Right after I get a new ride.”

“It’ll all work out,” Karen reassures you. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Uh…” You try to figure it out, even going as far as to count it out on your fingers—

“She’s concussed, Karen. Maybe don’t make her do math,” Frank says with a chuckle.

“It’s been longer than a year,” you add. “Definitely longer than a year.” You think for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I’d find anyone. I grew up thinking I was unlovable.”

“Anyone can be loved,” Karen says.

If it were any other situation, you’d write it off as a supportive statement.

But Karen’s voice is just a little too pointed, a little too intentional, and Frank suddenly gets very interested in staring at his shoes.

Probable concussion or not, you know you’re not seeing things. But, there’s nothing you can do or say now that won’t make things awkward, so you tuck it all away for later, for when you can dish it all out to Ellie, Wade, and Yukio to get their opinions on it all –which, to be clear, you’ll only do because you know they’d never blab about it.

But yeah, later. Right now, all you want to do is get back home to Piotr.

Karen keeps you talking for the rest of the ride, asking questions about Piotr and your new life at Xavier’s until she pulls up the gravel drive of Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

The front door opens before Karen even puts the car into park and then Piotr’s sprinting out towards you, followed by a couple of healers.

Frank gets out and directs him to the side where you’re sat—

And then the door’s opening, and Piotr’s there next to you, and you’re both crying.

A couple that cries together, stays together. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Frank helps Piotr unbuckle and get you out of the car, and then you’re being made to lay down on a stretcher by one very blue, very furry Dr. Hank McCoy.

“Hey, doc,” you manage. “How bad do I look?”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says with a small smile. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

You can breathe without your ribs hurting.

It’s the small things in life, really.

Lucky for you, aside from the fractured ribs –and the concussion; you did, in fact, have a concussion—there weren’t any other major injuries. The healers fix you up, Hank checks you over, and then you’re being discharged with a meager amount of painkillers to help with the stiffness and soreness that’ll linger for the next few days.

It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been so much worse.

Piotr sticks by your side for all of it; he holds your hand, lets you squeeze his when you need to, and offers encouragement when he can.

Hank leaves so Piotr can help you get dressed in clean clothes, and you start crying as soon as the door closes.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant –not that he had wandered far from it in the first place. “Moya lyubov’, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You mash your face against his shoulder and sob. “I’m sorry –I’m sorry that I didn’t call, and that I worried you, and that—”

He’s quick to shush you, gentle and loving as he rubs soothing circles on your back with his hands. “Nyet, nyet, nyet. This was not your fault, myshka.” He kisses the top of your head. “Let’s get you dressed, and then let’s get you food. Da?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses each of your eyelids. “What sounds good?”

“I want a burger. With fries.”

He chuckles and kisses the bridge of your nose. “Khorosho.”

“A lot of fries. Like, a metric ton of fries.”

He laughs again and helps you start changing out of your shirt. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Karen and Frank, surprisingly enough, are still around when Piotr walks you over to the main side of the Institute. Karen’s talking to Professor Xavier while taking notes in a little notebook, while Frank just generally looks uncomfortable and seems to be set on finding the best places to stand that’ll draw the least amount of attention to him.

He also looks a lot better, too, which means the healers must’ve gotten a hold of him.

Good.

Karen looks shocked when she sees you. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d be walking at all.”

“I’ve always bounced back quick,” you say with a shrug. “But having healers that can literally make your wounds close themselves by touching you doesn’t hurt things either.”

She nods. “Yeah, I bet they don’t.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin anyway.

You manage to make eye contact with him –no small feat, since he seems hellbent on memorizing the grain of the wood flooring—and nod in greeting. “Thanks for helping me out.”

He nods back. “Any time.”

“You guys alright? You need anything to eat?” You point in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna have a burger—”

“Actually, we should probably head out,” Karen says. “I’ve got work tomorrow, and I still have an article that I need to wrap up before morning hits.”

The relief on Frank’s face at being given an out is palpable, so you drop it. “Alright. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me bleed on your couch.”

Karen laughs and nods. “No problem. It’s definitely not the worst thing that couch has ever seen. Hopefully, if we run into each other again, it’ll be under better circumstances with less blood involved.”

“We can always hope.” As you watch them leave, an old memory flashes into your mind’s eye:

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men.”

Normally, any memories from your childhood are liable to send you reeling –especially any that connect to the countless times you were dragged into your town’s church and told, over and over, how you were a perversion of God’s creation.

But now, instead of panicking, you can’t help but regard Frank and Karen in quiet contemplation as they walk out the front door of Xavier’s; the two people that, without really knowing you or having any investment in your wellbeing past the general goodwill that decent humans possessed, had spent the past couple of hours helping you get to safety.

After a life of being beaten down –specifically by non-mutants—it’s an interesting turnabout.

You smile to yourself, just a little, as you watch Frank open the door for Karen and usher her out into the night. Salt of the earth indeed.

You wind up on the couch, nestled against Piotr’s side, happily munching on your burger while the two of you watch old Mythbusters reruns.

(You did, in fact, get a small mountain of fries –and decent servings of fruit and vegetables, because Piotr made your plate for you.)

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft as he kisses the top of your head.

“Sore. Tired. Hungry.” You set your burger down. “I’m gonna need a new phone. I lost mine in the crash.”

He rubs a hand up and down your back. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“I’m gonna need a new car, too. And to replace everything in my purse.”

He wraps his arms around you as you start shaking and presses his lips against your shoulder. “Breathe, myshka. Everything will be taken care of.”

Your lower lip trembles and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I had presents for your birthday picked out and everything. I lost those, too.”

He kisses your temple, then your forehead. “I would rather have you than presents.”

“Yeah, I get it, I just—” You sniffle and rub your hands over your face. “I’m just upset about it. I get it’s not even that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, but I still just—”

He gently settles you in his lap when you start crying and rocks you back and forth. “It is okay to be upset. You had upsetting day.”

“I was just really happy with what I picked out, and now I’m not gonna be able to leave the mansion again until we figure out who went after me and why, and I really just want to be able to buy you a birthday gift, dammit.”

“I am very flattered, myshka, but trust me when I say it does not matter to me. I will not be hurt if you cannot get me gifts.”

“I know, but it matters to me.”

He goes quiet at that, opting to just hold you and rock you back and forth while you cry.

It’s been a shit day. Your car was totaled, you were kidnapped after being forced into an accident, you had to spend over an hour in the medical bay at the mansion to get your ribs patched up, and now you’re down a phone, an ID and debit card, a car, and your gifts for Piotr.

You know that you’re lucky. That things could be much, much worse. That if you hadn’t run into Frank on that rooftop, you’d probably be in the trunk of another car right now.

You’re alive, you’re healed, and you’re back with Piotr. You’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

And, in the morning, you will be grateful for it.

But it’s been a shit day, and right now all you want to do is cry over the fact that you can’t buy your boyfriend a damn replacement birthday present.

So that’s what you do. You’ve earned it.

Crying’s healthy, anyway.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #frank castle x karen page #tw: child abuse #tw: kidnapping #tw: car accident #tw: injuries #this has a happy ending #it's just a very emotional fic #with lots of pain #but everything works out in the end #also frank castle DESERVES FRIENDS DAMMIT #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction #punisher fanfiction

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cksmart-world · 4 years

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The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

October 6, 2020

MAYOR MENDENHALL'S CRAZY STAR CHART

As soon as Erin Mendenhall was sworn in as mayor on Jan. 6 all hell broke loose in Salt Lake City: a pandemic swept in, an earthquake rattled through, there was a police shooting, riots, a gale toppled a thousand trees, another police shooting. It could mean any number of things: Her luck just sucks; the stars have aligned in a pretzel; or perhaps it's The End Days. The staff here at Smart Bomb was freaking out, so, we called famed astrologist Madame Cassiopeia to see what gives. Because the mayor is a Gemini, she said, and Venus has been receding, it could really shake things up. But an earthquake for god's sake? The mayor's ruler, Mercury, has been in Cancer, Madame said, but soon it will swing between Libra and Scorpio and all hell could break loose. Oh gawd, groaned Wilson, not again. But, she added, there is a chance Mercury and Mars retrogrades could put the brakes on the bad stuff. And Jupiter's transit through the Eighth House may bring a sense of calm. But look, she half whispered, upcoming lunar and solar eclipses in the coming year signal a more peaceful time after a big reversal. What? Does Erin's luck get better? We wanted to know. Does Trump lose? Do we go back to normal? Keep breathing, Madame Cassiopeia said, you will see.

UTAH'S PROUD BOYS BACK TRUMP'S TAKEOVER

Hey, did you know Utah has it's own Proud Boys and these true patriots are headed up by none other than our very own, smarter-than-though Sen. Mike Lee. There is less than a month to the presidential election and some Judiciary Committee senators, including Lee, have Covid-19, as does the president. But should the nomination of Amy Coney Barrett go forward? Well, of course, stupid. It will be jammed through despite all precedents. But what are precedents for, if not for breaking. And so what if Mikey has to attend the hearings virtually — it counts, right. What a high time it will be. The court will be solidly right-wing and no matter what Justice Roberts does won't matter a flick. So we can wave goodbye to the Affordable Care Act and say adios to Roe v. Wade. More than that, it gives the assurance that Trump will win the election. When all the ballots from Democrats get stuck in the mail, Trump can sue to stop the count, just like in 2000 when the Supreme Court handed the election to George W. Bush and all the bad history it was to bring. According to the plan, Coney Barrett, who by then will have been on the court for about a week, will give Trump the nod. And Lee and Sen. Mitt Romney and all our Republican pals will dance the night and the democracy way.

SMART BOMB ENCORE

WHY MIKE PENCE WANTED TO DEBATE KAMALA HARRIS IN UTAH

1- He loves green Jell-O with little marshmallows in it.

2- There is no Democratic Party here.

3- Lawmakers in Zion never drink alcohol or hot-tube with young girls.

4- Polls show Utahns love Trump more than Romney.

5- Kamala can't hold the LDS Priesthood.

6- Masks steal our freedom — especially in Utah County.

7- Men make the decisions behind closed doors at church and the Legislature.

8- The Mormon Tabernacle Choir provides the soundtrack for life: “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam.”

9- Utah women wear pioneer dresses and have that swirly Liberace hair.

10- It's one of the few places left where, like him, some men still call their wives, “mother.”

Post script — Well folks, that does it for another week here at Smart Bomb, where you don't have to keep track of the president's false and misleading statements, because no one can. Now the burning question on social media: Does Donald Trump really have Covid-19, or is it just a ploy to get Joe Biden to pull all those attack ads off TV. We'd ask QAnon, but WTF! (And for the record, we did not say, “Chickens are coming home to roost.” That would be disrespectful.) This week Washington Post columnist Max Boot (a pre-Trump Republican) called the U.S. a “pitiful pariah on the world stage,” noting that we have 4 percent of the world's population and 20 percent of its Covid-19 deaths. Picky, picky, picky. Who cares about the world stage, anyway. Not us. Fear not, the end is not at hand. The 1918 pandemic killed 675,000 Americans and up to 50 million worldwide. We're not even close. In 1919, thousands in the Ku Klux Klan marched down New York City's Broadway in broad daylight sporting their fashionable white sheets and pointy hats. See, we are making progress. (It does make you wonder, though, if QAnon doesn't need a fashion update.) And if you are still thirsty for good news, consider this: The Twitter hashtag used by The Proud Boys, the violent white supremacist group, has been highjacked by gay men who flooded the platform with photos of boyfriends and husbands. Out And Proud Boys.

Alright Wilson, we know you and the band don't really want to do this, but pretend for a moment that you're not gritty dope-smoking rockers and give the people what the need:

When the moon is in the Seventh House And Jupiter aligns with Mars Then peace will guide the planets And love will steer the stars This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius Age of Aquarius Aquarius

Harmony and understanding Sympathy and trust abounding No more falsehoods or derisions Golden living dreams of visions Mystic crystal revelation And the mind's true liberation Aquarius Aquarius

(Aquarius — Rado, Ragni & MacDermot from the musical, “Hair.”)

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republicstandard · 4 years

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The White Man's Third Position

Eric Striker has noted that in the recent elections the Republican governor of Kentucky ran a campaign based on a 1980s Reaganesque style revulsion towards "socialism" and against teachers, and he got his head handed to him, justifiably so; in other elections that night affirmative action and sanctuary cities took a beating. One needn't be skilled in the reading of tea leaves to understand which way the wind is blowing.

Richard Spencer's publishing house, Washington Summit Publishers, recently issued a translation of Armin Mohler's The Conservative Revolution In Germany (1918-1932). Out of that matrix came National Socialism and, while not everyone is a Nazi, embedded within that is the magical position, the third position: conservative on social issues and progressive on economics. If any enterprising politician should ever want to carry everything and everyone before him he really ought to look into it.

The amazing thing is that Trump ran on a set of issues that were unheard of for a quarter century, and he pulled off a miracle. One would think that he would have countless imitators but in fact he has none, not even himself.

Capitalism overturns everything, uproots the world as it creates new ones every minute. Exotic sexual ideologies expel nature, and fabricate an ersatz reality. These aren't two sides of the same coin, they are the same coin, the coin of the realm of the ruling class.

By loosening economic controls the right destabilizes communities, by loosening social controls the left destabilizes human beings. Together they work as a pincer movement against our security, as everything that was solid melts into thin air.

The third position is protectionism for human beings and, as such, is inherently conservative. It is fascism with a human face.

A few years back Ashton Kutcher infamously declared that he was liberal on social issues and conservative on economics and his statement was hailed as the wave of the future. He of course had it completely backwards, poll after poll shows a majority wants the exact opposite, wants the third position, wants a generous social democracy combined with an end to the tyranny of insidious social experimentation, be it that of an invasion of alien races or ever new frontiers in gender identity. What they want is a tight knit and upright community, not a continued greasing of the skids of a no holds barred neo-liberal accelerationism. They know in their hearts that the left got rid of social controls and the right got rid of economic ones, and that all sides conspired against them.

We forget just how much of a player David Duke was in the early 1990s, ideologically at least, people said oh but they're racists but others said maybe they like his platform. Then Duke and Buchanan went back and forth accusing the other of stealing the agenda they had first. But then they faded away, and no one picked up the mantle.

In the early 1990s the movie Falling Down became iconic, about a white man who had had enough and wasn't going to take it any more and proceeded to start mowing people down. This was adduced as an example of the growing phenomenon of the angry white male. But really the map of this was clear by the time of George Wallace and his not a dime's worth of difference, or even way back in 1948 with Strom Thurmond. Later Sam Francis cribbed Donald Warren's 1976 book The Radical Center and conjured up his legendary Middle American Radical, and Christopher Lasch diagnosed why liberalism was bad for the common man, and another liberal, Richard Rorty, gave two cheers not for capitalism but for social solidarity. Later another Warren--Elizabeth--got into the act with her book The Two Income Trap, for by then the American Dream was over.

What was happening was clear enough. After the war was a golden age for the American white working class. While our enemies were wading through rubble our industrial plant was in pristine condition. A man could work, the wife stay home to care for the children, vacations could be taken, retirements made, a good life had. But soon came the natural accelerants of open borders and open markets and the re-proletarianization of our people. This was done in the name of "freedom" and "openness", two things which are always the mortal enemies of decent folk everywhere. They acted as agents of social sterilization, the jobs went out, the people came in, the housing prices went up, the neighborhoods became crowded, crime went up, as did the cost of living, the birth rates went down. In turn the money machine required more immigrants. Wash, rinse, repeat, decimate, as is said.

Just in the middle of this deluge came figures who saw it clearly and wanted to arrest this wasting away of the social fabric. The aforementioned Duke and Buchanan for sure, and also Ross Perot. Together they took what can be considered the white man's third position, against pointless foreign wars which bled our young dry, against the invasion by the colored races, against the free movement of goods across our borders, against moral and social chaos. If you want to know more about it just listen carefully to that giant sucking sound.

In addition to waging the culture war against the forces of moral decay Buchanan made a hard edged moved toward economic autarky and economic nationalism. While in Reagan's White House Buchanan once sent a businessman looking for tariffs packing but the former doctrinaire free trader got Dick Gephardt religion, and promoted industrial policy (which by then had become dirty words). He wanted to make it impossible for goods made outside America to be sold here by throwing up massive tariff walls. At the same time his corporate tax was zero. Haul up the drawbridge, make it enticing and necessary to produce here, and watch the middle class revive. It could have worked.

But by the time he came around neo-liberalism was coming into its own, history was declared over, the free movement of goods and people across all barriers was ascendant. Former hippie Bill Clinton was all for global capital, took the baton from that old internationalist traitor George Bush Sr. and pushed through NAFTA (see giant sucking sound, above). Earlier Reagan and Thatcher were said to have been running some kind of supposed counter-revolution in the name of the decent folk, but they were not even speed bumps on the road to the loosening of all controls, threw gasoline on the accelerants, tossed on the match, and greased every skid on the way to disaster. Capitalism is nothing less than the overturning of everything at every instant, it says so in the brochure.

And the left came around all the way soon, became outriders of capital. Mass immigration is nothing but a transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich but the ones who rail most against income inequality are its biggest supporters, in another time we would have called that false consciousness. Former hippie Hillary Clinton's dream was a unified market from Tierra Del Fuego to the Arctic Circle, and the free movement of everything throughout it. This too is the dream of our ruling class. The money spigots of the new world order are open borders and open markets which when the epitaph of America is written will be seen to be its death blow.

Old Socialists knew better. It was always Nationalism in one country. Bernie Sanders once famously, or infamously, told Ezra Klein that open borders and mass immigration were Koch brothers' ideas (as are freeing all prisoners and eating away at the substance of America). While in his heart of hearts it's doubtful Bernie wants to build Fortress America (alas) it seems reasonable to think that he does want reasonable controls on immigration. If he could get his base to go along with it he could walk away with the election. Problem is, he's got the endorsement of Alexandria ("this is occupied land") Ocasio-Cortez. That crowd hates white people and, contrary to what you read in the papers, they are no friends to the working class, but do the dirty work of corporations, wittingly or unwittingly, take your pick.

It wasn't always that way. Old socialists knew better. Dick Gephardt championed industrial policy, the notion that government and business can cooperate in tandem for what's good for the nation, Ralph Nader showed us what evil unregulated corporations will do, Barbara Jordan knew what was good for the worker and it wasn't a mass influx of cheap labor. Cesar Chavez had his goons bust the heads of border jumping wetbacks who undercut the wages of his men, though the growers wanted brown serfs for their growing world-wide plantation. And recently in American Affairs Angela Nagle made the left wing case for closed borders and for her trouble was made a pariah, and Aimee Therese regularly reviles all forms of neo-liberalism, or most of them, at least.

Liberal icon Eugene McCarthy wrote a book saying that America was fast becoming a colony of the world, arguing that economically and culturally, colonial status is evident in loss of control over borders, religion and language. Major investment in a colony is from outside, with control held by the investing powers.

Pat Buchanan said he fell out of his chair when he heard Trump's announcement speech and it's true, Trump ran on a straight up ticket of Buchananism. He took on the three pillars of the ruling class cash machine, war, free trade, and open borders, and he also took away their shield, political correctness, the you can't say this, and you better not say that. It's what spooked them so very terribly. An angel mom said that when she heard Trump's speech she sat down and cried. But as it turned out Trump became obsessed with blacks, gays, Jews, Israel, everything and everyone but what elected him. The ruling class needn't have worried, he was no traitor to his class, he was one of them and, for that, may his memory forever be met with violent howls of execration.

The odd thing is that for a position so inherently appealing there's not a single public official who will touch it with a ten foot pole.

So why would such a popular ideology go begging for suitors? Why the wallflower at the dance? The problem is that it's what Sam Francis called a strange amalgam of left-right, it's neither this nor that, not one thing nor the other, an ambidextrous ideology and, as such, it's a gossamer world-view, a unicorn position, chimerical. Who would espouse it? The left demonizes borders while promoting social democracy; the right has its tax cuts while ostensibly preaching morality; they are an inverted mirror image of the other, right where the other is wrong, wrong where the other is right; yes, the third position is an odd brew. Add to that that the donors have a stranglehold on the parties and that whoever would take up its cudgel would find himself in the cross hairs of the ruling class and the distaste with which it is viewed by our leaders becomes explicable. Treacherous, but explicable.

This democracy of ours, owned by this ruling class, does have an Achilles heel. It's that if enough of the people want something, and want it badly enough, they can get it, or at least they can make life very difficult for their enemies. If Trump proved anything it's that a hostile takeover of a party from the very top is possible, with the right person, at the right time, with the right message. If the difference between the rank and file of a party and its rulers becomes too great and a canny enough, a forceful enough, and a presentable enough person comes along to exploit and explain it, miracles can occur. This is not the infiltration of the party, it is a coup de main, a knockout blow. No one knows what the future holds. A leader can arise.

In the meantime, of course, every man to his post.

What that leader would advocate is simple: no wars, no immigration, no free trade, bring up the drawbridge, create Fortress America, become a hermit kingdom, disentanglement from Israel, pro guns, social democracy, pro unions, massive infrastructure spending, social solidarity, anti-degeneracy, public health care, a wealth tax, natalism, pro family formation, pro marriage, pro traditional American heritage, pro traditional gender roles, anti-corporate measures.

Apply social and economic controls, in a word. Practice fascism with a human face. To let the middle conspire against the traitors in our midst.

Someone really ought to look into it.

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine https://ift.tt/2Khdzci via IFTTT

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patriotnewsdaily · 4 years

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New Post has been published on PatriotNewsDaily.com

New Post has been published on http://patriotnewsdaily.com/j-k-rowling-wont-back-down-from-transgender-cancel-culture/

J.K. Rowling Won’t Back Down From Transgender Cancel Culture

Man, if J.K. Rowling didn’t have our respect for rising from poverty to become one of the richest authors in the history of the world, she’s certainly earned it with her nonstop bravery against the cancel mob. Granted, a woman in Rowling’s position is literally above cancellation – she could do nothing for the rest of her life and still have enough money to buy a small country. Nonetheless, the same can be said for many celebrities who have gone whimpering and apologizing before the SJW masses. Your money only protects you from these embarrassments if you truly believe that you’re in the right.

And it’s clear that, when it comes to the insanities that govern modern transgender policies, Rowling is quite comfortable pushing back on the tidal wave of criticism she’s received.

Weeks after penning a long, thoughtful (quite non-hateful) essay about her thoughts on transgender mania, Rowling waded back into the fray this week with a series of tweets. On Sunday, Rowling reaffirmed that she wishes no ill will on any transgender person while also confirming her critiques on the rush towards allowing children to “change genders” through the use of hormones and surgery.

“Hormone prescriptions are the new anti depressants. Yes they are sometimes necessary and lifesaving, but they should be a last resort. Pure laziness for those who would rather medicate than put in the time and effort to heal people’s minds,” Rowling said in one tweet.

This perfectly reasonable message drew another wave of backlash from the easily-offended morons who populate Twitter; they began attacking her for being insensitive to the needs of the mentally ill. Granted, one understands why this would be a particularly sore spot for them.

“When you lie about what I believe about mental health medication and when you misrepresent the views of a trans woman for whom I feel nothing but admiration and solidarity, you cross a line,” she wrote. “I’ve written and spoken about my own mental health challenges, which include OCD, depression and anxiety. I did so recently in my essay ‘TERF Wars.’ I’ve taken anti-depressants in the past and they helped me.”

Oh, well, that’s easily explained by the simple fact that all the men-in-dresses currently trying to cancel you did not actually READ your essay. They skimmed it (or headlines about it), confirmed that you were not ready to sign on to their agenda, and declared you an enemy of LGBT people.

“Many health professionals are concerned that young people struggling with their mental health are being shunted towards hormones and surgery when this may not be in their best interests,” she continued. “Many, myself included, believe we are watching a new kind of conversion therapy for young gay people, who are being set on a lifelong path of medicalisation that may result in the loss of their fertility and/or sexual function.”

She continued: “As I’ve said many times, transition may be the answer for some. For others, it won’t — witness the accounts of detransitioners. The system sees surgery as the easy fix to girls who do not conform. The long-term health risks of cross-sex hormones have now been tracked over a lengthy period. These side-effects are often minimised or denied by trans activists.”

In a final, mic-dropping post, she wrote: “None of that may trouble you or disturb your belief in your own righteousness. But if so, I can’t pretend I care much about your bad opinion of me.”

Who could say it any better?

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totalconservative · 4 years

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New Post has been published on Total Conservative News

New Post has been published on http://totalconservative.com/ohio-lawmakers-push-bill-to-completely-outlaw-abortion/

Ohio Lawmakers Push Bill to Completely Outlaw Abortion

In a bill that would go further than any previous attempt to slash abortion “rights”, Ohio conservatives introduced a piece of legislation on Thursday that would completely outlaw the practice in the Buckeye State. Leaving only a protection for abortions that save the life of the mother, the bill is the product of State Rep. Candice Keller, who said in a statement that pro-life Republicans were tired of taking an incremental approach to ending Roe v. Wade.

“The time for regulating evil and compromise is over,” she said in a statement. “The time has come to abolish abortion in its entirety and recognize that each individual has the inviolable and inalienable Right to Life.”

The bill would codify into law the definition of a fetus as a living human being, and it would make doctors criminally liable for performing an abortion. Indeed, if passed into law, this bill would subject abortion doctors to murder charges.

Only if the “pregnant woman’s fatal condition” was hanging in the balance would a physician be allowed to perform the operation.

Few will find it surprising that pro-abortion groups came out in force against the legislation.

“This is yet another attack on the sacred physician-patient relationship and on reproductive health care,” said Lauren Blauvelt of Planned Parenthood Advocates of Ohio. “This extreme bill goes to outlandish levels to further restrict Ohioans’ decisions around health care and parenting.”

Parenting!

Supporters of the bill, however, noted that the Ohio legislation was meant to be challenged.

“This has been the goal of the grassroots of the pro-life movement since the disastrous Roe decision of 1973,” said Margie Christie, president of the Right to Life Action Coalition of Ohio.

It wasn’t long ago that the dream of overturning Roe v. Wade seemed like a fantasy. But with a strongly-conservative Supreme Court, pro-life advocates see new hope at the nation’s highest legal levels. The point isn’t to make some national anti-abortion law, as some Planned Parenthood types like to claim. The point is to put the power back in the hands of state legislatures. Back into the hands of the voters, in other words. And bills like this one in Ohio, the one in Alabama, and the one out of Georgia are the key to getting there.

Hopefully, it won’t be long before one of these cases sees its day in the Supreme Court.

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restoreamericanglory · 5 years

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New Post has been published on Restore American Glory

New Post has been published on http://www.restoreamericanglory.com/breaking-news/christine-blasey-fords-lawyer-reveals-her-clients-political-motivations/

Christine Blasey Ford’s Lawyer Reveals Her Client’s Political Motivations

Well, it took nearly a year for this to come out, but you know what they say about secrets. Eventually, they all come spilling out into the open. Especially when they’re this juicy. In a revelation that may wind up coming back to bite attorney Debra Katz in the butt, the lawyer said in a speech this year that her client, Christine Blasey Ford, was partially motivated to come forward against Brett Kavanaugh because of her strong feelings about Roe v. Wade. This astounding admission not only puts Katz in a position where she may be accused of violating attorney/client privilege but, more importantly, proves many of Blasey Ford’s critics right at long last.

Though Katz remarks only came to light this week, they were actually made in a speech earlier this year before the University of Baltimore’s 11th Feminist Legal Theory Conference. The theme of the event – “Applied Feminism and #MeToo” – inspired Katz to finally come clean about what motivated Ford to dredge up allegations against Kavanaugh that she’d held silent about for almost forty years.

“In the aftermath of these hearings, I believe that Christine’s testimony brought about more good than the harm misogynist Republicans caused by allowing Kavanaugh on the court,” Katz said. “He will always have an asterisk next to his name. When he takes a scalpel to Roe v. Wade, we will know who he is, we know his character, and we know what motivates him, and that is important. It is important that we know, and that is part of what motivated Christine.”

There never was an “asterisk” next to Kavanaugh’s name, of course, and there never will be. Unless, of course, that asterisk references a footnote which says: “The second major conservative nominee to the Supreme Court that Democrats tried to destroy using a combination of unsubstantiated testimony and claims of misogyny.” And that’s a strike in Kavanaugh’s favor, not in his debit.

As for what “motivated Christine,” we have only Katz’s word for it, and the fact that she said this at all casts pretty serious questions about her underlying ethics. Still, it rings true, to be honest. This is a woman – Dr. Ford – who sat on these supposedly bombshell allegations for most of her life, only to suddenly recall them when Kavanaugh was in the national spotlight. That always seemed fishy. Fishier still was her story, which was backed up by exactly no one who was there at the time. Indeed, we don’t even know what “time” it was, because Ford herself couldn’t pin it down to a year, much less a specific party.

The whole thing smacked of a woman who was either hellbent on being a major part of the #Resistance or someone who’d been dragged into it by activist lawyers like the despicable Ms. Katz. And now, thanks to Katz herself, we know for certain that it was some mixture of the two. Absolutely disgusting.

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republicstandard · 5 years

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The Silence of the Shepherds on the Abortion of the Lambs

Then they came for unborn babies, and I did not preach against abortion.

In the nautical novel Moby Dick, Herman Melville has a chapter where he paints a magnificent portraiture of Father Mapple’s pulpit. Beginning with a physical sketch, Melville soars to a pen a grand spiritual interpretation of the pulpit.

“What could be more full of meaning?” he writes, “for the pulpit is ever this earth’s foremost part; all the rest comes in its rear; the pulpit leads the world. … Yes, the world’s a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow.”

What happens to the world when the pulpit goes into silent mode refusing to speak the Word of the Lord to the life-and-death issues of our times?

The genocide of the Jews in Nazi Germany elicited few condemnations from the pulpit. At the Treysa Conference in August 1945, church leaders confessed the complicity of their pulpits: “Long before our churches became piles of rubble, our pulpits were restricted, and our prayers were silenced.”

An exponentially greater genocide of 61million unborn babies in the US since Roe v. Wade, 9million in the UK since 1967, and an unspeakable figure of over one billion five hundred twenty-three million worldwide since 1980 has elicited even fewer condemnations from Protestant pulpits in the US and UK.

The radical abortion laws passed last week by the New York State Legislature is raising questions of how some of the most celebrated conservative evangelical churches and preachers are addressing the global genocide of the unborn.

Surely conservative pulpits can no longer remain muted when the barbaric but euphemistically titled Reproductive Health Act treats abortion as a “fundamental right,” allows non-physicians to perform abortions, allows abortion through the third trimester—including up to birth, and removes protections for babies who survive an abortion—meaning they could be left to die after birth?

History reveals a shameful reticence on the part of American evangelicals to engage in pro-life advocacy before the late 1960s. Christianity Today, the flagship magazine of evangelicalism did not publish its first article on abortion until 1966. Few evangelicals joined Catholics in campaigning against abortion. Even Billy Graham was willing to allow for abortion in cases of rape and incest.

The first non-Catholic clergy who decided to join the pro-life movement were not evangelicals, but mainline Protestants who disagreed with their denominations’ endorsement of abortion rights, notes Daniel K. Williams, in his monograph Defenders of the Unborn: The Pro-Life Movement before Roe v. Wade. Williams explains why (with the exception of the Missouri Synod Lutherans) evangelicals were either silent or supportive of abortion.

First, evangelicals were suspicious of Catholics, who were at the forefront of the movement. Second, more disturbingly, evangelicals lacked a clear theology of when human life began. Many evangelicals thought that the Catholic Church’s insistence that human life began at conception lacked biblical support.

The lack of clarity on when human life begins was evident at the Symposium on Human Reproduction in August 1968, where 25 evangelical scholars conceded that the “human fetus” was either “an actual human life or at the least, a potential and developing human life.”

It was only by the 1980s that evangelicals began throwing their weight behind pro-life issues. However, they placed abortion in the context of the narrative of national moral decline—gay rights, feminism, pornography, and divorce. Even at this stage, evangelicals failed to grasp the horror of abortion as a sui generis evil.

When the pulpit is silent, what happens to women in the pews (or the father of the child) considering an abortion? “Abortion is not a problem just outside of the church. It is a problem inside of the church,” claims the Institute for Pro-Life Advancement. Are evangelical churches today preaching against abortion? If so, how frequently and how faithfully? If not, why not?

According to a 2018 Public Religion Research Institute report, less than half (48%) of white evangelicals, about four in ten (39%) non-white evangelicals, and just 28% of white mainline church Protestants hear about abortion from the pulpit. Catholics are more likely than other denomination to hear about abortion in church. More than six in ten (63%) Catholics who attend church at least once or twice a month say that their priests speak about abortion from the pulpit.

By contrast, evangelicals are more likely to hear sermons on homosexuality. Around 49% white evangelicals and 45% non-white evangelicals attending services regularly say their clergy speak out on homosexuality.

Not preaching on abortion is devastating to women in church. Seven in 10 (70%) women who have had an abortion indicate their religious preference is Christian. Over 1 in 3 (36%) women were attending a Christian church once a month or more at the time of their first abortion, but three in four (76%) women said their church had no influence on their decision to terminate their pregnancy.

The prophet Amos who condemned the Ammonites because they “ripped open pregnant women in Gilead” would describe this evangelical blind spot on the sanctity of life as a “famine of hearing the word of the Lord.”

Following the New York legislation, the spotlight is on star evangelical preachers like Tim Keller, pastor of one of the largest and best-known evangelical churches in Manhattan. An article published a couple of days after the passing of New York’s abortion bill, lambasts Keller and ministries like the Gospel Coalition and Marx of showing “an utter disinterest in the abortion holocaust.”

“These men don’t care about dead babies; they think engaging culture is about your church having an Instagram account. And yet, the city where Tim Keller has pitched his tent, New York, glows pink at night in honor of the abortion Holocaust,” the piece claims.

The extensive sermon archive of Keller’s Redeemer Presbyterian Church does not throw up a single sermon when the keyword “abortion” is typed into the search engine but has loads of sermons on “giving” and “sex.” A Google search on “Keller” and “abortion” does not reveal a single sermon specifically on abortion.

Keller, who engages in topical preaching on numerous difficult issues like “Hell,” only addresses abortion tangentially in a sermon on “In the Image of God” (Genesis 1:26-2:3). “This sermon is really sad. It almost looks like it was written so he could say, ‘See, I preached against abortion,’” notes a commenter.

In an interview, Keller tries to justify his pulpit-silence on abortion: “Pushing moral behaviors before we lift up Christ is religion,” he says. Keller tells the story of a woman who had three abortions and had been attending his church. She came to see him, telling him she would have left if she’d stumbled on any reference to abortion in his church. But she stayed and found faith in Christ.

Does Keller make similar exceptions for other sins? Would Jesus have used a similar justification for not confronting the woman at Jacob’s well with her adultery, because she first needed to hear the gospel? Or is the gospel first about being confronted with the unspeakable sin that provokes God’s “wrath and indignation” as the Book of Common Prayer confession puts it?

Keller has no such qualms about upsetting white people by preaching on racism. “How should Christians, and especially those with an Anglo-white background, respond to last weekend’s alt-right gathering in Charlottesville and its tragic aftermath?” he asks. “Christians should look at the energized and emboldened white nationalism movement, and at its fascist slogans, and condemn it—full stop.” It is “time to present the Bible’s strong and clear teachings about the sin of racism and of the idolatry of blood and country—again, full stop.”

“Racism should not be only brought up at moments such as we witnessed in Charlottesville this past weekend” since the “evil of racism is a biblical theme…. so we should be teaching about it routinely in the course of regular preaching,” he thunders, as if the Charlottesville riots killed more people of color than the genocide of babies on his doorstep that is slaughtering the unborn of all races.

It is gratifying that The Gospel Coalition resource library has 182 sermons on abortion. But, even here, John Piper seems to be the only “celebrity” preacher delivering most of the sermons, with theologian R. C. Sproul coming a very distant second.

Similar to Keller’s justification for not preaching on abortion is the “expository preaching” pretext given by many evangelical ministers who haven’t preached on abortion. “We preach through the Bible and only address issues like abortion in our application when they arise,” these ministers contend.

Would they offer a similar excuse if Jews around them were being exterminated on an industrial scale? William Skiles, Assistant Professor at Regent University, examines the sermons preached by the Confessing Church pastors during the Third Reich. Only 12% of pastors expressed views that publicly opposed the Nazi regime, its ideology, or its policies from the pulpit.

“Most focus on a clear exposition of a biblical text and a reflection on its significance for the Christian life, without any political or social commentary whatsoever,” Skiles observes. As a reaction to natural theology and liberalism, clergy were encouraged to erase from their preaching any personal, political, or social convictions in case it would detract from the gospel message of salvation.

Thus, most sermons focused on the biblical text and its relevance for individual spirituality and the life of the church, shutting out the horrific genocide being perpetrated on the portals of the pietistic churches.

If Melville were to witness the deficit of evangelical preaching on abortion in a world where it is most needed, he would no longer refer to the pulpit as a ship’s prow, but as the orlop at the bottom of a ship’s hull.

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republicstandard · 6 years

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Kill Your Baby at Home. Doctors are Finding Abortions too Traumatic

The abortion industry is in trouble. Big trouble. If you run a hospital you need doctors. If you run a slaughterhouse you need butchers. If you run an abortion abattoir you need doctors who will double up as butchers.

It’s a bit like the execution industry in countries that still have the death penalty. They just can’t find good staff. The profession of executioner is a highly coveted specialism and since the jolly ol’ days of Albert Pierrepoint, England’s longest serving hangman in recent times, kids in India and Zimbabwe are specializing in programming computer strings rather than in knotting ropes for the noose.

I was reading about Pawan Kumar, who learned his trade from his father and grandfather—I’m not sure if there is a hangmen’s caste. The Indian government pays him a retainer of £30 a month to be a registered executioner. When he’s not stringing up vicious murderers and rapists, Kumar sells shirts from the back of a bicycle in the north Indian town of Meerut.

So far this is one profession feminists haven’t infested. So, Kumar doesn’t get harangued on Channel 4 by the likes of Cathy Newman asking him why there are no hangwomen or female executioners. Naturally, Kumar’s job is also safe from the bile of bellicose gender gap activists. But Kumar’s son wants to study banking and in a country of 1.2 billion people, prisons are struggling to find hangmen.

Zimbabwe is having similar problems. Chikurubi prison has been trying to fill the post of hangman for five years and 50 men are on the waiting list but there’s no one willing to hang them. Again, there’s horrible sexism in the applications process—not even equality of opportunity, let alone equality of outcomes—and the advertisement in the Zimbabwean Daily News categorically states: “The hangman’s job is reserved only for men”. Zimbabwe needs its own battalion of feminists in pink pussy hats.

So we return to the killing industry in our green and pleasant land of Britain. The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists is urging Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt to allow women to kill their babies at home. Wales and Scotland already allow DIY baby-executions so why not import the Carry on Killing series into Ye Olde England as well?

One in three women are already having abortions and surely the queue must be very long if you can’t find doctors who are willing, a la Pierrepoint and Sons to do the excavating, hacking and dismembering of a woman who has the right to choose because it’s her own body, er… um … except it’s not, or she’d be dead, not the baby.

So if doctors are not applying in droves to be butchers, the mother can finish off her baby by popping two pills, mifepristone, and misoprostol, between 24 and 48 hours apart. The abortion starts within 30 minutes of taking the pill. And when the pills have done their magic, simply flush the baby down the toilet. It’s simple. It’s cheaper. It’s a great victory for womankind.

The government has acquiesced to this barbarity. By Christmas 2018 when the country is celebrating the birth of Jesus, lots of non-virgin Marys and Elizabeths will be popping their pro-choice pills and flushing their babies down the bog as the Salvation Army band outside their window plays “Unto us a child is born”.

But why are many doctors deciding to call it quits? Why are the men and women in white coats not willing to do your dirty work any longer?

In America, medical colleges are opting out of abortion training. In a 2005 survey of U.S. medical schools in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, only 32 percent of respondents said they offer a formal lecture specifically about abortion, and 23 percent reported “no formal education” about abortion at all. In the same survey, 55 percent of medical schools reported that they offered students no clinical exposure to abortion.

Then there are doctors who are “conscientious objectors” for religious or moral reasons. There are also pro-life humanists and atheists who condemn abortion as murder using scientific and philosophical arguments. According to the report Unconscionable: When Providers Deny Abortion Care (2017), there is evidence of “a worrisome and growing global trend of health care providers who are refusing to deliver abortion and other sexual and reproductive health care”. Over 70 jurisdictions around the world, including 21 EU countries allow “conscientious objection” in providing abortions.

In Italy, 70 percent of obstetrician-gynecologists are registered with the Italian Ministry of Health as objectors to abortion. In the UK, one-third of those training and 10 percent of obstetrician-gynecologists object to abortion, and in Hong Kong, 14 percent of physicians are objectors.

But even those doctors who do not have religious or moral objections to abortion are now backing out because of the traumatic effects of abortion. Dr. Rachel M. MacNair in her book Perpetration-Induced Traumatic Stress: The Psychological Consequences of Killing has a chapter on doctors suffering PITS as a consequence of performing abortions. These doctors suffer from symptoms associated with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

MacNair poses the same questions to “medical personnel involved in euthanasia or abortions, Nazi officials in the discharge of their duties, researchers whose experiments may harm subjects, and those who kill animals”. Her research is nuanced and non-judgmental and does not push a moral line on abortion. She is careful to cite only pro-choice doctors and nurses in determining the effects of trauma on medical personnel involved in abortion.

“I have fetus dreams, we all do here: dreams of abortions one after the other; of buckets of blood splashed on the walls; trees full of crawling fetuses,” MacNair quotes abortion nurse Sallie Tisdale. “There are weary, grim moments when I think I cannot bear another basin of bloody remains, utter another kind phrase of reassurance,” says Ms. Tisdale. “I watch a woman’s swollen abdomen sink to softness in a few stuttering moments and my own belly flip-flops with sorrow,” she adds.

Earlier studies done by pro-abortion researchers note the high prevalence of PTSD symptoms with “obsessional thinking about abortion, depression, fatigue, anger, lowered self-esteem, and identity conflicts”. Another study reports “nightmares, images that could not be shaken”, and “deep and lonely privacy within which practitioners had grappled with their ambivalence”.

Such-Baer’s study, done in 1974, a year after Roe v. Wade legalized abortion in the U.S., describes how “almost all professionals involved in abortion work reacted with more or less negative feelings”. Those who have contact with the fetal remains have more negative feelings than those who do not. Nevertheless, “All emotional reactions were unanimously extremely negative”.

An article published in American Medical News, published by the American Medical Association talks about “the conflicting feelings that plague many providers. … The notion that the nurses, doctors, counsellors, and others who work in the abortion field have qualms about the work they do is a well-kept secret”.

Even a paper presented at the Association of Planned Parenthood Physicians does not shrink from narrating the case of two abortion practitioners who dreamed “of vomiting fetuses along with a sense of horror”. The writers conclude: “In general, it appears that the more direct the physical and visual involvement (i.e., nurses, doctor), the more stress experienced”.

A nurse working in an abortion clinic said her most troubling moments came not in the procedure room but afterward. Many times women who had just had abortions would lie in the recovery room and cry, “I’ve just killed my baby. I’ve just killed my baby.” “I don’t know what to say to these women,” the nurse told the group. “Part of me thinks, ‘Maybe they’re right.’”

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In 2105, the obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Antony Levatino testified at a House Judiciary Committee hearing about Planned Parenthood’s medical procedures after videos were released showing how the mega-abortion provider sold fetal tissue to researchers. Levatino testifies performing the brutal dismembering of a baby who has just been kicking in its mother’s womb by taking apart its legs, hands, intestines, heart, and lungs.

Levatino was asked why he ended his abortion practice after performing 1,200 abortions over a four-year period. Levatino tells his story of how he and his wife adopted a girl because they suspected they were infertile. However, his wife got pregnant the very next month and the couple had two children ten months apart. Their adopted daughter was killed in a car accident when she was six. Sometime after burying her, Levatino went to perform an abortion and got sick after pulling out an arm and leg. “For the first time in my life I really looked at that pile of body parts on the side of the table … all I could see was somebody’s son or daughter,” he says. Dr. Levatino could no longer kill babies.

If abortions are so traumatic for the doctor, isn’t it even more traumatic for the mother? Dr. John Bruchalski is a former abortionist who is part of a network that provides abortion pills. He says that because the mother has to see the aborted baby abortions by pills are more traumatic than surgical abortions. He says:

“There’s lots of contractions without anesthesia, lots of clots, that’s not even the issues that come with seeing the tissue with the baby.”

The mother has to make sure that all the body parts have been ejected otherwise any part remaining inside her can cause serious infection. Women have to flush their baby down the toilet. But many women panic once they see their baby and don’t know what to do.

Vicki Thorn, of the National Office for Post Abortion Reconciliation and Healing, says some women in late-term medical abortions who did not want to bury their baby were at such a loss that they kept their baby in the freezer.

The abortion industry is in big trouble. They are running short of executioners. Women conned by the abortion industry into believing that abortion is safe are in even bigger trouble. The abortion industry is turning them into hangwomen.

Killing her own baby and flushing it down the toilet could leave a woman traumatized for the rest of her life.

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