fun fact, my Jewish grandma who's a 7th generation in Israel, who's family escaped from like half of the Arab countries in the world, is also Palestinian. because that was the name of Israel before we got our independence in 1948 and the people who lived here were Palestinian. which is my way of telling you that just because there's something before 48 that says palestine, doesn't mean it's evidence that the Palestinians were here before the Jews because Jews who lived here were also, shocking, Palestinian.

The imam of the Great Mosque of Paris asked for proof of the 1200 antisemitic attacks since October 7th. The same day he was summoned back on TV to apologize for saying that… because asking for proof is denying the existence of antisemitism.

Except this is complete bullshit. Without denying antisemitism this is 100% legitimate for a simple reason. They keep on mentioning 1200 attacks since October 7th but they count Free Palestine tags as an attack. Fuck apartheid is also counted as an attack. And somehow writing “Fuck antisemitism” is antisemitic. They also count blue David stars tagged in Paris to support Israel (Zionist are paying people to do it) as antisemitic attacks. A comedian joking about Netanyahu being “Hitler without foreskin” is also an antisemitic attack in France.

The ONLY thing that was broadcasted and would qualify as an attack was a Jewish woman who got stabbed except it’s starting to look like the RER D 2004 “attack”. The Police and doctors are suspecting that it was a self inflicted wound and that the woman is lying.

In a country that refuse to count attacking an older North African man and telling him “Dirty Arab I’m going to cut you into pieces and send you to Jerusalem” as racist but count “Fuck antisemitism” as antisemitic it is 100% legitimate to want to know what are the 1200 attacks they keep mentioning. Especially when those attacks are weaponized to make targeting North Africans legitimate and when we are blamed for every attack without proof (Zionists paying a white non muslim couple to tag blue David star was pinned in Muslims for days even AFTER the couple was caught)

Note: The 2004 RER D “attack” is something I will never forget. It’s one of my earliest memories of “oh so they hate me because I’m Algerian and Muslim”

January 2004 a woman is found crying on a bench with cuts on her body, antisemitic slurs and Nazis symbols written on her belly and arms as well as her hair cut. She explains that she is Jewish and that she was attacked in the subway by a group of North African men. She says they tried to steal her stroller for one of their sisters that they took her handbag and when they saw where she lived they said “An Ashkenazi Jew? You guys are rich…” All politicians and medias immediately jumped on it hated on North Africans for the rise of antisemitism. Started claiming that North African/Algerians were bringing the “conflict between Palestine and Israel” in France. I was 9 and it was really horrific because I knew that what happened was unacceptable but I also felt that they were using it to hate on us Muslims. Then the media kinda stopped talking about it and this story stayed in the back of my mind for years just a memory. A couple months ago a song from a French Algerian rapper was suggested to me. I listened to it and it was about this story. Except the song said it was fake… so I looked it up and found out that the reason the story died down in the media is that 2-3 days after it came out the investigation proved that it was all fake. The surveillance camera showed that the woman never got in the subway neither did any group looking like the one she described, they found the knife and pen that were used on the woman’s body in her own apartment and when faced with the evidences she admitted that the story was fake she did the cuts and writing herself with the help of her partner… like 29 years old me learning that one of the things that made 9 years old me realize how much the country where I was born hates me was based on a white woman lying and because in her lie Arabs were antisemitic savages people believed her and went with it…

Scottish Serial killer Archibald Thomson Hall was born on Jun 17th 1924 in Glasgow.

The second brutal Scot to feature today, and make no mistake, this guy was a cold bloodied murderer.

Growing up in Glasgow, he began stealing at the age of 15. At 17, he was seduced by an older neighbour and he got involved in high life; later that year he received his first prison sentence and was on the road to a violent life. Hall, upon his release from prison changed his name to Roy Fontaine - which was inspired by Joan Fontaine, the star of Alfred Hitchcock film Rebecca.He used money from burglaries to relocate himself to London where he  had a  very short lived marriage  he came out as bisexual and , starting affairs with men infiltrated the gay scene in the English capital. He used his new identity to become a butler that would mix with the rich and famous of the time. Hall was able to swindle vast sums of cash as he was able to gain entry to some of the oldest and grandest houses in the country under his new persona. The butler was able to mingle with the rich and famous, including composer Ivor Novello, Lord Mountbatten and playwright Terence Rattigan. As his confidence continued to grow under his new life, Hall’s ability to switch into a different identity became easier. On one occasion he managed to convince others that he was a  Sheikh named Mutlak Medinah by wearing an Arab headdress. Hall was able to make off with thousands of pounds worth of jewellery after he lured jewellers into his hotel room using his new identity. In 1977, he became a butler at Kirtleton House in Dumfrieshire for Lady Margaret Hudson. It was here that, one of Hall’s ex cell mates, David Wright came to visit, Hall shot Wright in the head during a rabbit hunting trip over fears his ability to steal high valued goods and money would be exposed to his employer. He fled the scene of the crime before ending up back in London where he continued his dodgy butler work, this time he worked for ex MP Walter Scott-Elliot. and his wife Dorothy, who were also wealthy antique collectors, at their posh Chelsea home. On one occasion he invited fellow crook Michael Kitto However, the pair were caught by Mrs Scott-Elliot before Kitto was suffocated her to death. Another acquaintance, Mary Coggle, dressed as the dead woman - using this opportunity to loot the couple’s funds from banks in the city. They kept Mr Scott-Elliot sedated with sleeping pills and said that his wife had gone to visit friends in Scotland, where he was to join her later.  They all drove north with the body in the boot. When they reached Braco, in Perthshire, the still sedated ex MP was left in the car as his wife was buried at the side of a road.Scott-Elliot was then taken to a lonely spot near Glen Affric and beaten to death with a spade after Hall’s failed attempt to strangle him. They returned once more to London and cleared the flat but Coggle was enjoying the trappings of wealth and refused to lower her profile. Eventually, the two men decided to rid themselves of the problem. Hall hit her over the head and suffocated her with a plastic bag before dumping her in a stream between Glasgow and Carlisle. The two men spent a quiet Christmas at Hall’s family’s house among the family members was  Hall’s half-brother Donald, a child molester who Hall despised but seemed to tail along with the pair. In January 1978 when they were in Cumbria, Donald started asking too many questions. The only solution for the pair of now seasoned killers was to get rid of him. A chloroformed rag was held over his face and he was drowned in a bath. Hall and Kitto put his body in their boot and drove north but were forced to stop at a hotel in North Berwick because of a snowstorm. The suspicious proprietor called the police and Donald’s body was found in the boot of the car. The car was traced back to London, where police discovered the stripped bare apartment and bloodstained scene, Hall tried and failed to commit suicide while in custody, before revealing the whereabouts of the three buried victims. In deep snow and bitterly cold weather, and with the media watching, police teams dug up the bodies of David Wright and Walter and Dorothy Scott-Elliot. They charged Hall and Kitto with five murders.

The pair were convicted of four murders, for some reason the first, Dorothy Scott-Elliot was ordered to lie on file. Hall had life sentences handed out with 15 years recommendation in Scotland and full life term in England.

  Kitto was given life imprisonment for three murders, with no recommended minimum in Scotland and a 15-year minimum in England. Police said in evidence that Kitto was, in a perverted way, fortunate to be able to go on trial, as Hall was planning to kill him too.

When the European courts judged whole life tariffs against the law Hall remained in custody and was never given a parole date. In 1995 a newspaper published a letter from Hall in which he requested the right to die. He made numerous unsuccessful suicide attempts.

He died in Prison Kingston, Portsmouth in 2002, by this date, he was one of the oldest of more than 70,000 prisoners in British prisons, and the oldest to be serving a full life term.

There were plans for a film with Malcolm MacDowell in the lead role, called Monster Butler, after some production work had taken place, the film was cancelled because of lack of funding, leaving some crew members unpaid.

Axis + Allies at W Academy (Human AU)

North Italy 

Feliciano is the kid who shows up five minutes late everyday with an Frappuccino in his hand. He’s just very, very bad at time management, but he always looks well put together when he does show up. At this point, teachers have stopped assigning him detention because he’s just too good of a student to give detention to, even with his 55 tardies. He’s also the kid who will bring you food if he notices that you’re upset- he’s a firm believer that sugary drinks and carbs are good for the soul. His favorite classes are obviously the art classes- all of his electives are spent taking pottery, studio art, portfolio, painting, charcoal, and anything else the school offers. He may or may not be the art teachers favorite.

Germany 

Ludwig is the straight-a student who sits in the back of your AP World History class and carries the entire class discussion when everyone else is too afraid to raise their hands to ask a question. He’s also the person who will take the heavy load of the work in the group project, and leave the easier tasks to everyone else. Despite being straight edge, if you ask him for the homework answers, he’ll send them without hesitation. He might tell you, “Ask me if you need help. Copying won’t help you learn anything,” but he always comes in on a clutch.  Everyone wonders why he’s best friends with Feliciano, especially when the word “late” isn’t in Ludwig’s vocabulary. He does well in all his classes, but history and government classes are where he really shines. 

Japan 

Kiku is the quiet kid who’s also in your AP class who somehow has the highest grade in the class even though you’ve never heard him talk before. He gains a reputation for being cool and mysterious for a while, and a lot of people go to ask Feliciano about him, because they know Ludwig won’t talk about anybody else’s business. Turns out he isn’t really all that mysterious, he’s just shy, but also the biggest sweetheart you’ll ever meet. He does really well in literature classes, and hangs around the literature teachers more than students his actual age. Despite the fact that he keeps to himself, he’s nice to everyone he meets, and if you approach him in class first he won’t stop talking. 

Prussia 

Everyone knows Gilbert, for the better or worse. He’s the kid who just doesn’t shut up in your film study elective course. He’s always yelling, always posting to his snapchat story, always taking pictures, running around the lunchroom, and trying to make friends with the security guards. Everyone either loves Gilbert, or loves to hate him. At the end of the day, he’s really funny, some people can’t come to admit it, though. They wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He definitely won the class clown superlative, and lives up to it completely. If you’re lucky, you might get put on his snapchat private story, and its hard not to laugh at the things he does and says. Teachers will yell at him to be quiet in their classes, but deep down they’re holding back an unprofessional laugh. He doesn’t really have any particular class he excels in, he’s a jack of all trades, master of none. 

South Italy 

Lovino was the kid who was really, really emo in middle school but glew up sophomore year and now everyone thinks his post-edgy edginess is super attractive. He has a decent amount of friends, but he isn’t super popular. He doesn’t talk back to teachers, but he’ll tell of Gilbert sometimes, and because of his mouth he gets labelled as being funny, even if he wasn’t trying to be. He’s always really well put together- he’s a dress pants every day kind of guy. Like his brother, he’ll probably show up late with a drink in his hand, but instead of one of those “foofoo girly drinks”, he’s got straight up black coffee. He does well in history and government classes like Ludwig, which created a little bit of tension between the two. But unlike Ludwig, he does well because he’s just so damn opinionated. He was asked to be on the debate team, but he turned it down. Extra-curriculars aren’t his thing. 

America 

Alfred is that guy. Everyone knows who Alfred is, but not in the same way everyone knows Gilbert. Alfred is the captain of the varsity football team, has a new girlfriend every other two months, party at my place, red solo cup kind of guy. He’s mad he didn’t get the class clown superlative, but in reality he just isn’t as funny. He’s the kid whose really nice, as long as you play a varsity sport. He doesn’t really communicate much outside of his big clique, but he’s super well known. He’s the guy who will add you on snapchat just to make a new streak, but never actually talk to you. He wins prom king in his junior and senior year. He’s just the gym class hero, likes to show off how much he can dead lift and bench press. He gets along with male history teachers too, just because they’re usually football fans. (Alfred is really, really bad in history, though.)

England 

Arthur is the class president who everyone loves to hate. He’s snotty, uptight, and won’t send you homework answers even if your life depended on it. He has an “I’m better and more successful than everyone in this place” type of energy, but deep down, he’s a huge geek. He’s friends with Lukas and Vladimir, so at first everyone just assumes that he’s super chill and laid back, then he opens his mouth and all of that goes away. Girls love to pick on him, Michelle (Seychelles) started a running joke where her and her friends will all call him Draco Malfoy when he’s around. In reality, he just doesn’t know how to socialize very well. He’s a nice guy deep down, just kinda broken and defensive, and very few can see that. He does well in every class, just beating out Ludwig as Valedictorian. 

France 

Francis is the leader of his little clique that’s full of guys who worship Lady Gaga, and girls who cuff their jeans and wear butterfly clips in their hair (if you know what I mean.) He’s very, very popular. He knows how to make people feel loved and important, and hypes everyone up in their Instagram comments. People will call him fake because he’s always just way too nice, but that’s just him. He’s the type of guy who will hit on anyone, even teachers, and he gets labelled as teachers pet for it (and he doesn’t deny it.) When him, Gilbert, and Antonio are in a class together, just get ready to know that it’ll be comedy central. He’s declared himself the sworn defender of underclassmen girls who get preyed on by upperclassmen boys. He does well in language classes, nobody knows it but he’s a little bit of a polyglot. He can speak English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Arabic, and Creole. Take that!

Russia 

Ivan is the guy all the girls have a low key crush on, but everyone’s too afraid to talk to him because they know he comes off as intimidating, so Ivan is left thinking that nobody likes him. That is, until somebody sends him a screenshot of somebody’s snapchat story where they call him “daddy,” and his whole attitude takes a 180. It isn’t his fault he looks scary, he’s taller and bigger than everyone, and gets mistaken as a teacher sometimes. He gets the nickname “Rasputin” from Alfred because he comes off as terrifying, but a lot of girls just love him. In reality he’s just kind of shy, not very scary at all. Sometimes girls will ask to put hair ties and clips in his hair, just because, and he always flushes up when they do. He plays hockey for the school, and completely annihilates everyone on ice. He’s just cool like that. 

China 

Yao is the kid in your statistics class who zones out all the time, only coming back to reality to make a snarky comment about the teacher under his breath for you to hear. He keeps to himself and his small group of friends, which is mainly just other eastern Asian kids he’s grown up with since middle school. He’s really active in civil rights, he cares a lot about his identity as a minority in the school, and would defend it viciously if need be. He does a lot of posting, talking, and writing about human rights, which is shocking since most people just assume he’s old fashioned based off the fact that he has so many old man mannerisms (ie. complaining about back pain and how he needs an acupuncture appointment asap.) Everyone calls him the grandpa friend, which is like a mom friend except he’ll give you hard candies he got at the Chinese Market instead of being your therapist when you’re upset. He does really well in government and business classes. 

Spain

Antonio is everyone’s best friend. Unlike Francis and Gilbert, Antonio’s presence is very, very calming, and he’s often put in the position of apologizing for his friends behaviors. He’s the one who has to talk to the police if they get caught goofing around in a place they shouldn’t be, or if Gilbert was “accidentally” driving 75 mph in a 45. Teachers always love Antonio, not because he gets super high grades, he’s just so friendly. He’s the kid who invited kids sitting by themselves at lunch to sit with him, and not for his personal benefit. Even if you aren’t close with him, Antonio would always be there for you if you’re upset in school. It’s hard not to be cheered up by him. He’ll go out of his way to make anyone laugh or smile, even if he acts a little inappropriate in the process. He does really well in science classes, especially biology and environmental. 

Hi, I love your fic'❤️ and I wanted to know if you could write even a short one about what would happened if Riko didnt find Andrew and Neil in WDWG

Thank you! 💖 Okay, so I did my best to keep this as short as possible, just a glimpse of the boys’ life if Riko had never found them/if they were able to live on undisturbed, just the two of them.

Uhm, I think it’s pretty safe? Just the ongoing burying bodies joke....

*******

Neil had just sold the two tourists from New York a (very ugly) tea set and couple rare blends of tea (Jodi would be pleased) when Massey’s recommendation returned. Neil gave him a stern look to convey ‘not now’ while he waited on a regular, Mrs. Huang, taking the time to let her sniff the lu’an tea they had in stock to ensure that it was up to her high standards before he bagged the requested amount, chatting with her in Mandarin the entire time. It was only after she left (and he was certain that the store was empty) that Neil motioned the anxious man forward while he reached beneath the counter for the wrapped bundle he and Jodi had worked on earlier.

“It’s ready?”

“Yes.” Neil answered in French as he set the bundle on the counter, just out of reach, then slid his phone into view. “New passport, bank account, driver’s license, birth certificate, the works.”

The man, face haggard from stress and freshly bleached hair falling onto his forehead, gazed at the package as if it a holy grail of sorts. “Let me see the passport. Please,” he added, his voice hoarse with need.

Used to being asked such a question, Neil shrugged and unfolded the brown wrapping paper enough to slip free the passport (French) and flipped it open to prove to the man (no names had been exchanged, which he much preferred) that it would pass for authentic (he did excellent work). Some of the tension left the man’s stocky body upon seeing it, as did a quick glance at the other items in the wrapping paper; he pulled out his phone to transfer the agreed upon amount of money to the account number Jodi had given him last night.

Neil checked his phone to ensure the money had been deposited then slid the items across the counter. “Good luck,” he told the man, who snatched up his new life, nodded in acknowledgement, then fled the Jade Leaves tea store.

Neil dealt with a few more tourists (not his favorite thing) and a handful of regulars (which he much preferred, especially when they brought him snacks) by the time Jodi returned. “Bah, it’s raining,” she complained as she pushed back the hood of her jacket; fall in Montreal could be unpredictable, could be an extension of summer or an early taste of winter, and now it looked as if the warm spell was giving way to colder temperatures and rain.

“Be thankful it’s not snow,” he told his boss as he handed over a cup filled with oolong, which he brewed throughout the day for customers and staff (well, him and Jodi) alike.

“Hush, you,” she chided before she took a cautious sip. “Hmm, how was business?”

He held up his phone, and huffed when she gave a pleased smile in return; she’d noticed the money deposited in the account earlier, an account which would soon disappear after she transferred the funds elsewhere (some to Neil). “Steady. I managed to get rid of the awful tea set.”

“The one with the gibberish on it?” Jodi’s pale brown eyes went wide and she laughed with joy as she reached to pat Neil on the shoulder. “Ah, sending you here was the best favor Gabe ever did for me.”

“Hmm.” Neil had to agree; as Aidan’s senior year of high school had drawn to an end, they’d been uncertain as to what to do next. Stick around until Neil graduated? Have Aidan apply to university? Move on to a new set of identities? They’d made a home of sorts in Racine, but Neil worried about his father’s people catching up to them at some point and Aidan was tired of them pretending to be siblings.

It was during a check-in with Durand that the forger had brought up that his cousin in Montreal was looking for help: an assistant who could speak French and if not take part in forging documents, at least keep their mouth shut. Neil and Aidan had debated it for a few days, but in the end they trusted Durand (as much as they did anyone else), Montreal put them farther away from the remnants of Nathan’s gang, and they could start anew.

Instead of half-brothers, they were newlyweds.

(Neil barely managed to not freak out when Aidan told Durand to create a marriage license for them, saving it until they were alone in the car. Only to be stopped mid-rant when Aidan held up a ring and asked him ‘yes or no’.)

Neil kept his first name (he didn’t want to let go of it after keeping it for so long), while Aidan became Andrew once more. Neil and Andrew Keenan, two young fools in love who struck out on their own rather than be apart (or so most people assumed). Neil spent the last couple months before they left Racine learning Mandarin, and was now picking up Arabic as well. He sold tea in a small store in Chinatown, gossiped with the locals, learned from one of the best forgers in North America (Jodi Liu was every bit as good as her cousin), and very rarely had to use the gun hidden beneath the counter.

“I haven’t heard from Gabe or Massey, so we should be good for the night,” Jodi said as she checked her phone for messages. “Go home.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He ran back to the small breakroom in the back to fetch the container of pork dumplings Mrs. Dai had given him (she kept telling him he was too skinny) then was out the door after wishing Jodi ‘good night’. Despite the rain, he stopped at Tony’s food truck to get a couple cartons of noodles to complete dinner, laughing at the older man’s retelling of a small group of Americans trying to order with appalling French.

“I guess it was better than them trying in Mandarin,” Tony said as he handed Neil his takeaway.

“Andrew complains about the French thing all the time.”

“Yeah, I imagine he’d get it a lot, working in a pastry shop.”

Neil waved goodbye and, after making sure the food was safe in his waterproof messenger bag, jogged down the mostly deserted streets to where Andrew worked, right outside of Chinatown. The bakery was empty of customers, probably because of the rain and the time of day, but the mostly empty display cases indicated that they’d done a good business earlier.

Andrew arched an eyebrow at Neil’s arrival and popped the petit four he held in his hand into his mouth. Once it was chewed and swallowed, he stepped toward the doorway leading back into the kitchen area, covered with a cloth divider. “Naseem, some riffraff just blew into the shop. I’m going to take it home.”

“What?” Andrew’s coworker, a young man with a closely trimmed black beard and a white scarf tied over his short, curly black hair, poked his head through the curtains and smiled when he saw Neil. “Why do you put up with him?” he asked, just like he always did, while he brushed at the flour which dusted his face; he probably was working on some of the pastries for the next day.

Neil gave the same answer, as always. “He knows where the bodies are buried.”

“Ha, you kids and your jokes.” Naseem shook his head as he glanced around the empty shop. “Just lock up before you go.”

Andrew gave him a two-fingered salute then quickly set about clearing out the register and turning off the lights (it looked as if he’d already done a lot of the closing duties already), then grabbed a small box before he ushered Neil out the door, which he locked behind them.

He gave Neil a pointed look as he pulled an umbrella big enough for the both of them out of his own bag and opened it. “You trying to catch pneumonia?”

“I’m open to new experiences?” Neil smiled when he was given the ‘you’re an idiot’ look. “I got dinner.”

“I know, I can smell it.”

“Are you going to share dessert with me?”

“No.”

Neil smiled the entire way home, especially when Andrew hooked their pinkies together; they didn’t have far to go since they rented an apartment in a building which Jodi’s family owned. It had a balcony where they could sit together as they smoked cigarettes or drank something hot, a bathtub big enough for them both to soak in together, and a gas fireplace in the living room which Andrew spent half the winter in front of, along with the cats.

Aibee greeted them at the door, certain to make the deplorable state of her empty belly known, while Elbee sauntered in from their bedroom and flopped down at Andrew’s feet after he kicked off his boots. He sighed and bent down to give the orange tabby a gentle pet before he prodded him to stand up, while Aibee was quick to run into the kitchen once she realized that Neil was headed that way, her fluffy black tail straight up in the air.

Andrew caught the strap of Neil’s messenger bag, which brought him to a halt. “Go change into something dry,” he chided as he maneuvered the bag from Neil’s shoulder.

“Okay.” Neil leaned in for a lingering kiss then did as he’d been told, pulling his damp sweatshirt over his head along the way. It and his jeans were draped over the hamper, swapped out for a soft sweater (that was Andrew’s) and sweatpants. Once dressed, he went into the kitchen to find that his husband had divvied up the food onto two plates, which had been placed on the table, and was feeding the cats.

“Shut up and eat, you ingrates,” Andrew said as he set down their bowls, his deep voice mild and expression almost tender.

“I thought I was the ingrate,” Neil commented as he picked up his chopsticks.

“You’re the idiot ingrate,” Andrew clarified as he sat down, and sighed when Neil stuck out his tongue.

They concentrated on eating for a couple minutes before they (well, Neil) started talking about their day; Andrew nodded along as he went on about the tourists and the documents he’d created. As expected, Andrew complained a bit about the tourists who just had to try out their lousy French on him.

“Jodi send you your part of the job yet?”

Neil frowned as he pulled out his phone and checked the special account where the money from the forgeries went. “Yes, another twenty-five thousand.” He gave Andrew a curious look. “Do I need to route it somewhere?” They were careful with the remaining money his mother had stolen from his father, most of it still tied up in investments for another couple years but a nice amount available for use – especially after Neil had started working for Jodi.

Their biggest expense to date was Andrew’s brother Aaron; when he’d learned about his long-lost mother dying from an overdose and how she’d allowed his twin to become an addict, he and Neil had arranged it so that Aaron’s cousin, Nicky, was able to win custody of Aaron and that Tilda’s ‘life insurance’ was more than enough to support the two until Aaron graduated high school. A little bit more money, a few more pulled strings had gotten Aaron into a university in South Carolina, and Neil had thought that was that.

Or so he had thought.

Andrew got up to fetch the pastry box (along with two forks) and set it on the table, the top open to reveal that inside was some horrendous chocolate thing and a small fruit tart. “We both have vacation time leftover, I thought we could go somewhere warm toward the end of the year.”

Neil gazed at his husband for a moment before he narrowed his eyes. “You just want to get away from the snow for a while.”

Andrew shrugged as he set the tart on Neil’s plate. “You won’t have to listen to me complain about the cold for a couple weeks.”

“Hmm.” That had possibilities, Neil thought as he picked a blackberry from the tart and popped it into his mouth. “You didn’t happen to research ‘the top ten ice cream places in Bora Bora’ or something like that, did you?”

He was given a blank look in return.

“We never had a honeymoon,” or a real wedding, for that matter, “so I get some say in this.”

“No Exy,” Andrew declared as he stabbed his fork in the chocolate monstrosity.

No, no Exy, Neil thought with a wince. He’d soured a bit on the sport after the whole Edgar Allan scandal. “No burying bodies.”

“Again with that? It happened twice.”

“And twice is more than enough, considering the second time, someone was all ‘oh look, I’m bleeding sooo much, you have to do all the digging this time,” Neil said in a mocking voice.

For a moment, he thought he’d be the one bleeding (Andrew had only grown more impressive with those flat stares of his), until his husband clicked his tongue. “Fine, we’ll go somewhere with plenty of water so we can sink the bodies.”

“Huh.” Neil considered that as he had a bite of the fruit tart. “That’ll work.” Not that he wanted to have to sink bodies into the ocean, but… well, it was him and Andrew. Things just happened.

There was a very slight curl to Andrew’s full lips, which meant he was smug as hell at the moment. Neil narrowed his eyes, uncertain about what he’d just agreed to, then figured ‘what the hell’. It would work out in the end, it always did with Andrew.

*******

Forgive me for any liberties taken with Montreal.

The cats’ full names are Anklebiter and Lazybones. If you can’t guess, Andrew named them, and Neil shortened them.

I figured this is set a year or two after Andrew would have graduated. He may be taking online university classes (more as something to do), but Neil’s happy with being a forger (and damn good at it).

It’s like... trying to figure out what to write next. I’ve one or two prompts I want to get done, the next chapter of Casts a Shadow, wrap up the soulmate fic, and another part of Not in the Stars. Decisions, decisions....

Touch (Laurel/Nyssa; T) - earth-44

Ships: Laurel/Nyssa

Summary: Laurel and Nyssa. Dinah and Amina. Green Arrow and the Black Canary. Daredevil and the Black Sky. The Flash and Vibe.

Across the multiverse, they go by many names, surrounded by different people at different times in their lives. But there is one golden link between the Dinah Laurel Lances and Nyssa Raatkos across the infinite earths - that they always find each other. And every time, their story starts with a single touch.

A/N: As I recently watched The Old Guard, I was inspired by the dynamic between Joe and Nicky and immediately dreamed up (as I so often do) a Lauryssa AU for those characters. So here is a little bit of it - and then there will be an expansion of that story as a separate fic, to come sometime soon I hope as it’s half-finished.

Read at AO3

Earth-44

(In which Laurel and Nyssa are immortals who have been together for a thousand years fighting righteous battles side by side as part of an army, a la Nicolo di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani in The Old Guard.)

The chains cut coldly on Laurel's wrists, drawing blood, but she barely noticed as she continued to struggle against them. She had eyes only for Nyssa. Even after an eternity of witnessing the love of her life die and come back, Laurel could not bear to even contemplate a world without Nyssa in it. 

There were questions, vague and half-formed in her mind, about why they were taken, where the others were, particularly their newest recruit, Sarah Diggle, for whom Laurel and Nyssa already felt responsible. 

Laurel wanted to know who these soldiers around them were, where they were going - and, of course, the age-old question about whether they had finally been caught, and if they would be put in a cage as a lab experiment. 

But at the forefront of Laurel's thoughts was what lay before her, and that was her beloved, her partner, and her soulmate. Nyssa was sprawled on her front, having been shot when attempting to escape her restraints, and even now as Laurel's eyes moved down further, she winced at the sight of Nyssa’s lifeless body.

This was always the worst part. While Laurel and Nyssa were hardly strangers to immortality and its secrets, no amount of dying could make Laurel used to the agonising seconds and minutes before Nyssa finally gasped back to life. And the hard truth was that despite Nyssa's words that she would always come back, they both knew this was impossible to predict. Their immortality would run out one day, and every time they got caught in the crosshairs of another enemy, Laurel wondered if today was it. 

"Nyssa," she whispered, feeling a surge of anger not at the tears that stung in her eyes but that one of the soldiers - a square-jawed blond man - was eyeing her closely. "Nyssa, habibti - wake up." 

But Nyssa was still motionless in the armoured van. The soldiers had shot her squarely in the back, but that had been minutes ago, surely. She should have awakened by now. Unless… 

"Ya Nyssa!" Laurel cried, louder this time, and the blond soldier grabbed her by the shoulders roughly. 

"Oi. Shut up!" 

Laurel just ignored him, reaching out despite her restraints to touch Nyssa's cheek. "Nyssa, please. It's me, habibti. Wake up!" 

"I just told you to shut the fuck up!" the soldier barked. 

"Or what?" Laurel shot back. "You can kill me too if you want. I’ll just come back, and make no mistake - I'll be angrier." The guard spluttered at that, unable to form anything coherent in reply, and Laurel went back to shaking Nyssa in an effort to rouse her. "Come back to me, my love. Please." For good measure, Laurel blessed herself and said a silent prayer, and somehow, miraculously, someone upstairs seemed to have heard her, because Nyssa then started coughing.

Automatically Laurel looked up at the heavens above - obscured, of course, by the armoured ceiling of the van, which should have made it less poetic - and thanked every deity she could name in her head. There was blood in Nyssa's hair as Laurel stroked it tenderly, leaning forward so her forehead touched the crown of her beloved. 

"Are you okay?" Laurel asked softly in Arabic. 

"I think so," Nyssa replied, also in Arabic, before switching loudly to English. "Very pissed off, though."

"As am I," Laurel said, glowering at the blond soldier. She softened, though, in an instant when Nyssa squeezed Laurel’s hand.  "I'm just glad I didn't lose you. They shot you." 

"You will never lose me, hayati. And I'm fine." Nyssa groaned in pain as she lifted her shirt and the two bullets that had temporarily stymied Nyssa popped out and rolled onto the floor. Laurel could see the exit wound knitting, just under Nyssa's ribcage, and she winced. As she did so, though, she could sense the blond soldier's leer before she saw it. 

"Aw, are you two together or something? Is she your girlfriend?" 

Nyssa just rolled her eyes, letting out a faint sigh of fatigue and exasperation as another soldier then joined in. They knew what was going to come next - Laurel and Nyssa had been together for over a thousand years, but one thing that had worsened, rather than gotten better, was the way the world saw them. 

"Feel free to make out in front of us. Always found that hot." 

"To call you childish would be an insult - " Laurel snapped, "- to children, that is. You speak like prepubescent boys guided by nothing but the pathetic newfound stirring of your loins. You could not even begin to fathom with your simple mind the depths of love I have for this woman. You lack the maturity to understand how her very breath awakens my faith and her smile strengthens my soul, that even after centuries together I fall in love with her more every single day. She is not my girlfriend, little boy. She is my moral compass, my north star, my guiding light when I am lost."

"And your wife," Nyssa added helpfully and Laurel almost forgot her anger for a moment as she automatically smiled. Nyssa had a way of doing that, of tempering the storm of emotions raging in Laurel's head at the best of times. 

“Yes,” Laurel said. “And she is my wife.”

Slowly, the soldier crouched down so his face was uncomfortably close to Laurel’s. “So you’ve joined the twenty-first century. Congratulations. Why the fuck should I care about that?”

Laurel did not even flinch. "Because if you so much as touch a hair on her head, you will find out just how much." For good measure, she headbutted the man, with such force that he was knocked onto his back, his head hitting the van floor with a satisfying thump.

"Ralph!" one of the other soldiers yelped, immediately going to his aid. 

"He does look like a Ralph, doesn't he?" Laurel observed. 

“Yeah. I think he does,” Nyssa said after a moment. “That was nice, though.”

Laurel smiled. “Yeah?”

"Indeed, my love. Romance and stamina?” Nyssa said teasingly, her chained hand going behind Laurel’s neck to pull her wife towards her. “You must save some for the rest of us, dearest." And despite their circumstances Laurel laughed.

"What do you think, Nyssa?" Laurel asked quietly. "Do you think this could be like Marrakech in '67?"

Nyssa smiled back. "You read my mind." She waited, then leaned in as if to kiss Laurel, but at the last second they both moved so quickly the soldiers didn't even have a chance to think, let alone raise their guns. With her chained hands Laurel got a hold of the two soldiers nearest her while kneeing a third between the legs. She knew from the crunching sound she heard that Nyssa had probably broken some bones, and as Laurel caught sight of Ralph feebly stirring a few feet away, she kicked his face for good measure. 

Then and only then did Laurel pull Nyssa towards her for a kiss, and she sighed contentedly in her wife's mouth. 

"Keys?" Laurel asked, and Nyssa shook her head. The two of them rifled through the soldiers' pockets just to be sure, but they came up with nothing. "Shit.”

“It seems we are out of luck. They must have locked us in from the inside. We must simply await our fate, habibti." 

“I hate doing that,” Laurel muttered. 

"I know you do, hayati, but we are out of options." 

Laurel looked up, met her wife's eyes. "How are you always able to stay so enduringly patient?" 

Nyssa smiled back. "Why, from centuries of practice, of course." 

As if on cue, the van ground to a halt, and when the doors opened by yet more soldiers, Ralph’s unconscious body rolled out with a thump.

Laurel cleared her throat. “Any chance you motherfuckers can get these chains off us?”

"Perhaps don't lead with that, my heart," Nyssa said, but it wasn't with a lot of conviction and she was unsurprised when the soldiers ignored her words and dragged her to her feet. Next to her, they were doing the same with Laurel. 

"Habibti, I love you, but you know playing nice isn't going to get us anywhere," Laurel said, annoyance laced into her tone from how the men were gripping her shoulders with far more force than necessary.

"True. We are usually better judges of character," Nyssa said, speaking now to the woman who had orchestrated this whole fiasco - Amanda Waller. 

Waller didn't reply, just glowered back at Nyssa. 

"It's a nice plane, Amanda," Laurel said, as Nyssa was frogmarched onto the plane waiting for them.

"There's a TV, Laurel!" Nyssa called over her shoulder, and Laurel couldn't suppress her laugh if she wanted to. 

"Ooh! Any champagne?" Laurel asked, her heart soaring when the words elicited a laugh from her love. 

Her smile was short-lived, though, as Waller brought up the rear and the plane door closed behind them. This was Laurel's second worst fear come true, of capture and inevitable experimentation, and she wondered if it would lead to her greatest fear of all - that she would be separated eternally from her beloved. 

She closed her eyes, as she was being strapped onto the seat of the plane next to her wife. The restraints around her ankles were unnecessarily tight and Laurel could barely move her wrists, but in that moment she felt the gentle press of a single finger hooking around one of hers. It was Nyssa, reassuring her through the tiniest touch that she was there, that she was okay, that they would be, and Laurel wanted so badly to seize Nyssa's hand and kiss it, but she couldn't. 

So instead, she squeezed her wife's finger in return, and then murmured the prayer that she hoped was sent up to the heavens, for the two of them to emerge from this intact and together. 

Tagging: @skydisneylover @stungunmilly2 @mewis-sisters @therewas-a-girl @bulbasaurfan93 @nyssalance @istanlena @abbyscameron @nyxxyn22 @ineedhelp25fan @theolivekiddo @me-and-sweatpants @rainboisland

Will you explain the human and prophetic aspects of the Prophet (pbuh)?

Allah sent a prophet in accordance with the needs of every century and region. Therefore, the prophets acted differently in practice though they were united in their basic belief issues.

Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) collected all of the traits of the previous prophets in his spirit and showed that he was the last prophet since the world became civilized compared to the previous ages and became like a city, and the needs increased. His scholars, who are his heirs, retained the basic spirit but chose the most appropriate decrees that were in accordance with the century they lived in. Thus, many madhhabs emerged in the history of Islam; therefore, there is no need for a new religion and shari’ah.

Why an Arab and an illiterate person? Ali Shariati states the following in his book called “The Visage of Prophet Muhammad”:

“Allah chooses immaculate spirits for prophethood. If a scholar, poet or soothsayer had been chosen, people would have said the following abou the Quran: 'This man is knowledgeable; he produces it from his own knowledge and presents it to us.' The following hadith attracts attention to this fact: 'All prophets worked as shepherds.'”

Since all of the doors that people could have suspected were closed, the polytheists could only say for the Prophet, 'He is mad' or 'He is a magician'. The following is stated in the Quran:

“Say: ‘If Allah had so willed, I should not have rehearsed it to you, nor would He have made it known to you. A whole life-time before this have I tarried amongst you: will ye not then understand?’" (Yunus, 10/16)

Thus, Allah shows that the Prophet is not mad or a magician, silencing the polytheists who did not accept the reality of revelation. For they called him “Muhammadul Amin” (Muhammad, the Trustworthy).

The most important feature of the ethics of the Prophet (pbuh) is that it is Allah's gift. He has not gained all those good qualities by working and making efforts. His ethics was bestowed by Allah. Almighty Allah created him in a perfect, complete and distinguished manner that would be a model for people.

He always lived based on the same traits and ethics from birth to death. His fine qualities were present in his nature. It is his Supreme Lord who educated him and adorned him with the best features of good manners and high ethics.

Therefore, a person who accepts him as a model will benefit more from him as he imitates him more; his benefit from that luminous light will increase accordingly.

One of the most distinctive features of the ethics of the Prophet (pbuh) is that he harmonized and compromised perfectly the traits that are opposite to each other in human nature and found the ideal point of all feelings. He found the middle way, the true path without going to extremes.

The Prophet (pbuh) showed in a perfect way throughout his life the supreme values and maturity that everyone wanted but could not achieve, and put them before the eyes of humanity.

He sometimes challenged thousands of enemies on his own without heeding the superiority of the enemy as the most courageous hero. However, even in that case, he did not leave his softheartedness and mercy aside.

For example, he pitied the dead bodies of the enemy children that he saw after a battle so much that he said that children should not be killed even if they were enemies because they were innocent and they would go to Paradise.

On the one hand, he meditated on the supreme ideal of the salvation of humanity and spreading Islam to the world and the state of his ummah that spread all over Arabia and the affairs of Muslims; on the other hand, he never forgot the poor and needy Muslims around him; he did not neglect his own children, their education and needs either. He did not prefer one to the other.

Although he had such a heavy duty with responsibilities, he devoted himself to his Lord and spent a great part of the day worshipping and praying to Allah.

His heart was always connected to Allah. Although he seemed to have cut off his relation with the world, he was still in that world. He sought Allah's consent in all of his affairs.

The Prophet (pbuh) protected his Companions all the time and showed them compassion and closeness more than their parents; he always forgave the bad deeds committed against him and did not think of taking revenge. He released those who set up for killing him when he caught them, but he never forgave the enemies of Allah; he did not let go of them.

He gave the fear of Hell to the hearts of the hypocrites who seemed to be Muslims but who were corrupt inside. He reminded them of their grievous state in the hereafter.

The Prophet (pbuh) was the sultan of the Arabs and the ruler of Arabia when the borders of the Islamic land reached Yemen in the south, and Iran and Syria in the north. The possessions and spoils of the enemy left after the battles filled the mosque and the most precious goods were obtained by the Muslims but he was humble enough to lie on a cushion filled with grass and he was contented enough to go hungry though he had all means.

When Hz. Umar said, "The king of the Byzantium and the shah of Iran live in opulence but the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) sits on a mat" and cried, the Prophet consoled his Companion by saying,

"O Umar! Let them live in opulence and take pleasure from the worldly boons. The boons of the hereafter are enough for us."

Thus, he showed his reliance on Allah and consent.

The ethics of the Prophet was in the form of a faculty in him; it was inherent. The sun shines, flowers revive a place with their colors and odors, and trees yield fruits of different kinds; all of them reveal what exists in their nature; similarly, the ethical life of the Prophet (pbuh) passed in its normal course.

Anybody who saw him would come to the conclusion that the Prophet (pbuh) was created with that virtue. No one would believe that he would do anything against good manners. He always helped the needy, protected the weak, smiled, maintained his dignity and solemnity, and acted humbly and tolerantly toward everybody. Just as the sun sends light to those who believe and who do not believe in Allah so too did the compassion of the Prophet that encompassed the world spread to everybody, whether young or old, Muslim or non-Muslim.

................................

The Human Features of the Prophet (pbuh)

Allah Almighty sent the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) to people as a prophet, a model an instructor and a teacher. He is the only guide of the ummah in all issues. All Muslims take his attitudes and deeds as an example. As a matter of fact, this fact is pointed out in the following verse:

"Ye have indeed in the Messenger of Allah a beautiful pattern (of conduct) for any one whose hope is in Allah and the Final Day, and who engages much in the Praise of Allah."

Due to this characteristic of the Prophet (pbuh) not all of his attitudes and deeds were miraculous. Allah Almighty sent him as a human. People learn their attitudes and deeds in social life from him. They act by imitating him. They can attain their worldly and otherworldly happiness only through taking him as a model. For, he is a guide in all aspects. If he had been sent in the form of an angel, not as a human, how would people imitate him? How could he have guided his ummah?

They take the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) as a model in everything, from eating, drinking and meeting their needs to the daily worship that needs to be performed. If the Prophet (pbuh) had been wonderful at every stage of his life, for example, if he had lived without eating and drinking, his ummah could not take him as a model in its real sense. On the other hand, if he had been wonderful in all aspects and shown miracles with all of his deeds, the secret of the test would be eliminated and everyone would have to approve him. In that case, there would have been no difference between Hz. Abu Bakr and Abu Jahl.

Those who do not realize this fact cannot see his supreme personality because they view the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) only from the material aspect.

The life and attributes of the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) are described in siyar books in detail. However, the aspects described in siyar books are related to his human aspect. He felt cold and got ill like other people; he took part in battles and was even wounded like other people. When they are narrated, they should be narrated together with their high spiritual level.

As Badiuzzaman said Nursi puts it,

"…Every day, even at this moment, the amount of the worship performed by all his community is being added to the record of his perfections. He is also everyday the object of the countless supplications of his vast community, in addition to being the object of infinite divine mercy in an infinite fashion and with an infinite capacity to receive. He was, indeed, the result and the most perfect fruit of the universe, the interpreter and the beloved of the Creator of the cosmos. Hence his true nature in its entirety, and the truth of all his perfections, cannot be contained in the human qualities recorded in books of history and biography."

When the life of the Prophet (pbuh) and his blessed appearance are narrated, these aspects should always be mentioned. Otherwise, it is not enough to narrate only his human aspect. When the Prophet (pbuh) is considered, he should be considered in two aspects. His real nature, prophethood, luminous and spiritual personality should also be considered along with his human nature.

Badiuzzaman said Nursi explains with a nice example that the emergence of such a holy and supreme spiritual figure from the human nature of the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) should be analyzed with his material personality as well as his spiritual personality and gives the peacock as an example. The egg of the peacock is given warmth, and a chick is hatched from it. Then, this chick becomes a beautifully adorned peacock gilded all over with the imprint of power. It grows and becomes beautiful gradually.

When a connection between the peacock and the egg is established, man should turn his face away from the ordinary egg and look at the beautiful peacock. He should pay attention with that viewpoint. Otherwise, he will not believe that such a beautiful bird will emerge from such an egg. He will not be able to accept the bird's qualities, features and beautiful colors. However, if he takes into consideration the bird with the egg, he will not deny; he will accept the real nature of the bird easily.

Yes, as it is seen in the example, the human aspect of the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) is like that egg. His essential nature, illumined with the function of messengership is like the birds of Paradise... That is why, when you think of the man who disputed in the market with a bedouin, you should also turn the eye of imagination to that luminous being who, riding the Rafraf, leaving Gabriel behind, reached the “distance of two bowstrings. Otherwise you will either be disrespectful toward him, or fail to convince the evil-commanding soul."

In that case, it is necessary to attribute some of the states of the Prophet (pbuh), especially his human aspects, to his imamate and leadership and to consider his great personality and level of spirituality together with them.

With Trump as President, the World Is Spiraling Into Chaos https://nyti.ms/305ERbG

With Trump as President, the World Is Spiraling Into Chaos

Trump torched America’s foreign policy infrastructure. The results are becoming clear.

By Michelle Goldberg, Opinion Columnist | Published August 16, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 16, 2019 |

Earlier this week, Pakistan’s ambassador to the United States, Asad Majeed Khan, visited The New York Times editorial board, and I asked him about the threat of armed conflict between his country and India over Kashmir. India and Pakistan have already fought two wars over the Himalayan territory, which both countries claim, and which is mostly divided between them. India recently revoked the constitutionally guaranteed autonomy of the part of Kashmir it controls and put nearly seven million people there under virtual house arrest. Pakistan’s prime minister  compared India’s leaders to Nazis and warned that they’ll target Pakistan next. It seems like there’s potential for humanitarian and geopolitical horror.

Khan’s answer was not comforting. “We are two big countries with very large militaries with nuclear capability and a history of conflict,” he said. “So I would not like to burden your imagination on that one, but obviously if things get worse, then things get worse.”

All over the world, things are getting worse. China appears to be weighing a Tiananmen Square-like crackdown in Hong Kong. After I spoke to Khan, hostilities between India and Pakistan ratcheted up further; on Thursday, fighting across the border in Kashmir left three Pakistani soldiers dead. (Pakistan also claimed that five Indian soldiers were killed, but India denied it.) Turkey is threatening to invade Northeast Syria to go after America’s Kurdish allies there, and it’s not clear if an American agreement meant to prevent such an incursion will hold.

North Korea’s nuclear program and ballistic missile testing continue apace. The prospect of a two-state solution in Israel and Palestine is more remote than it’s been in decades. Tensions between America and Iran keep escalating. Relations between Japan and South Korea have broken down. A Pentagon report warns that ISIS is “re-surging” in Syria. The U.K. could see food shortages if the country’s Trumpish prime minister, Boris Johnson, follows through on his promise to crash out of the European Union without an agreement in place for the aftermath. Oh, and the globe may be lurching towards recession.

In a world spiraling towards chaos, we can begin to see the fruits of Donald Trump’s erratic, amoral and incompetent foreign policy, his systematic undermining of alliances and hollowing out of America’s diplomatic and national security architecture. Over the last two and a half years, Trump has been playing Jenga with the world order, pulling out once piece after another. For a while, things more or less held up. But now the whole structure is teetering.

To be sure, most of these crises have causes other than Trump. Even competent American administrations can’t dictate policy to other countries, particularly powerful ones like India and China. But in one flashpoint after another, the Trump administration has either failed to act appropriately, or acted in ways that have made things worse. “Almost everything they do is the wrong move,” said Susan Thornton, who until last year was the acting assistant secretary of state for East Asian and Pacific affairs, America’s top diplomat for Asia.

Consider Trump’s role in the Kashmir crisis. In July, during a White House visit by Pakistani Prime Minister Imran Khan, Trump offered to mediate India and Pakistan’s long-running conflict over Kashmir, even suggesting that Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi had asked him to do so. Modi’s government quickly denied this, and Trump’s words reportedly alarmed India, which has long resisted outside involvement in Kashmir. Two weeks later, India sent troops to lock Kashmir down, then stripped it of its autonomy.

Americans have grown used to ignoring Trump’s casual lies and verbal incontinence, but people in other countries have not. Thornton thinks the president’s comments were a “precipitating factor” in Modi’s decision to annex Kashmir. By blundering into the conflict, she suggested, Trump put the Indian prime minister on the defensive before his Hindu nationalist constituency. “He might not have had to do that,” she said of Modi’s Kashmir takeover, “but he would have had to do something. And this was the thing he was looking to do anyway.”

At the same time, Modi can be confident that Trump, unlike previous American presidents, won’t even pretend to care about democratic backsliding or human rights abuses, particularly against Muslims. “There’s a cost-benefit analysis that any political leader makes,” said Ben Rhodes, a former top Obama national security aide. “If the leader of India felt like he was going to face public criticism, potential scrutiny at the United Nations,” or damage to the bilateral relationship with the United States, “that might affect his cost-benefit analysis.” Trump’s instinctive sympathy for authoritarian leaders empowers them diplomatically.

Obviously, India and Pakistan still have every interest in avoiding a nuclear holocaust. China may show restraint on Hong Kong. Wary of starting a war before the 2020 election, Trump might make a deal with Iran, though probably a worse one than the Obama agreement that he jettisoned. The global economy could slow down but not seize up. We could get through the next 17 months with a world that still looks basically recognizable.

Even then, America will emerge with a desiccated diplomatic corps, strained alliances, and a tattered reputation. It will never again play the same leadership role internationally that it did before Trump.

And that’s the best-case scenario. The most powerful country in the world is being run by a sundowning demagogue whose oceanic ignorance is matched only by his gargantuan ego. The United States has been lucky that things have hung together as much as they have, save the odd government shutdown or white nationalist terrorist attack. But now, in foreign affairs as in the economy, the consequences of not having a functioning American administration are coming into focus. “No U.S. leadership is leaving a vacuum,” said Thornton. We’ll see what gets sucked into it.

If You Think Trump Is Helping Israel, You’re a Fool

By barring Representatives Omar and Tlaib, Netanyahu made the president happy. But he has poisoned relations with America.

By Thomas L. Friedman, Opinion Columnist | Published Aug. 16, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 16, 2019 |

I am going to say this as simply and clearly as I can: If you’re an American Jew and you’re planning on voting for Donald Trump because you think he is pro-Israel, you’re a damn fool.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. Trump has said and done many things that are in the interests of the current Israeli government — and have been widely appreciated by the Israeli public. To deny that would be to deny the obvious. But here’s what’s also obvious. Trump’s way of — and motivation for — expressing his affection for Israel is guided by his political desire to improve his re-election chances by depicting the entire Republican Party as pro-Israel and the entire Democratic Party as anti-Israel.

As a result, Trump — with the knowing help of Israel’s current prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu — is doing something no American president and Israeli prime minister have done before: They’re making support for Israel a wedge issue in American politics.

Few things are more dangerous to Israel’s long-term interests than its becoming a partisan matter in America, which is Israel’s vital political, military and economic backer in the world.

As Dore Gold, the right-wing former Israeli ambassador to the United Nations and once a very close adviser to Netanyahu, warned in a dialogue at the Hudson Institute on Nov. 27, 2018: “You reach out to Democrats, and you reach out to Republicans. And you don’t get caught playing partisan politics in the United States.’’

Trump’s campaign to tar the entire Democratic Party with some of the hostile views toward Israel of a few of its newly elected congresswomen — and Netanyahu’s careless willingness to concede to Trump’s demand and bar two of them, Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib, from visiting Israel and the West Bank — is part of a process that will do huge, long-term damage to Israel’s interests and support in America.

Netanyahu later relented and granted a visa to Tlaib, who is of Palestinian descent, for a private, “humanitarian’’ visit to see her 90-year-old grandmother — provided she agree in writing not to advocate the boycott of Israel while there. At first Tlaib agreed, but then decided that she would not come under such conditions.

Excuse me, but when did powerful Israel — a noisy, boisterous democracy where Israeli Arabs in its parliament say all kinds of wild and crazy things — get so frightened by what a couple of visiting freshman American congresswomen might see or say? When did Israel get so afraid of saying to them: “Come, visit, go anywhere you want! We’ve got our warts and we’ve got our good stuff. We’d just like you to visit both. But if you don’t, we’ll live with that too. We’re pretty tough.’’

It’s too late for that now. The damage of what Trump and Bibi have been up to — formally making Israel a wedge issue in American politics — is already done. Do not be fooled: Netanyahu, through his machinations with Senate Republicans, can get the United States Congress to give him an audience anytime he wants. But Bibi could not speak on any major American college campus today without massive police protection. The protests would be huge.

And listen now to some of the leading Democratic presidential candidates, like Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders — you can hear how unhappy they are with the behavior of this Israeli government and its continued occupation of the West Bank. And they are not afraid to say so anymore. As The Jerusalem Post reported on July 11, “Sen. Elizabeth Warren, whose presidential candidacy has rallied in recent weeks, told two Jewish anti-occupation activists ‘yes’ when they asked her for support.’’

But who can blame them? Trump is equating the entire Democratic Party with hatred for Israel, while equating support for Netanyahu — who leads the most extreme, far-right government that Israel has ever had, who is facing indictment on three counts of corruption and whose top priority is getting re-elected so that he can have the Israeli Knesset overrule its justice system and keep him out of court — with loving Israel.

How many young Americans want to buy into that narrative? If Bibi wins, he plans to pass a law banning his own indictment on corruption, and then, when Israel’s Supreme Court strikes down that law as illegal, he plans to get the Knesset to pass another law making the Supreme Court subservient to his parliament. I am not making this up. Israel will become a Jewish banana republic.

If and when that happens, every synagogue, every campus Hillel, every Jewish institution, every friend of Israel will have to ask: Can I support such an Israel? It will tear apart the entire pro-Israel community and every synagogue and Jewish Federation.

Then add another factor. By moving the American Embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem — and turning that embassy, led by a Trump crony, Ambassador David Friedman, into an outpost for advancing the interests of Israeli Jewish settlers, not American interests — Trump has essentially greenlighted the Israeli annexation of the West Bank.

Again, should Netanyahu remain prime minister — which is possible only if he puts together a ruling coalition made up of far-right parties that want to absorb the West Bank and its 2.5 million Palestinians into Israel — Israel will be on its way to becoming either a binational state of Arabs and Jews or a state that systematically deprives a large and growing segment of its population of the democratic right to vote. Neither will be a Jewish democracy, the dream of Israel’s founders and still the defining, but endangered, political characteristic of the state.

Don’t get me wrong. I strongly oppose the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement — which Representatives Omar and Tlaib have embraced — because it wants to erase the possibility of a two-state solution. And I am particularly unhappy with Representative Omar.

I know a lot about her home district in Minnesota, because I grew up in it, in St. Louis Park. Omar represents the biggest concentration of Jews and Muslims living together in one district in the Upper Midwest. She was perfectly placed to be a bridge builder between Muslims and Jews. Instead, sadly, she has been a bridge destroyer between the two since she came to Washington. But anytime she is legitimately criticized, Democrats automatically scream “Islamophobia’’ and defend her. That’s as disturbing as Trump.

I know that more than a few Somali immigrants in Minneapolis, who face so many challenges — from gang violence to unemployment — are asking why is Omar spending time on the West Bank of the Jordan and not on the West Bank of the Mississippi?

I love Israelis, Palestinians and Arabs — but God save me from some of their American friends. So many of them just want to exploit this problem to advance themselves politically, get attention, raise money or delegitimize their opponents.

In that, Trump is not alone — he’s just the worst of the worst.

Young Justice Theory: So I want to talk about Halo...

I’ve seen a lot of discussion about Halo the character in Young Justice. And, while I’m loathed to throw myself into this discourse, I feel like a lot of misinformation is being bandied about in regard to the character.

Now let me say this much, I am not coming at this from the standpoint of the character being a Muslim girl. Rather I’m coming at this from the standpoint of what and who the character is and why I think a lot of this commentary is…a bit of an issue when it comes to Halo and her role in the series.

So let’s start at the beginning. Who is Halo...?

The original Halo is a girl by the name of Violet Harper who was a troubled teen. She and her then boyfriend stole a drug formula from Tobais Whale (if you watch Black Lighting you will know about this kingpin) and ran off to Markovia where she was killed by an Assassin sent out by Whale. Her body was later found by the the Aurakle, who took it over and revived her. Batman discovered her, and she had no idea who she was. Due to her using Light powers he gave her the code name Halo, so he could at least call her something, and the two helped form the Outsiders to deal with the war in Markovia.

During her time with the Outsiders, Halo takes the name Gabrielle Doe and lives in a penthouse with Katana, becoming Katana’s Legal ward. She attended high school and started to date, making Brion a bit jealous, and the two realized when they spoiled one another’s dates that they loved one another. Eventually Batman found out Halo’s past and she eventually went to live with Violet’s parents, discovered that Violet needed to make amends for her past behavior and then broke things off with Brion.

Tobais Whale came back into Halo’s life seeking out the drug formula, and kidnapped her parents. She had no idea what he was talking about as the memory of the theft was gone, even with the help of her friends Violet’s parents were killed. Her memories were returned when the JL discovered what possessed her body, and the Auakle wanted to split her and their friend, killing her in the process. The outsiders saved her, and was finally left in peace to go find herself.

During this time she got lured into the Kobra cult and had to be saved by the Outsiders once more, rejoined them. However her body was killed during events of an attack on Markovia, where the ex wife of one of the Outsiders allies, and Halo took over the body of Marissa Barron, but went by the name of Violet due to connections to her former body.

In addition the new 52 redid her story to have it where Violet was imprisoned by the Kobra cult in Markovia. During this time Katana, who is on her own mission, frees Violet and steals a police van with the girl, only for the two to be caught when they stop the van to rest, thinking they’re safe.

In the redone story of Halo, the Aurkles have been captured by Kobra, and with the help of a kidnapped Scientist (I think it’s Dr. Jace) Violet is forced to experimented upon and this gives her super powers. The try to mind control her, but the Aurkles breaks free and kills everyone present but shields Violet from harm. Katana threatens to kill them and they back off allowing her and Violet to escape.

When awake from her ordeal Violet uses her powers but Katana and her partner the Entchantress knock her out. Enchantress at the time tries to free Violet from the Aurkles, but the bond is permanent. During this time the Aurkles try to free their friend, but their actions would have killed Halo, so Enchantress has to kill them to keep her alive. Halo saves Katana and Enchantress and Katana takes Halo on as a sister and offers to let her live with her.

Second question…what is Qurac?

Okay so while one can see Qurac as a fake name for Iraq the two nations are not the same and are independent of one another’s history.

Qurac is a gulf nation that runs along the eastern boarder of the Sinai Peninsula from Oman and Rub’al Khali on the south, Saudi Arabia and the Summan on the west and Iraq and Wadi al Batin on the north.

It’s considered an Outlaw nation due to it’s anti-u.s. policies and was a major sponsor of terrorism in the west. Originally, it was ruled by the Ottoman Empire until around the time of WW1 when English and Arab forces defeated the Empire, and the area then held by England until WW2. Now things get interesting…

So during WW2 the Premier of Iraq, one Al-Gailiani, who was a Arab Nationalist, decided to replace the then moderate Iraqi government with a Pro-Axis one. The Brits were having none of that thus the Invasion of Basra in 1941.

Hassan al-Sadr, one of Al-Gailiani’s supporters, fled south and galvanized Arab tribesmen into an army, and, taking the name Sulieman, he was aided by the Germans with materials and funding to establish the nation of Qurac. Because of their alliance Qurac allowed the building of Jotunheim, a giant fortress which was later assaulted by the Suicide Squad when a terrorist organization took hold of it. Jotunheim wrecked the shipping in the Oman and Persian gulfs during this time, and eventually Sulieman’s regime was defeated by the end of the war.

After WW2 Qurac became a republic and that lasted until the 1970s when a military coup led by General Marlo, overthrew the elected government and declared it a military dictatorship, against the will of the people. During his reign Marlo has tested nuclear devices that contaminated the oil supply which is the foremost natural resources. This lead Marlo to attack several international locations, among them Metropolis, causing Superman to come after him and destroy much of his military capability. Marlo eventually was defeated and brought to stand trial thanks to the work of the Suicide squad. Sometime later Cheshire used a nuclear missile on the nation as a means to show she wasn’t afraid of using the weapons she had stolen, causing trouble for aid workers to help survivors.

So that is the comic history of the nation and character…

Question three is…what is a mother box and a New God?

So a New God is a being that is from New Genesis or Apokolips. Respectively you can see them as a heavenly place or a hellish landscape. Batman believes each New God represents something, like Orion is War, Mr. Miracle is Freedom, etc. They live on the Fourth world which is in close proximity to the Source, which is basically a place where most of the powers of the universe come from.

“The Source is the "source" of all that exists and acts as the limitless energy from which all life sprang forth in the Universe. The Source created and was created by the emergence of the Universe approximately 19 billion years ago.[1] Mostly associated with the New Gods, the Source was the supposed origin of the "Godwave" that is believed to have been responsible for creating and empowering the "Gods" with their divine abilities. It also seems to be partially responsible for the ability of certain people to develop super-powers, especially those which defy the laws of physics.

Lying at the edge of the known multiverse is the Source Wall, which protects the Source, and traps all those who attempt to pass beyond it as Promethean Giants.”

So New Gods evolved into almost perfect beings due to their close connection to the source, their technology and other factors. They’re faster, stronger, smarter, etc. than their cousins the humans of earth, even though they look like us.

Another factor about the New Gods is that they are technically immortal, have acceletated healing, and you can’t really kill them with natural means, you need a specific sort of material to use against them, or they just will keep healing up and fixing themselves. Now I don’t know if anyone of them has ever revived directly from death, but near death…yes, several times.

They also obtain powers that are pretty much super depending on who it is.

As for the Mother Box…

So these “living computers” are half sentient being half highly developed machine. The New God Himon, who used Tenth Metal to build the boxes, which is seen as possibly being alive, created them and they can do a number of things. Anything from forming a boom tube, to translating, to energy manipulations to teleportation to, even healing an injury.

According to Metron, one of the smartest New Gods, the Mother box shares a rapport with nature and it’s user, providing unconditional love to the person that owns it and will self destruct should the person that owned it die. Keep in mind the mother box can be woven into just about anything, Scott Free has his in his costume as a part of it.

The list of things they can do is wild:

Change gravity

Transfer energy from one place to another

 Control the mental state of a host

 Communicate with other life forms

 Manipulate the life force of a host to sustain it past fatal injuries,

Open and close boom tubes

Take over and control non-sentient machines

Merge sentient beings into a single more powerful being

Sustain a life form in a hostile environment.

Okay so now about Earth 16 Halo….

So what do we know about Violet? We know that she was named Gabrielle and that she was a citizen of the republic of Qurac, which has been having strife with Queen Bee. We know that she came to Markovia after being chased down by a group of monsters that seems to be attacking. For some reason she agreed to open the door to let assassins in to kill the King and Queen and then was killed herself to install a mother box in her.

It’s clear by now it’s a mother box. But who did it belong to.

This becomes important I think in understanding the character we have here. Gabriella died, and while the Mother box did revive her, much like the original Halo, this is not the same girl that was Gabrielle. This isn’t a case of amnesia, the only thing keeping Violet alive right now is that box inside her, and that box, should the owner die, will destroy itself, unless it sees Gabriella as it’s owner now.

This means that the girl that we have before us isn’t really Gabrielle, she is the Mother box (or New God) taking on a new form, and reading the memories that are storied in Gabrielle’s mind. Because of the fact that the original Gabrielle died, we can then view this person as someone that is, for lack of a better term, wearing Gabrielle’s skin. This also brings up the question of identity and if the being inside her, that being this Mother box, identifies with Gabrielle’s religion or not. Violet at this point clearly feels that continuing to at least wear the hijab is the right thing to do for her, as she says, “it feels right” shows that at least the Mother box is reading the remaining emotions or whatever, inside of Gabrielle’s memories.

A lot of the issues people seem to be having with her centers around if she is her nationality, and honestly I have to say, no, she is not. The moment Gabrielle died and the Mother box activated reviving her, she lost all of that. She became a new person who is learning to be the person that Gabrielle was, but she is not Gabrielle. Thus the taking of the new name. Because of this, you can’t really judge the character on the outfits or actions they put her in based on who Gabrielle was, because this isn’t her anymore, and I don’t think this is ever going to be again. The girl that was Gabrielle died, she is dead, and there is no bringing her back. All we have now is Violet, a person who is learning to be a person, who is experiencing things for the first time inside a person’s body.

Now was it a smart idea to make her a Muslim girl from Qurac, compared to her original form, I don’t know. On the one hand, I can see where the issues regarding her being killed over and over can come off as something horrible. And that her outfit wouldn’t be seen as proper (and compared to M from Marvel this is a pretty fully covered look) compared to say Ms. Marvel’s look. However, on the other side of things, this isn’t Gabrielle anymore and because of that she has to be looked at by a different standard as she has no clue what Gabrielle would and wouldn’t wear. It’s also important to note that their costumes were designed to best suit their powers, and more than likely Fire set Violet up with cloth that would make it easier to use her abilities, much like Geoforce not ripping off all his clothing.

As more and more of Gabrielle’s memories come back, the likelihood is that Violet will have to face a choice to live as Violet or as Gabrielle. There’s also the added issue of the Mother Box and, well, who’s it is and if there is a New God in her or at least, accessing her body.

Keep in mind also that Mother boxes don’t normally create illusions, but New Gods do. Right now there’s some form of confirmation that the Mother box is inside Halo, thus making her what she is. We know that the powers she has seems to mirror that of the Mother boxes, and yet there are a few that don’t.

Halo can fly, while the Mother box can alter gravity it can’t make someone fly. Halo can cast illusions, create beams, Force fields, etc. the Mother box can’t do that –unless that falls under energy manipulation, which it could, but it still leads to the other option that could be happening here.

The Mother box is working in tandem with a New God is one of the other options for this. We’ve heard that the Mother box is inside Halo and keeping her alive. However there is the option for a New God to be using the body as well. New Gods can poessess others, it’s one of the options of their powers, and the one New God that matches a lot of the powers that Violet has right now is Solis, or Light Ray.

Lightray or Solis,  is the best friend of Orion, a powerful New God that can fly, has accelerated healing, Photokinesis or the ability to manipulate light in many ways, including force fields, blasts and casting illusions. The reason I bring him up at all is because of what Bear states in Away Mission. During the episode Bear, says that that the Real Orion is away from New Genesis. Now why could that be?

Originally I thought that this meant that the Mother box could be Orion’s and that they were holding him captive. However, the big thing about this is that you don’t just capture a Mother Box, it’s not easy to get, and the other factor is that Orion’s controls his beast/rage form. Without it he becomes a wild animal. 

Which could explain the monster we see chasing down Halo and the others in her memories.

The other option is that the mother box belonged to Lightray who is being  held prisoner, as with Orion, only he tapped into his connection with his Mother box and is now connected to it allowing Halo to access his powers until help can arrive in the form of Orion.

So we have three options here.

Option 1. Halo’s powers come strictly from the Mother Box and the Mother box has become the person Violet that is now inhabiting the mortal remains of Gabrielle Doe, who was the girl from Qurac that died at the hands of Ecks and the others.

Option 2. Halo’s powers are coming from a mix of the Mother box and Lightray/Solis who is right now incapacitated and is using his mother box inside Halo to keep others from using him for whatever purpose that they will. And that Orion is looking for his best friend, thus why M’comm was able to pretend to be him.

Option 3. Halo’s powers are coming from the Mother box, but the box belongs to a captured Orion. Should Orion be saved this could put a serious issue up in the air for Halo. As the Mother box would belong to Orion this would mean it may have to be removed as it has a connection to Orion and would want to go back with him home, since it helps calm him down. Orion could be a dick about it and want it back as well leading to a fight over Halo and her life, or he could be talked down from it by Bear and the other Forever people, which is also an option here.

Ultimately I feel like a lot of people are viewing Halo in a way that seems to be under the impression that she’s alive. Let me reiterate, she is not. She is not the girl that died, she is a vastly different character, one who’s deaths I think mean something. Each death may be processed by the Mother box for a reason, and probably will be used later in the story. As she understands that pain the box can then probably dish out everything upon someone that is attacking them at some point. That is honestly where I think we are going with this.

I hope this all makes sense.

Muslim converts to Christianity

Ubaydallah ibn Jahsh: (d. 627) the first cousin and brother-in-law of the Muslim prophet Muhammad, Ubaydallah was one of the four ḥunafā', a group of friends who rejected idol worship and followed a form of philosophical monotheism in the years before Muhammad’s declaration of prophethood. Ubaydallah was an early convert to Islam, which resonated with his own ideas about God; during the early persecution of the movement, he and a group of other Muslims moved to the Christian kingdom of Aksum, which gave the community asylum. While he lived in Aksum, he encountered Christianity and converted to the faith, which created friction in the refugee community, ultimately resulting in his wife Ramla leaving him because of his apostasy. He died in Aksum, and his wife would later marry Muhammad. Ṣurḥān of Dwin: (d. 703-705)  Ṣurḥān was an Arab soldier stationed in Armenia in the late 650s. Armenia represented the very border of the Islamic Empire, a border that ultimately could not be controlled in the wake of the civil war that broke out in Syria. As Arab troops were recalled to fight the Umayyads, Ṣurḥān took advantage of the chaos in order to stay, having grow attached to the Armenian community. He was baptized, got married to a local woman, and had several kids with her. About forty years later, the Islamic Empire (now controlled by the Umayyads) decided to end Armenian semi-independent rule and sent a new governor to control the region. As an example for others against apostasy from Islam, the governor ordered the crucifixion of Ṣurḥān, who was forced to face southward (the direction of Mecca) as a symbolic act of submission. It is said that this cross miraculously turned eastward, the traditional direction of Christian prayer, before he died. Anthony al-Qurayshi: (d. 799) Rawḥ was a member of the Quraysh tribe, the same one that Muhammad was born into, and a possible former Umayyad who defected to the ‘Abbasid dynasty. Like many Muslim aristocrats, he lived in a monastery-palace, where he was known to harass the priest, remove the crosses, and even eat the Host from the tabernacle. One day, he decided to use an icon of Saint Theodore for target practice, but when he fired his arrow, it miraculously turned on him and shot him through the hand. This, compounded with a vision a few days later in which the Eucharist became a lamb during Mass, and an appearance by Saint Theodore himself to chastise him, Rawḥ decided to convert to Christianity. Patriarch Elias II was afraid that his conversion would cause controversy, so sent him to the River Jordan to be baptized and given the name Anthony. From there, he wandered the desert for a few years as an ascetic before returning home to Damascus; his family mocked him and demanded he revert, but he would not; he was taken before the Caliph; he was beheaded on Christmas of 799, a fate he gladly accepted in atonement for previous raids he had committed against Byzantine settlements. Renouard of Toulouse: (fl. late 8th Century) A lieutenant of Saint William Fièrebrace, who was a duke know for his conflicts with the Umayyad Emirate. Renouard was apparently a Spanish Muslim who converted to Christianity and defected to William’s side. Both figures were immortalized in the chansons de geste that circulated in 12th and 13th century France. Saint Casilda of Toledo: (fl. early 11th Century) the daughter of the ruler of Islamic Toledo, Casilda was especially known for her compassion for prisoners. She would often sneak extra bread to them. When she became ill, she made a pilgrimage to the well of Saint Vincent in Burgos, presumably at the suggestion of some of the Christian prisoners. When she was cured, she chose to be baptized and lived to be 100 while living a solitary life of prayer near the well. Zayda of Seville: (fl. late 11th Century) the daughter-in-law of King al-Mu’tamid, the last Abbadid ruler of Seville. When the Almoravids, a Moroccan reform movement known for its strict interpretations of Islam, overthrew the more lenient Muslim kingdoms of Iberia, Zayda fled to Castille, where she became the mistress of Alfonso IV. She was eventually baptized as ‘Isabel’. After this, events become a little more murky; she gave birth to Alfonso’s only son, an illegitimate child named Sancho. She may have died giving birth to him, or she may have died giving birth to another child. If the latter is the case, it is possible that Zayda and Alfonso’s wife, Queen Isabel, are the same person. If that is the case, she gave birth to two more children. Fátima of Portugal: (d. mid 12th Century) a ‘Moorish princess’ according to oral tradition, probably a member of lesser nobility. In the year 1158, she and a group of other Muslims were captured while picnicking at a river by al-Qaşr. While in captivity, Fátima is said to have fallen in love with the leader of the Christian war band, Gonçalo Hermingues. She converted to Christianity in order to marry him, taking on Oureanna (‘Golden-One’) as her baptismal name. Tragically, she died shortly thereafter, and the heartbroken knight named a town after her. Centuries later, in 1917, the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to three shepherd children in this town. Saint ‘Bersabei’: (d. 1480) the name given to an Ottoman officer by later Christian chroniclers. Bersabei was a member of the Ottoman force that conquered Otranto in 1480, under the command of Mehmet II the Conqueror. When the city fell in August of that year, the inhabitants were variously killed, sold into slavery, or forcibly converted to Islam. A group of 813 men who were commanded to convert refused; they were led up to a mountain now known as the Hill of Martyrs, where executioners (including Bersabei) killed them. During the mass martyrdom, the devotion of these Christians (and a miracle in which one of the martyred Christians continued to stand upright after his decapitation) caused this officer to declare his belief in their faith. He was subsequently impaled, dying alongside the martyrs of Otranto. These martyrs were canonized as saints in 2013. Omar ibn Said: (1770-1864) Born in the Imamate of Futa Toro, Omar ibn Said was captured and ‘sold into the hands of the Christians’ in 1807. He died a slave, in North Carolina. Omar ibn Said was an intelligent man who had grown up learning a variety of subjects from prominent scholars in his home region; he became famous in America for his literacy in Arabic, especially after writing on the walls of a jail cell after having been caught in an escape attempt. After being sold to the brother of the governor of North Carolina, he was supplied with both an Arabic Bible and an English Qur’an. Though he practiced Christianity, this seems to have been less a ‘conversion’ in a modern sense and more a simultaneous practicing of both Christianity and Islam (a sociological phenomenon that has a name, but I can’t remember it right now). His own Arabic writings reveal both a gratitude to the Owens family for his conversion to Christianity, as well as many invocations of blessings upon Jesus and Muhammad and quotations of the Qur’an from memory. In 1991, a mosque in North Carolina was named after him. Imaduddin Lahiz: (1830-1900) a fourth generation maulvi living in what was then Punjab, known for translating the Qur’an into Urdu and attacking the Ahmadi movement from a Sunni perspective. He converted to Christianity in 1866, along with his wife and nine children. This conversion was extremely controversial; like many converts during the colonial period, his intentions were seen as suspect and driven more by desire for material gain and affluence than a genuine faith. It reached the point where he felt the need to specify in his autobiography that he had converted ‘simply for the sake of attaining salvation’. He wrote several Biblical commentaries. Bonus: Bramimonde (Possibly 8th Century, possibly completely fictional) depicted in The Song of Roland as the wife of the ruler of Zaragoza, the city which Charlemagne attempted to seize from the Umayyad Emirate in 778. Historically, this campaign ended in a failure, with Charlemagne never again entering Iberia after the catastrophe of the Battle of Roncevaux Pass. The poet of The Song of Roland, however, wrote a different ending. In this ending, Charlemagne attacks Zaragoza a second time to avenge the death of his friend Roland, in which both Bramimonde’s husband Marsile and son Jurfaleu the Blonde are ultimately killed. Bramimonde is taken captive, and whereas most of the other captives are forcibly converted to Christianity, Bramimonde’s special status as widow to a king causes her to be catechized first; she is baptized when she decides she believes, taking on the name Juliana.

How about a little scene of Ana saying goodbye to Sam and little Fareeha before going off to fight in the Omnic Crisis?

I headcanon that Ana was called back to Egyptian special forces and spent several months with them before being called into Overwatch. 

—-

Fareeha had been put in bed and Ana and Sam were exhausted enough to go to bed themselves, but they had resigned to slumping against each other in a half-asleep haze on the couch together. Their holovid screen was casting dancing blue lights on both of them. They knew the smart thing was to go to bed, but with Fareeha in her demanding toddling years, they hardly got much time just to be together alone like this. Neither of them was paying particular attention to what they were watching, but the stream was pleasant background noise.

At 10:37 it was cut short by a blaring beep, so loud and grating that it jolted both Sam and Ana awake. 

“This stream has been interrupted by an emergency broadcast,” an automated voice blared from the holovid screen as Ana seized the remote and turned down the volume, “Please stand by.”

Both Sam and Ana’s phones started buzzing with a spill of messages. Their group chats with various colleagues around the world were suddenly bursting to life, messages of “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” “I can see the smoke!” “Has anyone gotten in contact with Fatih? I can’t get a hold of him” “How close were you to the first attack site?” stacking on top of each other down the phone’s screens. The holovid screen cut to a news reporter, shivering in smoke and snow flurries as a column of fire.

“Oh no,” Ana said quietly. 

“I’m here live in front of the site of a devastating series of drone strikes that have caused yet-untold damages to the Detroit-Windsor area. Authorities are still evacuating the area and—”

“A terrorist attack?” said Sam. 

Ana put a tense hand on his shoulder and he fell quiet. She could feel his eyes flicking between her and the holoscreen. 

“Satellite imaging indicates that the drones were short range, likely within the Detroit area.”

“What–Why would the states strike us and themselves?” said Sam.

Ana glanced down at her phone. “What did they mean by ‘First attack site?’” she said aloud.

Sam looked over at Ana, then changed the holovid channel where a news reporter was speaking urgently in Korean, subtitles translating is words rapidly in a red line underneath him.

“Just minutes ago Busan suffered a–”

Sam changed the channel again.

“London has not seen an attack of this scale since the second World War–”

He changed it again.

“As favelas do Rio estão no caos enquanto as autoridades lutam para entender-”

He changed it again. Ana’s stomach lurched at the sight of the familiar scroll of arabic at the bottom of the screen, and at the skyline of her own birthplace.

“Cairo was not equipped to handle an attack of this magnitude,” the reporter was saying, “We’re looking at a strike of unimaginable destruction. The human death toll is–”

Ana broke her eyes away from the screen and Sam turned it off.

“…they’re going to ask for you to come back, aren’t they?” his voice was quiet.

“They’re going to need me,” said Ana, her voice strained.

“We need you,” the words fell out of Sam and he instantly regretted them, “I’m sorry–” he added quickly, “I know it’s…” he took a deep breath.

“I know,” said Ana.

Sam clasped a hand around hers.

The next few hours were spent anxiously watching the news reports and desperately calling and texting friends and family, bouncing between stories of devastation from all around the world. The attacks were indiscriminate–striking global population centers hard and fast. It was 3 AM by the time Ana and Sam were finally able to tear themselves away from the screen and catch a few hours of light, dreamless sleep–a sleep that was more about keeping exhaustion at bay than getting actual rest. The next day they told Fareeha they were going on vacation, loaded up the car, and left Vancouver, heading for Sam’s cabin up north. It only took watching the news for a little while to know they had to get away from the cities and fast. 

The call came a few days later. The flight back to Cairo was all prepped, they were even sending a car for her, Ana only needed to ready herself. Ana didn’t have much to bring with her aside from some photos of Fareeha and Sam, her old fatigues, and a handful of toiletries and other necessities. She was a minimalist like that.

“But you said when we’d go back to Egypt, we’d all go together,” Fareeha pouted.

“And we will, ḥabībti, one day, when it’s safe,” said Ana.

“Are you going to be in trouble?” Fareeha’s small hands were wringing the fabric of Ana’s fatigues. 

“Mummy’s going to be saving people” said Sam, kneeling down to Fareeha’s level. 

Ana dropped down to one knee as well. “Fareeha, I’m going to be gone for a long while,” she said rifling through her pockets, “I’ll talk to you and your father through the holo every chance I get, but you have to promise me you’ll be strong, all right?”

Fareeha’s pout turned into a tense, thin-lipped expression, weighing Ana’s words. “How long?” there was a shake to her voice.

Ana stroked the side of Fareeha’s face with her other hand. “I… I don’t know yet. But I’ll come back to you and your father the first chance I get.” 

Fareeha looked down.

“Habībti,” Ana spoke gently and brought a hand up under Fareeha’s chin, “I have something for you.” She pulled four gold beads from her pocket and pinched a lock of Pharah’s hair between her fingers. Ana couldn’t cook worth a damn, but when it came to braiding hair, she was almost as good a braider as a sniper. Her fingers worked quickly. “These were on a necklace of your grandmother’s,” said Ana, tying off the gold beads at the tips of Pharah’s braids, “It fell apart when we moved up to Vancouver, and I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, but I think that must have happened for a reason.” Fareeha’s hair was so soft and thick between her fingers. Ana tried not to think of how long she would go without touching it, without brushing it. Without brushing her teeth next to her daughter in the morning with foam running down Fareeha’s chin. She tied off the last braid. “Our ancestors believed that gold was divine and indestructible, that it was the light of the sun and the flesh of the gods made tangible. That the gods would bless and protect the kings and queens who wore it. When you miss me, I want you to look at these and know that no matter how far I am from you, I will do everything in my power to protect you. Do you understand?”

Fareeha’s small hand went up and felt at the beads, still warm from her mother’s touch. She gave a hesitant nod. Ana was littering her daughter’s face with kisses as the jeep pulled up to take her off to the airfield.

Fareeha was hugging at Ana’s knees when Sam took her in his arms and kissed her.

“There’s gotta be a better way than this,” said Sam, tucking back Ana’s long black hair.

“The second I find a better way, I’ll let you know,” said Ana, kissing him on the cheek, “Keep her safe for me.”

“Always,” said Sam.

Fareeha valiantly stuffed back her tears for the last few goodbyes. Ana felt her stomach drop as the door of the jeep closed and they started pulling away down the cabin’s dirt road. Ana gave a shuddering breath and sniffled, stuffing down her own urge to cry as she turned and looked at the pines rolling past the jeep. She caught sight of something in the rearview mirror and her breath caught in her throat. Fareeha was running after the jeep, her face flushed and wet and the dust of the dirt road the jeep was kicking up sticking to her tear tracks. Sam managed to catch up to Fareeha and hold her and Ana could hear the wail of Fareeha’s cries. Ana bit the inside of her lip hard as both of them shrank into the distance behind her, before the road curved and they disappeared completely. 

My speaker attitudes towards dialects

(Adapted from a Reddit comment of mine.)

People who think they know a thing or two about linguistics often tend to chastise others for their prescriptivism, especially others who know a thing or two about linguistics (and I should know—I got my BA in linguistics and East Asian studies). What they tend to ignore, however, is that a key part of linguistics is sociolinguistics, and a key part of that is speakers’ attitudes.

We are speakers. We live in a society where our language is spoken, and we know when and where certain features are used, and our attitude changes accordingly. It’s as inevitable as the change in language itself. Of course, sometimes it’s blatantly classist/racist/sexist, but that’s another issue. Oftentimes it’s purely æsthetic or something related to other issues.

So what about me as a speaker?

Generally I prefer conservative dialects of just about any language, as they maintain certain distinctions that others lose (which can lead to confusion or just less intuitive spelling and murkier etymology).

So, I’ll address the phonological level first.

In English, I like dialects that don’t mix up words like these:¹

Consonants:

Unstressed syllables:

ladder–latter

winner–winter

Syllable finally:

father–farther

Elsewhere:

wine–whine

Vowels:

Before ‹r›

marry–merry–Mary

higher–hire

coyer–coir

flower–flour

horse–hoarse

irk–erk, earn–urn, fur–fir²

Before ‹l›

vial–vile

real–reel

‹u…e›, ‹ew› after coronals

through–threw

you–yew

choose–chews

loot–lute

do–dew

toon–tune

Diphthongs:

wait–weight

Wales–wails

tow–toe

Unstressed syllables:

emission–a mission–omission

Pharaoh–farrow

shivaree–shivery

Otherwise:

cot–caught

meet–meat

The whole just makes so much more sense this way, especially if you’re teaching the language to learners, because that way there’s more of a 1:1 correspondence between orthography and spelling so there’s less memorizing involved (speaking as an English tutor and enthusiastic language learner).

It also helps when there’s a certain ‘symmetry’ in the vowel system, like when both ‹a…e› and ‹o…e› are pronounced as mid-high–high diphthongs (or just long mid-high vowels), one front and the other back; in the eastern half of the US and in the UK, that’s not really the case. Also the tense ‹a› vowel being pronounced the same in all environments makes it much less confusing to teach; in most American dialects, it tends to vary based on the sounds that follow it and whether it’s in a closed or open syllable, and in Australia (and I think certain places in the US) there’s an inconsistent split into two categories among the words. Shifts like those sometimes make more such distinctions (e.g. mad–Madd, and also put–putt for most dialects), but they can be a real headache to teach.

Similarly, I prefer to keep the vowel distinction of hurry–furry, as it makes morpheme boundaries clearer. The same for keeping the first vowel of sorry in words like corridor or horror, because it makes the orthography more consistent, following a clear rule:

A vowel letter before ‹rr› in an open syllable (within morpheme boundaries) is pronounced like a normal tense vowel.

In Hebrew, I have a special appreciation for ethnolects that maintain the distinction between:

uvular and pharyngeal voiceless fricatives, e.g. כָּךְ /käχ/ ‘thus’ vs. קַח /kä/ ‘take! masc. sing.’

glottal stops and voiced pharyngeal fricatives, e.g. אֵד /ʔe̞d/ ‘vapour’ vs. עֵד /ʕe̞d/ ‘witness’

velar and uvular plosives, e.g. כָּל /ko̞l/ ‘every’ vs. קוֹל /qo̞l/ ‘voice’³

plain and pharyngealized voiceless coronal plosives, e.g. תְּבִיעָה /tvi.ˈʕä/ ‘lawsuit’ vs. טְבִיעָה /tˤvi.ˈʕä/ ‘drowning’

plain vs. pharyngealized voiceless alveolar sibilant affricate, e.g. צָאר /t͡säʁ̞/ ‘tsar’ vs. צַר /t͡sˤäʁ̞/ ‘narrow masc. sing.’⁴

simple vs. geminate consonants, e.g. גָּמָל /gä.ˈmäl/ ‘camel’ vs. גַּמָּל /gäm.ˈmäl/ ‘(literary) camel driver’

There are other distinctions that I omitted here, mostly in terms of vowel length and quality: back in the times of the Mishna, Hebrew dialects had up to 7 or 8 different vowels and as many as 3 or even 4 different vowel lengths, but in Modern Israeli Hebrew, the vowels have coalesced into a system of five vowels with no length distinctions. However, those are pretty much obsolete except in liturgical uses, and I don’t care much for liturgical use except for academic interest because I have a very, very negative view of Orthodox Judaism. I somewhat lament the loss of such distinctions to that realm, especially since the loss of those distinctions means that a lot of Hebrew morphology and phonology no longer makes any immediate, intuitive sense (at least until you learn the logic behind it—then it makes a lot more sense but it’s still very mechanical), and is now basically the bane of every highschooler’s existence.

In Japanese, I like dialects which, unlike Standard Japanese (which is based on the Tokyo dialect and serves as the basis for transliteration and standard kana orthography), maintain the traditional distinction between:

Consonants:

plain vs. labialized velar plosives (both voiced and voiceless), e.g.

家事 /kaʑi/ ‘housework’ vs. 火事 /kʷaʑi/ ‘conflagration’

both normally transcribed kaji

雅歌 /gaka/ ‘elegant song’ vs. 画家 /gʷaka/ ‘painter’

both normally transcirbed gaka

voiced sibilant affricates vs. fricatives, e.g.:

alveolo-palatal ones: 地震 /d͡ʑiɕiɴ/ ‘earthquake’ vs. 自信 /ʑiɕiɴ/ ‘confidence’

both normally transcribed jishin

alveolar ones: 数 /käzɯᵝ/ ‘number’ vs. 下図 /käd͡zɯᵝ/ ‘the illustration below’

both normally transcribed jouzu or jōzu

/o/ vs. /wo/:

折る /oɾɯ/ ‘to fold’ vs. 居る /woɾɯ/ ‘to be’

both normally transcribed as oru

Vowels:

long mid-low and mid-high rounded vowels, e.g.:

～長 /–t͡ʃɔː/ ‘head or leader of’ vs. ～庁 /–t͡ʃoː/ ‘government office of’

both normally transcribed as chou or chō, pronounced /–t͡ʃo̞ː/ in Tokyo

In addition, I also like how the Kansai dialect allows for more varied pitch accent patterns than the Tokyo dialect. Distinctions like these, along with those mentioned above, could be immensely helpful in mitigating the preposterous amount of homophones it has (especially among Sino-Japanese loanwords) which make it so, so much harder for learners to master listening comprehension (and for native speakers to understand spoken academic or technical texts), but alas. It also makes the connection between less intuitive go-on & kan-on pairs, which generally remain a mystery to anyone who hasn’t researched them in depth or has any background in Chinese.

In other languages, I naturally prefer other such distinctions, e.g.:

Spanish dialects with lleísmo and distinción

French dialects that preserve all the vowels that Parisian French no longer does, and also between mid-high and mid-low vowels

Portuguese dialects that resist as many of the plethora of mergers other dialects have as possible

Italian dialects that distinguish between mid-high and mid-low vowels; examples of minimal pairs here

The North-central dialect of Vietnamese

Korean dialects that preserve vital distinctions in terms of vowel length and quality as well as pitch accent, and also initial /l/ in loanwords

Mandarin dialects that retain retroflex consonants, rather than merge them into alveolar sibilants (like in Taiwan and southern Mandarin dialects)

Cantonese dialects that retain the difference between

Tones

high and high-falling tones, e.g. 衫 /saːm⁵⁵/ ‘shirt’ vs. 三 /saːm⁵³/ ‘three’

Consonants

plain and labialized velar plosives, e.g. 各 /kɔk̚³/ ‘every, each’ vs. 國 /kwɔk̚³/ ‘country; national’

alveolar laterals and nasals, e.g. 里 /lei̯¹³/ ‘li’ vs. 你 /nei̯¹³/ ‘you sing.’

But at the same time, I’m not above political or regional biases, e.g.:

I like Arabic dialects that maintain the wide array of consonants of Modern Standard Arabic, but I feel very connected to my city of residence Haifa, so I prefer the dialects spoken in this region.

Also, I prefer Standard Taiwanese Mandarin (think Pearl in the Taiwanese dub of Steven Universe) over PRC Mandarin partially because, well, fuck Winnie the Pooh.

On a grammatical level, I love how dialects create subtler distinctions in terms of tense and aspect or pragmatic distinctions:

For example, while African–American English exhibits a wide array of phonological mergers (e.g. fin–thin, den–then), it also exhibits far subtler distinctions of tense and aspect that ‘Standard’ English lacks: compare the short AAE been knew vs. the much longer SE have known for a long time.

Another example is the modern ‘vocal fry’ (a.k.a. creaky voice) that some American girls have started using in the past few years, which marks parenthetical information in a sentence.

This is also why I like German dialects that have a wider use of the preterite (i.e. more northern ones), as opposed to those that have merged them entirely into the present perfect (e.g. in Bavaria). It’s also why I’m somewhat miffed by the merger of the 1st. sing. fut. conjugation of Hebrew verbs into the 3rd. masc. sing. fut. one, e.g. יַסְבִּיר /jäs.ˈbiʁ̞/ ‘[he] will explain’ vs. אַסְבִּיר /ʔäs.ˈbiʁ̞/ ‘[I] will explain’.

On the other hand, being non-binary, I have a special distaste for gendered morphology. This is why I came up with this system to do away with the last bit of gendering in English, and why although I find non-native speakers crude attempts at reinventing Hebrew morphology extremely distasteful (seriously, shit like that is why I say American Jews are, first and foremost, American),⁵ I do rejoice at any erosion I see of gender distinctions in Hebrew. It’s also why I like most sign languages so much—I say ‘most’, because Japanese SL, for example, has gendered pronouns (unlike ASL or Israeli SL, for example), and why I resent the Western influence that led to gendered pronouns becoming a thing in Japanese and Chinese, and why I often think about learning Finnish properly.⁶

On a lexical level, I have a particular affinity for archaisms, or more lexically conservative languages.

In the case of English:

I like dialects that preserve Old English archaisms, words from Old English that have been displaced by Latinate cognates, holding on like the Gaulish village of Astérix and Obelix. Words like gome and blee fascinate me and I wish they were in more common use, which is why I like the idea of Anglish so much.

I also like dialects that maintain mostly obsolete ‘irregular’ forms of verbs, for example clumb as the past participle of climb, as they provide a rare insight into the development of English.

And I most certainly like dialects that still use some variation of thou, like tha in Yorkshire or thee in Lancashire.

Hebrew, on the other hand, doesn’t really have any dialectical variations per se to speak of, or any ‘archaisms’ that they preserve, as it was pretty much dormant for nearly two millennia. Back when Jesus was still around, there was some regional variation among Hebrew speakers—this can be seen in the New Testament, for example, when people confront Simon Peter after Jesus is arrested and claim that his accent gives away the fact that he was one of Jesus’ men. For example, different accents of the time had notably different vowel systems, for example, which is why there were three different systems (roughly speaking) to indicate them at the time, and this is before we’ve even considered Samaritan Hebrew, which is about as comprehensible to a Modern Hebrew speaker as Doric (or even Frisian) is to an English speaker. Hebrew speakers borrow phrases extensively from their traditional literature, much like Chinese people with their four-character idioms, and often use more literary language in tongue-in-cheek, so it’s not really comparable. However, there is some amount of sociolinguistic variation as to doing so, but I would say it has more to do with religious and socio-economic status than ethnolect and certainly regional variation (which is far more limited in Hebrew than in English, mostly confined to rather small subsets of regionalisms), and I do like it when people do use these.

This is why I appreciate Québec French, for all its overzealously purist and prescriptivist faults. It’s often a wonderful museum of words of bygone days, from dialects that the efforts to standardize French have nearly if not completely exterminated. As an English speaker in particular, it’s interesting to see Norman remnants in the language.

On the other hand, it always fascinates me when languages borrow words for concepts they already have, and use the loanword for a more specific concept therein. Consider, for example, the English words kingly (Germanic), royal (Norman), and regal (Latin), or these fascinating examples.

The problem is that many of these features are fairly stigmatized.

In terms of phonology, I make a conscious effort to maintain most of the distinctions above when I speak English, but on the other hand I flap my ‹t›s and ‹d›s in rapid speech to avoid sounding like a stuck-up prick. Similarly, I don’t maintain the wine–whine distinction, for example, unless, say, I’m working with a student on a story that takes place in the Southern US, because I would sound like a dick who’s trying to sound like a Southern gentleman or something. I still teach the distinction, if only to explain why there is such a difference in the orthography to begin with even if I tell students not to observe it when actually speaking. When I speak Hebrew, I most certainly don’t make those traditional ethnolect distinctions—that would come across as being either unbelievably pedantic or outright mocking. When I speak Japanese or other languages, well, I generally don’t know them well enough to maintain all the distinctions as I would like to, even those that aren’t stigmatized, but I do make an effort to at least observe those distinctions when the orthography makes them clear enough (and stick to the standard in Japanese).

In terms of grammar, I don’t teach dialectical English irregular forms. At most, I gloss over them with a sentence or two, and leave it at that. I assume my average student would hardly read books or watch films or TV shows that take place in Appalachia or what-have-you, certainly not without subtitles anyway. If I ever got a particularly advanced student, however… I would still be reluctant, as I am hardly over-familiar with those dialects myself, and don’t want to mislead them. In Hebrew, on the other hand, my grammar and spelling do tend to be very conservative to the point of anachronism sometimes (like, I generally follow the BuMP rule when I speak; most Israelis don’t), but I balance it out with a decent amount of slang.

In terms of lexical items, I pretty much avoid teaching dialectical archaisms altogether. Those are almost entirely useless for students, and I don’t even speak the dialects that use them, so I can’t say for a fact which dialecticalisms are even in current use. In Hebrew, I might make some detours, but that’s because truly archaic words, that wouldn’t even be used in tongue-in-cheek, are a rarity, and oftentimes they share roots with more common words, so they can cement the understanding of those roots more readily.

If no socio-linguistic considerations (or my own fluency) were a complete non-issue?

In English:

I’d make an effort to maintain all of the distinctions mentioned above, including those that are observed today only by a handful of older people from rural areas.

I’d pronounce ‹gh› in words like right and weight to tell them apart from rite and wait.

I’d use thou and AAE grammar and any dialectical archaism or even Anglish coinage I could get away with.

And, of course, I’d use my gender-neutral pronoun system for everyone except trans people who might get dysphoric.

In Hebrew:

I’d speak Hebrew with extremely conservative pronunciation, like BCE-level ancient, making all of the distinctions mentioned above.

On top of those, I would distinguish between the voiceless alveolar sibilant and lateral fricatives (which was lost very early on), so I pronounce סוֹרֵר /soː.ˈreːr/ ‘unruly, recalcitrant’ and שׂוֹרֵר /ɬoː.ˈreːr/ ‘existing, prevailing’ (both in masc. sing.) differently (rather than pronounce both like the first).

I’d reintroduce syllable-final glottal stops so that the orthography and grammar finally make a lick of sense.

On the other hand, I would think of a system to do away with gendered language in Hebrew that still made internal sense.

In Japanese:

I’d speak Japanese with all of the distinctions mentioned above, the fact that they characterize two parts of Japan that are practically on oppsite ends of the country be damned.

I might maybe even bring back a few obsolete features, like nasal vowels or the syllable ye and palatalized consonants before e (when applicable), because they make go-on and kan-on relationships clearer, and also clear up their relationship to Mandarin and other languages with extensive Sinitic vocabulary. (Although I doubt there are modern dialects that do that today, certainly not in a discriminating way, so I might give up on that.)

And, of course, I would do it all with Kansai pitch accent, or at least  There are too many homophones, damnit, I gotta tell them apart SOMEHOW!

In Mandarin:

I’d speak Mandarin with Standard Taiwanese pronunciation.

Maybe I’d even use the Old National Pronunciation—what with my background in Japanese, it would save me a lot of memorizing, because I’d remember that all the characters that ended with a voiceless consonant in Japanese have the same tone in Mandarin.

Hell, I might even reintroduce the distinction between /e/, /ɔ/, and /a/.

In Cantonese:

I’d distinguish between the tones and the initial consonants, as mentioned above.

In addition, I might even bring back the distinction between alveolar and palato-alveolar sibilants that died in 1950—it’ll certainly make things easier for me, as I’ve learned some Mandarin in the past.

In Korean:

I’d speak a mix of dialects preserving all of the above distinctions and then some; I’d probably sound a lot like I were from North Korea, but in this scenario this wouldn’t matter.

In Vietnamese:

North-central dialect all the way.

In that scenario, the only thing that would stop me from talking like that would be comprehensibility. It would definitely be an issue—even today English speakers would probably be thrown off by pronouncing the ‹gh›, for one, and I’m sure my variety of Hebrew would be incomprehensible to most native speakers today.

But for now, I’ll make do with what I got, I guess.

—

Endnotes

¹ Most dialects that do mix them up generally pronounce them like the former in each pair.

² These distinction traditionally exists in Scotland; Ireland has a two-way split that works differently. On this note, I’d also count distinctions between e.g. wait and weight, but at this point it’s already Scots, not English. (Which is just another reason I love Scots so much, along with its lexical conservatism.)

³ This distinction, as well as the three that follow, are exceedingly rare.

⁴ The phranyngealized voiceless alveolar sibilant affricate was not preserved as such in any ethnolect: it either became a pharyngealized voiceless alveolar sibilant fricative (in Yemenite and Mizrahi Hebrew), or it simply lost its pharyngealization (in Sephardi and Ashkenazi Hebrew, and Modern Israeli Hebrew)—e.g. צַד /t͡sˤäd/ > /sˤäd/, /t͡säd/ ‘side’. Barring the exceedingly rare loanword, I could not think of a single minimal pair such as the one given above.

⁵ For the record: I was raised speaking English alongside Hebrew, albeit in a non-Anglophone country, and a lot of research went into my solution to ensure that it’s based on precedent rather than be a tasteless neologism.

⁶ There are other genderless languages as well, but they’re either super-niche or spoken by communities that aren’t as progressive, or both.

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

I drove down to West Virginia in early March, during the teacher strike. While President Trump had won the state with 68 percent of the vote in 2016, the strike seemed like a bit of old West Virginia peeking through, reminiscent of a time when labor unions and the Democratic Party dominated the state’s politics.

The halls of the Capitol in Charleston were sweating hot when I got there, filled with hundreds of teachers looking for a pay raise. The strike would go on for two weeks, and clever signs were the favorite medium of the teachers. One that caught my eye was a poster that name-checked two of the most high-profile members of the state Senate: “In a world of Carmichaels, be an Ojeda.”

Carmichael was Mitch Carmichael, Republican president of the West Virginia Senate, whom teachers were blaming for stonewalling their pay raise. Ojeda was Richard Ojeda, a Democrat from Logan County and one of the more vocal supporters of the striking teachers. A former Army paratrooper who looks like it and who speaks every word of every sentence with concentrated intensity, Ojeda had become known for his unrehearsed Facebook live talks and unvarnished advocacy for a working man’s Democratic Party.

On Monday, the day after Veterans Day, eight months after the teacher strike and less than one week after he lost a congressional bid, Ojeda declared his intention to run for president in front of the Korean War Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. Ojeda is one of the first Democrats to officially declare his candidacy for 2020, and although he doesn’t enter the contest as a buzzy national front-runner, he’s a former Trump voter with a case to make.

The proposition of Ojeda’s 2020 candidacy is surely to win voters like himself — Democrats who voted for Trump or just plain old Republicans — back to the side of the Democratic Party. In his 2018 bid for West Virginia’s 3rd Congressional District, Ojeda lost to the Republican, but he got 43.6 percent of the vote, 20 points more than the Democrat who ran in 2016 did. Ojeda outperformed his district’s partisan lean by about 24 points — one of the best showings in the nation. There’s proof that at least in West Virginia, Ojeda is a Democrat who has across-the-aisle appeal.

I spoke to Ojeda in his office for little under an hour back in March. That day he wore a ribbon commemorating the service of public employees and the highest, tightest fade I’d seen in quite some time. His office was packed with military memorabilia, tokens of his 24 years of service in the U.S. Army. There were flags, pictures of Ojeda in combat gear, and a framed poster in Arabic depicting voting procedures that was, he told me, a souvenir from the first free election in Iraq post-Saddam.

“You deploy and you go to these other countries because you want those other countries to get a sliver of what you enjoy back in America,” Ojeda said. But he ended up in the military in large part because that was his best option growing up in impoverished southern West Virginia. “When I graduated high school at the age of 18 in Logan County, which is the coal fields, there’s only three choices: dig coal, sell dope, join the Army.”

For much of his Army career, Ojeda was based out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina, but he started getting into politics when he began coming back to his home state more often in 2012. “When I got home, I saw how bad things were,” Ojeda said. The military had been something of a pleasant bubble. “You live on a base and everyone to your left and right, we’re all the same mindset,” he said. “Everybody takes care of their stuff, everyone’s kids play soccer together. It’s just a wonderful life.”

Ojeda made an unsuccessful 2014 bid for Congress before winning his West Virginia Senate seat in 2016. That was also the year Ojeda supported Trump for president, something that’s sure to get some attention during the 2020 Democratic primary. When I asked Ojeda about his vote, he was frank about his support for the president:

This is why I supported Donald Trump: Because I live in Logan County, West Virginia, and when the coal industry is down, everyone suffers. The coal miner has their car and everything they own for sale. The stores don’t get no business, and they shut down. Even the funeral homes are doing nothing but cremations because no one can afford a funeral. It’s horrible. I supported him because he says, ‘I’m going to put West Virginians back to work, and I’m going to put those coal miners back to work.’

Although Ojeda no longer supports the president, his voting for a Republican was nothing new. “I don’t think I’ve ever voted for a Democrat for president [in a general election],” he told me.

In a Democratic Party whose core membership has become increasingly liberal over the past decade, Ojeda’s candidacy is likely to face an uphill battle. Elements of the Democratic primary electorate might hold his vote for Trump against Ojeda, despite the fact that he has been a vocal advocate for progressive causes, like the legalization of marijuana, though on some issues he skews more conservative. Ojeda is anti-abortion, except in cases of rape or incest or when the life of the mother is endangered, and he is pro-gun rights. Ojeda is, like many West Virginia Democrats, a throwback to the Democratic Party of previous decades. It’s an appeal that might play well with so-called Obama-Trump voters, but how powerful that demographic will be in the Democratic primary remains to be seen. Only 4 percent of Iowa’s Democratic caucus-goers in 2016 identified as “conservative.” Same in New Hampshire.

When he talked about national party politics, Ojeda could sound a bit like Bernie Sanders, whom Ojeda supported in the 2016 Democratic primary. “The reason why the Democratic Party has fallen from grace in many cases is because they keep supporting the candidate that has the most money, but that’s not the candidate who can relate to the people,” he told me in March.

And Ojeda is certainly not your prototypical polished national politician, the kind who floats focus-group-tested lines. He’s intense when he talks politics, in part because he’s had to deal with some particularly rough-and-tumble stuff during his short career in public office. When he ran in 2016, Ojeda was hospitalized after a brutal attack that he says was politically motivated; he was attacked from behind by a Logan County man and beaten with brass knuckles while putting a political bumper sticker on a car.

I asked Ojeda if he was worried about more attacks as a high-profile Democrat in a state now known for its Republican bent.

“Come from the front,” Ojeda said of his would-be foes. “If you come from the front, you’ll shit your teeth.”

Scottish Serial killer Archibald Thomson Hall was born on Jun 17th 1924 in Glasgow.

Hall, also known as Roy Fontaine became known as the Killer Butler or the Monster Butler after committing crimes while working in service to members of the British.

Growing up in Glasgow, he began stealing at the age of 15. At 17, he was seduced by an older neighbour and he got involved in high life; later that year he received his first prison sentence and was on the road to a violent life. 

Hall, upon his release from prison changed his name to Roy Fontaine - which was inspired by Joan Fontaine, the star of Alfred Hitchcock film Rebecca.He used money from burglaries to relocate himself to London where he  had a  very short lived marriage  he came out as bisexual and , starting affairs with men infiltrated the gay scene in the English capital. 

He used his new identity to become a butler that would mix with the rich and famous of the time. Hall was able to swindle vast sums of cash as he was able to gain entry to some of the oldest and grandest houses in the country under his new persona.

The butler was able to mingle with the rich and famous, including composer Ivor Novello, Lord Mountbatten and playwright Terence Rattigan. As his confidence continued to grow under his new life, Hall's ability to switch into a different identity became easier.

On one occasion he managed to convince others that he was a  Sheikh named Mutlak Medinah by wearing an Arab headdress. Hall was able to make off with thousands of pounds worth of jewellery after he lured jewellers into his hotel room using his new identity.

In 1977, he became a butler at Kirtleton House in Dumfrieshire for Lady Margaret Hudson.It was here that, one of Hall's ex cell mates, David Wright came to visit, Hall shot Wright in the head during a rabbit hunting trip over fears his ability to steal high valued goods and money would be exposed to his employer.

He fled the scene of the crime before ending up back in London where he continued his dodgy butler work, this time he worked for ex MP Walter Scott-Elliot. and his wife Dorothy, who were also wealthy antique collectors, at their posh Chelsea home.

On one occasion he invited fellow crook Michael Kitto However, the pair were caught by Mrs Scott-Elliot before Kitto was suffocated her to death. Another acquaintance, Mary Coggle, dressed as the dead woman - using this opportunity to loot the couple’s funds from banks in the city.

They kept Mr Scott-Elliot sedated with sleeping pills and said that his wife had gone to visit friends in Scotland, where he was to join her later.  They all drove north with the body in the boot. When they reached Braco, in Perthshire, the still sedated ex MP was left in the car as his wife was buried at the side of a road. Scott-Elliot was then taken to a lonely spot near Glen Affric and beaten to death with a spade after Hall's failed attempt to strangle him.

They returned once more to London and cleared the flat but Coggle was enjoying the trappings of wealth and refused to lower her profile. Eventually, the two men decided to rid themselves of the problem.

Hall hit her over the head and suffocated her with a plastic bag before dumping her in a stream between Glasgow and Carlisle. The two men spent a quiet Christmas at Hall's family's houseamong the family members was  Hall's half-brother Donald, a child molester who Hall despised but seemed to tail along with the pair. 

In January 1978 when they were in Cumbria, Donald started asking too many questions. The only solution for the pair of now seasoned killers was to get rid of him.

A chloroformed rag was held over his face and he was drowned in a bath. Hall and Kitto put his body in their boot and drove north but were forced to stop at a hotel in North Berwick because of a snowstorm. The suspicious proprietor called the police and Donald's body was found in the boot of the car.

The car was traced back to London, where police discovered the stripped bare apartment and bloodstained scene, Hall tried and failed to commit suicide while in custody, before revealing the whereabouts of the three buried victims. In deep snow and bitterly cold weather, and with the media watching, police teams dug up the bodies of David Wright and Walter and Dorothy Scott-Elliot. They charged Hall and Kitto with five murders.

The pair were convicted of four murders, for some reason the first, Dorothy Scott-Elliot was ordered to lie on file. Hall had life sentences handed out with 15 years recommendation in Scotland and full life term in England. 

Kitto was given life imprisonment for three murders, with no recommended minimum in Scotland and a 15-year minimum in England. Police said in evidence that Kitto was, in a perverted way, fortunate to be able to go on trial, as Hall was planning to kill him too.

When the European courts judged whole life tariffs against the law Hall remained in custody and was never given a parole date. In 1995 a newspaper published a letter from Hall in which he requested the right to die. He made numerous unsuccessful suicide attempts.

He died in Prison Kingston, Portsmouth in 2002, by this date, he was one of the oldest of more than 70,000 prisoners in British prisons, and the oldest to be serving a full life term.

There were plans for a film with Malcolm MacDowell in the lead role, called Monster Butler, after some production work had taken place, the film was cancelled because of lack of funding, leaving some crew members unpaid.

The Fall of the Saharan Empire

Excavation Site 22

Libya, North Africa

-2017-

The sun was unbearable, even in the shadow of the mountain it was barely below a hundred degrees. Even the wind didn’t help as it blew sand and dry wind that made you sweat bullets as soon as you moved. The worst part was that it was only 11am, and it was only getting hotter. Set up around an ancient tomb-like structure, buried under sand and stones from the mountain, was a camp of nearly twenty tents although their occupants were hard at work digging up the ruin. Workers dug deep into the sand, shoveling, and taking sand out by the bucket full, yet there was little progress.

One man was overlooking the dig; he was middle-aged and in great physical shape dressed in desert camouflage pants, boots, a short sleeve shirt, and a tactical chest harness that had a canteen and several magazines for a rifle among other gear. A second man who was taller, but skinnier in build, dressed in tan cargo shorts, a sweat drenched tank top, and he had a sun hat that did squat against the heat. The skinny man took out a canteen, drank several gulps before wiping the sweat from his brow then returned to help shovel sand. The fit man slung his AK-47 over his shoulder before checking on the man.

“Any luck Prof. Winslow?” He asked

“Well Mr. McCormick, I think we can safely assume that this indeed is a Garamantian tomb, you can tell by the simple fact that we are near their ancient capital Garama.” The skinny man responded with a British accent.

“But can you be certain that this is the right one?” McCormick asked.

“Won’t know until we get inside. But the Lidar scans showed a hollow spot in this section. And you know what they say ‘twenty two times the charm.’.” Winslow said, continuing his work. 

It was nearly evening by the time Winslow and the team managed to find the entrance, though they were all tired, the prospect of opening the tomb filled everyone with newfound vigor. Once the entrance was unearthed, Winslow was the first inside with McCormick right behind him, both men had flashlights which helped illuminate the corridor. The two men followed the corridor downwards for about thirty feet before entering a more open chamber which had little in terms of artifacts with some pottery and remnants of textiles. They paled in comparison to the true treasure in the tomb. In the center of the few artifacts, partially buried under the sand, was a complete humanoid skeleton, while Prof. Winslow was used to seeing ancient skeletons; he had never seen one so unaged and altogether, almost as if it were placed there this morning.

The two men gingerly stepped around the skeleton, Winslow took out a camera and started taking pictures as he made a circle around the remains ensuring he got every detail. He halted his photography to take out a tape measure, he drew a line in the sand at the top of the skeleton and a second at the feet before measuring the approximate height.

"Fuckin Hell." Winslow exclaimed.

"What?!" McCormick responded with a hand on his AK-47.

"Whoever this person was, they were roughly 6ft 3' tall." Winslow said in astonishment before taking a picture of the measurement.

"I'm guessing that's above average?" McCormick asked, kneeling next to the skeleton.

"Way above average. Most men of the time were lucky to be above 5ft 6'." Winslow said.

"Damn." McCormick said placing his hand next to the skeleton's hand which made his own look a bit shorter. It was then he noticed that the knuckles were fractured, the other bones in the hand had cracks in them as well. He looked over the skeleton noticing multitudes of other injuries like fractures and breaks, the skull especially had its fair share of impacts mostly around the face and jaw. McCormick also noted that the left clavicle as well as ribs 1-4 were crushed inward, the thought of whatever did such damage made him wince. The most gruesome injury was that the sternum was split in half, leaving a gap wide enough to stick his hand through. 

This surprised Winslow as he didn't know of any weapon that would cause such a clean break. Once Winslow was done with his pictures he turned to a couple of workers and told them in Arabic;

"Get the brushes, the lights, plastor, and the crates. We are moving the body and the artifacts tonight."

With that the worker nodded before rushing to the others, who quickly went to get the equipment. McCormick looked to Winslow before asking;

“Taking this back to London?” 

“I can only do so much here, if I’m to investigate more I’ll need a sterile environment, plus the Order will want to know what we’ve found.” Winslow said.

“I’ll call in the plane.” McCormick says, leaving the chamber. He passes by the workers as they head to the now open chamber. 

Several hours passed before the rumbling of aircraft engines broke the nighttime silence, McCormick had seen to having a makeshift landing strip carved up and lit up for the transport. The single C-130J landed easily, kicking up enough sand for a small sandstorm in the process, but at least the skeleton was nearly prepared for transport. All that was left was to wait for the plaster encased bones to set so they could meticulously place them in a sterile container that looked like a steel coffin. Within minutes of the plaster setting, the remains had been placed in their respective containers and sealed; the containers were taken from the chamber to be loaded but as Winslow turned to follow he noticed something. In the sand next to where the remains were previously, he found a crystal just big enough to fit in his palm. He didn’t think much of it at first but remembered that not everything is as cut and dry as they seem, especially in this line of work, he bagged it and, as he caught up to the containers, stopped to add it to the last container before it was loaded aboard by the team. The pilot came to meet with Winslow and McCormick, telling them, 

“Weather is holding for now but I’d like to get out of here before that changes. You guys coming?” He asked.

“I better deliver the remains myself, The Director probably would want to hear it from me personally.” Winslow said. 

“Yeah right, you just want a free ride back to HQ.” McCormick said with a smirk.

“That is a coincidence entirely, but I won't deny that I miss being in my air conditioned office.” Winslow replied in a bit of a huff.

McCormick simply chuckled before the pilot prepped the plane and Winslow packed up the equipment in his tent. He thanked the workers for their help and wished them well as they likely will be heading back home, and he thanked Mr. McCormick for all his help and security of the camp.

“Oh I’ll be back before you know it. See you back at HQ Professor.” McCormick said, patting him on the back. Winslow took his seat as the ramp closed and the engines spun up, he held on tight to his seat as the plane lunged forward before taking to the air in what felt like seconds. Either way, Prof. Winslow was glad he was heading home.

Back at Headquarters after a day of rest, Prof. Winslow was now able to study the skeleton in greater detail. He determined that the individual was male, most likely in his late forties, although with the normal methods he couldn’t accurately tell. One thing he could tell was that this man got into quite the fight before his ultimate demise. The individual had comminuted fractures to both of his hands, a flail chest fracture in his left 1-4 ribs, a broken left clavicle, multiple fractures to the face and skull, even a couple of teeth were missing, but what really drew his attention was the killing blow. The sternum fracture was conclusive with a stabbing, which he now saw went through the spine, plus given the angle of penetration he further concluded that whoever ended the man was standing over him when the blow was struck.

Winslow took a break as he stood alone in the lab, the others having checked out for the night, just staring at the skeleton. He was a combat medic with the Royal Marines for six years, he could remember every man he treated, everything from blisters to shrapnel wounds and burns. He remembered the first life he was unable to save, and the many others after, Winslow simply couldn’t comprehend how much pain this man was in when he died. How long he suffered before the end came. Winslow let out a deep sigh before returning to work, he took a sample of bone for the mass spectrometer to get an idea of how far back he lived. Winslow knew the machine would likely take all night so he decided to check out. He ensured the skeleton was locked in it’s locker before locking up the lab. 

The next morning he greeted the rest of the team as they went about their duties, the first thing he wanted to see was the results of the test, which he decided to read in his office. 

“Holy Shite!” Winslow shouted in surprise.

The test results had come back but he ran them again just to be sure only for it to come back the same. He took them to the Director’s office who was surprised by the sudden intrusion.

“Director Ambrose, you have to see this.” Winslow said, extending the file out towards him.

Ambrose was an older man with a slender build, dressed in a dark blue suit and glasses. His face was angular, clean shaven, and always had this serious no nonsense look that made him almost unapproachable. He adjusted his glasses so his dull grey eyes could focus on the paper in front of him, his expression turned from serious to questioning and finally disbelief before he looked at Winslow.

“Nigel…are you absolutely certain?” Ambrose asked.

“Yes George, I ran through the machine twice and it hasn’t changed. This skeleton is over 1 million years old.” Winslow replied in excitement.

"Bloody Hell." Ambrose said under his breath.

There was a moment of silence before Ambrose sat the folder down and spoke once more.

“And what of the crystal you found?” 

“My team in Sector 9 theorize it is some sort of memory bank but we're unable to reveal any secrets it may have at this time.” Winslow said.

“I see, well keep me in the loop Nigel. We both have been waiting a long time for answers.” Ambrose said as his face settled back to it’s normal no nonsense look.

“Of course, Director Ambrose.” Winslow responded before taking his leave.

-Two years later, OMC Headquarters, London-

A pair of women walked down the halls passing multiple cells containing objects of great power, while the Order considered them safe to be around, safety above all was still enforced. One of the women, a younger lass dressed in normal office attire with her hair in a bun, stopped for a moment at one cell looking at a sword lodged in a stone.

“Is that-“ she started to ask excitedly, only to be cut off by the second’s more serious tone.

“Yes it is, now come along.” She said, continuing down the hallway.

The younger woman caught up with her mentor as she rounded a corner. The younger woman looked at her mentor who was staring forward in silence. She was also dressed in office attire but no blazer, her hair was long and stopped in the middle of her back. She was a little older than her in terms of age but her experience definitely showed as she was an excellent scientist, though she always had a stern look, she rarely attended social events, and as far as she could tell probably hasn’t smiled in a long time. The younger woman spoke to break the silence;

“For the record, it was an honor being your assistant Dr. Garrett.” She said with her normal pep.

“You're not moving to a new facility Dr. Greene, just to a new office.” Dr. Garrett said.

“I know, I was just saying I’ll miss working with you. Plus you rarely eat in the cafeteria so…” Dr. Greene said but trailed off.

“Dr. Winslow is brilliant in his own right, and Director Ambrose only looks scary, just do your job and you’ll do fine.” Dr. Garrett replied.

“Right.” Dr. Greene said in a little defeated tone. Dr. Garrett looked at her assistant as she lost some of that excitement she had this morning. They finally arrived at Prof. Winslow’s office, which had a sign that read “Be back shortly” so the two women took a seat on the bench beside the door. As they sat, Dr. Garrett glanced at Dr. Greene before sighing.

“I eat lunch in the cafeteria at 2 every day, if you want to join me I would not be opposed to your company.” She said with a rare smirk.

“Thank you Dr. Garrett, I will be there!” Greene squealed in excitement.

“Don’t make me regret it.” Dr. Garrett said.

After a few minutes Prof. Winslow finally returned.

“Oh Morgan, sorry if you had to wait long.” He said in a friendly tone.

“It’s good to see you too, Prof. Winslow.” Dr. Garrett greeted.

“Oh come now, we’ve been colleagues for quite a while, I don’t see any reason to be so formal.” Winslow said.

“Oh alright Nigel, anyway this is my former assistant, Director Ambrose just approved her promotion to being part of your team.” Morgan said, introducing her now former assistant.

“Dr. Elizabeth Greene at your service sir. I hope I learn a lot.” Greene said in slight embarrassment.

“Pleasure to meet you, and you definitely will.” Nigel says, shaking her hand.

Morgan took her leave as Nigel and Elizabeth got introduced, Nigel then had Elizabeth step into his office where they took their seats to chat further.

“So I assume you know what we do here in Sector 9?” Nigel asks

“Yes, you and your team study the ancient remains of magic creatures and artifacts.” Elizabeth replies.

“That is the majority of what we do, yes but for the past ten years we have been pooling our resources to find and study a specific subject. Only two years ago did we find what we were looking for and today we finally have the whole story. Tell me Elizabeth, what do you know about the Garamantes?” Nigel asked, donning a serious look.

“I know they were an ancient tribe in what is now Libya, but I don’t know much about them.” She answered honestly.

Nigel’s face softened before he explained.

“They were much more than an ancient tribe, by the mid-second century AD they were a major regional superpower that established a kingdom that spanned 70,000 sq miles. They built complex underground aqueducts that supported their agricultural economy and population, even building their capital city in the middle of the desert without needing to be near a major water source. The Garamantes were by all means the most advanced civilization of their time. At their height they regularly traded with the Romans and Greeks, even traveled to Rome and Greece to sell their merchandise. Then in the fifth century, they vanished. Most history books or professors will tell you that as the water diminished the Garamantes were annexed or absorbed by the surrounding tribes. However we now have the real story of what really happened.”

Nigel paused to reach into his desk, retrieving a folder, then handed it to Elizabeth. Only then did he continue.

“You can read these in greater detail when you have more time, but I’ll give you the short version. In 2009 we discovered several tablets that spoke of a disaster that struck the Empire. The survivor, who we now know as Aya, spoke of a being that descended from the heavens and wiped out the Empire and all its people in the span of only a few days. Interestingly this being also spared her, her husband was not so lucky.”

“Her husband?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, according to her writings her husband wasn’t just a normal human, she described him fighting this destructive being in a valiant last stand that ended in his death. Two years ago we found his resting place and studied his remains here in Sector 9, along with a crystal that stored his memories. Thanks to it, we even know his name. And the name of his killer.” Nigel answered before getting up and having her follow him. Nigel escorted her to another room where the other team members were tending to the crystal, which now had a faint glow that pulsed every few seconds. Nigel first introduced Elizabeth to the other members then asked them to prepare a memory projection.

“Memory projection?” Elizabeth asked.

“This crystal, which we dubbed the Soul crystal, was inactive when I discovered it. But thanks to exposure to another magic crystal we have in storage, it came back to life. We were then able to use special filters and lenses to display the memories contained within much like a projector. What you are about to see are the memories, including the last moments, of Aya’s husband, the angel known as Ramiel.” Nigel explained, as a strange device with a number of lenses was set up facing the far wall, which was smoothed out to act as a projector screen. The Soul crystal was then gently removed from it’s protective glass box and placed in the device, it then came to life as the lenses were set and the projection was focused to the far wall. 

They first saw a land of green with farmers tending their fields, children at play, and a thriving village. The next scene was a man dressed in light robes, his head devoid of hair, and tall in stature with his wife in front of their home looking at a large city in the distance. They seemed genuinely happy until the next memory appeared showing dark clouds blotting out the sun, followed by rampant balls of fire falling that burned fields, decimated buildings, and sent people running for their lives. The next memories showed the city defenders, a vast army of mounted soldiers, amassed in front of the city walls, their opponent was a relatively short distance away. The opponent had wings coated in ash and embers, armor wreathed in flames as a storm of blackened clouds of smoke and fire followed behind them advancing slowly as they walked towards the citadel. 

The leader of the city defenders raised their sword then shouted a command leading the army at full charge, a storm of hooves and spears closed the distance in seconds but it was all for naught. Fireballs shot out from the clouds sending scores of men and horses into fiery heaps, if they weren’t incinerated immediately, across the sandy field. The being then flapped its wings gaining some height before descending like a meteorite onto the army, the survivors were cut down before many of them were able to fight back. Balls of flame then rained upon the city, the people’s cries of desperation and terror filled the streets as their destroyer entered their final refuge. Finally the last memories played, the city was aflame, the cries of the people were silent, their corpses littered the streets, and the one who brought it all upon them stood before the man and his wife, who now had a child in her arms. Their eyes like burning coals looked upon the trio before the man spoke a language they couldn’t understand, one of the researchers rewound the memory then pressed a button that translated the language to English.

“Why? WHY?! Tell me Apollyon! Why have you done this?!” He demanded.

“You forget Ramiel, in the grand scheme of things these insects mean nothing. It’s our job to ensure they know where they stand.” The dark one spoke.

“When did the Council allow for the slaughter of entire civilizations?!” Ramiel exclaimed.

“They only allowed me to destroy one. One limb sacrificed so the tree can flourish. Course there is one condition.” Apollyon answered indifferently.

“And what was that?” Ramiel asked.

“I only leave two survivors. And since there are none left in this “empire”, the choice falls to you Ramiel. Which among you will die?” Apollyon asked, summoning a battle axe and longsword to his hands.

Ramiel turned to his wife and the child she saved from it's dying mother, she stared at him fearfully, her hazel eyes dimmed by the desolation that surrounded them.

He smiled warmly before holding her close, his own tears streamed down his face.

"When I let go...you run. Run as far as possible. And don't look back. Please don't look back." He begged.

She nodded before saying

"I love you."

"Always." Ramiel replied.

He broke from the hug and she did as was asked running down the empty streets towards the gates.

Ramiel turned to Apollyon, his choice made.

"You're a monster Apollyon...it's time you were put down." He challenged as repressed energy surged through his body. Wings sprouted from his back as armor enveloped his body, lightning filling his eyes as his rage boiled, and with an outstretched hand summoned a spear of grand design. 

"I damned Atlantis to the depths, buried Pompeii in ashes, and you think you stand a chance against me, The Angel of Destruction? We shall see." Apollyon said unsummoning his weapons, before the two charged each other, their clash sent shockwaves powerful enough to flatten the buildings around them. Their duel took to the skies and though Ramiel was strong, with every blow he landed sounding like thunderclaps, Apollyon was overwhelming. Even unarmed Apollyon drew blood with every punch and kick.

Finally Apollyon grabbed Ramiel by his wings and threw him so hard he went through the palace and out the city wall before rolling to a stop among the ash fields. He barely got to his knees before Apollyon snatched him up by his throat, carrying him above the clouds, so far up the curve of the earth could be seen. He then descended like a falling star, throwing Ramiel into the earth with such force he left a crater several hundred feet wide. Apollyon landed seconds later and summoned his longsword. Ramiel's wings were scorched of nearly all their feathers, his face was bloody and swollen, one eye was barely open as his mouth was oozing blood, his breaths were shallow and gargled, and he had no strength to resist as Apollyon's boot planted itself on his chest.

"Such a disgrace of one of the original Watchers. Ending your miserable existence is an act of mercy." He hissed as he heard the crunch and snap of Ramiel's bones under his boot. Ramiel let out a groan of pain before Apollyon's sword impaled his chest, his breath no longer heard. Apollyon then took his leave, a flash of flame into the eye of the storm dispersed the clouds and the sun shined down on the ruined land. Ramiel's last memory was the sight of his wife before his eye closed for the final time. When the projection ended, a few of the team were in tears or drying their eyes, even Elizabeth felt unsteady before she sat in a seat.

"I think...that will be all for today. Secure the soul crystal...and consider the rest of the day yours. I know what we just saw was terrible, but we must move forward. For there is no reason to dwell on that which we cannot change." Prof. Winslow said, drying his own tears.

Dec. 4, 2019: Columns

A cook book including a couple of recipes for life…

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Through the good offices of Ben Lane of Wilkesboro, I now have in my possession a fascinating relic from 1946. 

No, not Ben, but a fairly well preserved copy of the North Wilkesboro Woman's Club Cook Book.  The Woman's Club was established in 1920 and has been a fixture in North Wilkesboro ever since.  The cook book had recipes from the members and I am sure some others as well.  For me, having grown up on North Wilkesboro in the 50’s, many of the names were familiar.

  Some of the ladies who had recipes in the book were folks I delivered the Greensboro Daily News to as an 11-year-old boy.  Of them, one of my favorites was Mrs. Fred Hethcock.  The Hethcock's were a retired couple who lived on 6th Street in North Wilkesboro, just down the hill a bit and across the street from one of my other favorites, Carl W. Steele.  When I would go by on Saturdays to collect my 45 cents for the previous week’s paper, Mrs. Hethcock would always invite me into her kitchen and give me a glass of sweet tea—a treat like no other.  She would let me sit at her table and I remember she put lots of lemon in the tea the way I liked it.  Her recipe in the cook book was for shrimp sauce.

Another name I saw in the cook book was Mrs. William Marlow, Mary.  I was fortunate enough to get to know Bill and Mary Marlow through my association with the Lions Club of North Wilkesboro, and later, as a neighbor down the street from them.  They were just the kind of people you are thankful to have known and I can remember my daughter, Jordan, remarking about Mrs. Marlow's wonderful cookies, and the fact that the Marlow's always bought whatever stuff the school system had the kids out selling without complaint.  Mary Marlow had her recipe for Dream Bars in the cook book, which I have personally been lucky enough to have enjoyed.  I have also had many opportunities to speak with Mary, who had an accent I won't try to describe, except to say it was a wonderful Southern voice which was perfect for the stately lady she was.

There were lots of other familiar names in the cook book, Mrs. W.K. Sturdivant, Madge; Mrs. A.B. Johnston, Ruby; Mrs. Hoyle Hutchens, Virginia; Mrs. Maurice Walsh, Sina; Mrs. Jack Brame, Virginia; just to name a few.

 However, it is the two nuggets in the boxes I want to call your attention to.  They both caught me completely off guard and I was very pleased to see them.  The first is just past the title page and is called "Club Sandwiches," and the second was in the Pickles and Preserves section and is entitled "How to Preserve A Husband."

  These gals obviously knew their way around life, as well as the kitchen.

Club Sandwiches

A very special recipe from page 2 of the 1946 North Wilkesboro Woman's Club Cook Book

Take 80 club women, well seasoned by the experience of living--these should be firm, yet tender.  Mix well with equal parts of faith and hope.  Sprinkle in the spirit of service and add a dash of pep.  Stir in a heaping cup of tolerance, and let stand until all arguments have dissolved and the mixture has cooled.  Spread between two slices of courage with all crusts removed and wrap in a cloth dampened with the milk of human kindness.  This recipe will serve the entire community.

How To Preserve A Husband

Interestingly enough, this piece was in the "Pickles and Preserves" section of the cook book.

Be careful in your selection.  Don't choose too young, and take only such as have been reared in good moral atmosphere.  Do not go to market for him, as the best are always brought to your door.  When once decided upon and selected, let that part remain forever settled and give your entire thought to the preparation for domestic use.  Some insist in keeping them in a pickle, while others are constantly getting them in hot water.  This only makes them sour, hard and sometimes bitter.  Even poor varieties may be made sweet, tender and good by garnishing them with patience, well sweetened with smiles, flavored with kisses to taste.  Then wrap them in a mantle of charity; keep warm with a steady fire of domestic devotion, and serve with peaches and cream.  When thus prepared, they will keep for years.

 ‘In A World Where You Can Be Anything, Be Kind’ 

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

Note: This was not my planned topic this week but I have many friends either struggling with the loss, or caregivers dealing with  serious ailments of loved ones, and wanted to rerun this column from a few years back to remind us all to be kind, and be present.

 Tis the season… All the hustle and bustle, rushing here and there, making sure everything is perfect for the gatherings that are getting ready to happen. We sing holly jolly songs, take the kids to see Santa, make plans to see family out of town, and eat enough goodies to stuff a reindeer. We giggle and snort about tacky sweater parties, and maybe we roll our eyes at those that don't share the enthusiasm of the holiday; maybe even muttering "Scrooge" or "Grinch" under our breath.

But…maybe they have lost their joy for a very valid reason.  It's hard sometimes to see the melancholy, past all the glitter and lights. For many people, this is a horrid time of year; reflecting on who won't be home for holidays, especially if it’s the first one without them.  

I would like to share with you a song that my friend Brian Brown penned about his daughter, who was the poster child for Christmas, if ever there was one. .She was named "Bria", after her father, was the only daughter, and the baby of the family. Bria suffered from asthma, but that never stopped her from enjoying all things Christmas- singing, playing in the snow, all the fun kid stuff. It was after all, her favorite holiday.

Bria died in February 2015, after suffering an acute asthma attack at the age of 14. Christmas was never the same for Brian and his wife, or the rest of the family.

My Christmas is Gone

My Christmas is Gone

Hard to see the blinking lights

Tough to see the twinkling stars

Hearing them bells ring

just opens up all the scars

Happy families holding hands

humming holiday tunes

I'm Scrooge in the corner

wishing it was June

CHORUS

Please don't happy me this

Please don't merry me that

Cause my Christmas is gone

It ain't coming back

Even if Santa's sleigh landed right here

I'd step right over them reindeer tracks he knows my Christmas is gone...it ain't coming back

Yeah my Christmas is gone

It ain't coming back

This was her time of year

Loved decorating the tree

Singing those old Christmas songs; come adore on bended knee.

Everytime the snow fell

Bundling up to go outside

Fingers went numb

From the snowball fights

CHORUS

I got no more silent nights

No more decking the halls

Every day's now to be the same

Behind these four blank walls

There might be joy to the world

It just hasn't found me

My soul's laid bare

As Charlie Brown's Christmas tree

CHORUS

Brian wrote this song, "to find a way out of the dark pit of self pity while still embracing the sadness that is so important for healing.”

So while you’re out there, take a moment to make eye contact with people.

Be aware.  

Try to be the comfort in another’s holiday grief.

If you are the one grieving, know you are not alone.  

 HOTLINE 800-273-TALK (8255)  

Israel - The U.S. security net

 By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Special to The Record

Those who wrongly consider Israel as "illegal occupiers" of land deeded to her by God Himself, are woefully failing to accept the truth which, in plain language, means a Middle East without Israel would be nothing more than a region filled with overwhelming violence and chaos. 

In 2005, Israel unilaterally withdrew from the Gaza Strip hoping to receive peace in return.  It did not happen.  Prior to 2005, Israel vacated a significant portion of Judea and Samaria leaving the West Bank, which includes the Golan Heights, in the hands of Palestinian Arabs who, with the support of Iran, Turkey and North Korea, turned the area into a giant launching pad for missiles and terrorist attacks threatening Israel and every pro-US Arab regime in the region. 

In 1967, Israel seized the strategically significant Golan Heights from Syria in a defensive war - a war which she did not instigate.  Israel was again attacked by her hostile Arab neighbors without any provocation whatsoever. In only six days and against seemingly impossible odds, Israel emerged the victor. She successfully defended her land and her citizens and even gained land in the process. 

Israel's presence on the mountain tops and ridges and in the Golan Heights serves as a sort of security policy for Jordan and others who are friendly to the United States.  Having Israeli troops in the Golan is also a kind of security safety net for the U.S. negating the need to send U.S. troops to patrol the Golan Heights as unrest and war rage in Syria, as Iran continues to spread it tentacles in Lebanon and Syria with ambitions to control the land all the way to the Mediterranean Sea, as Turkey's president sets his sights on Syria with expansionist intentions, and as Russia continues to expand its presence in Syria, Lebanon and any other place in the Middle East where there is the slightest opening or where leadership is weak.

Controlling the Golan Heights is important not only to Israel but also to the entire world.  Damascus, Syria is less than 50 miles from the Golan.  In the Middle East, Damascus is the center for the proliferation of global terrorism and drug trafficking.  You might remember that Damascus welcomed Nazi war criminals who fled Germany and Poland following WWII.   

Keeping Israel in control of the Golan Heights is essential to maintaining stability in the region.  Anyone who thinks otherwise is simply not thinking. Israel's presence is one of deterrence from which the United States, and the world in general, greatly benefits.     

It’s a Carolinas Heritage Christmas

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

We have been busy elves working on our new Christmas Special.

The 2019 theme is A Carolinas Heritage Christmas. We have been filming on location in historic Gold Hill.

The people of Gold Hill kick off the Holiday celebrations with an annual event they call “The Lighting of the Fall Fires.” The event is always the Saturday before Thanksgiving and is held rain or shine. This year it rained, but that did not seem to dampen the sprits of the attendees.

When people arrive, they exchange their tickets for a bag of gold nuggets (painted gold that is). Once they have their nuggets in hand, they board a trolley that takes guests to their choice of three stops. The nuggets can be exchanged for various food offerings throughout the village.

I met a fellow at the Brunswick Stew station. He so loved the stew that he used three nuggets for three servings. He said it was the best he had ever eaten. Then we met a lady at the chicken and dumpling station who was in line for the second time. She said it brought back great memories.

The village was filled with all sorts of music for people to enjoy as they went from place to place. It was a friendly event with all the charm you might imagine.

Vivian Hopkins at the E. H. Montgomery General Store provided great assistance in our production as well as sharing a look into life in the village. The Montgomery is a popular location during the Holidays and throughout the year with weekly Friday Night Bluegrass gatherings.  

There were three fires. We were on location with three cameras at the largest fire when it was set ablaze. As the fire was set, I chatted with Darrius Hedrick and John Yelton who have been part of the event from the very beginning,19 years ago. Darrius said that the event transitions us into the Holiday season.  John, now in his 90’s, said we need to be thinking about what we can be thankful for.

We were enjoying our chat as the fire grew, so much so that Darrius looked at me and said with a calm smile, “We better move back a bit before my pants melt.” I suppose I was so caught up in the moment that I did not notice that the ground around us was starting to steam from the mist in the air and the growing heat of the blaze.  

It was great talking with Darrius and John as they were both involved in making the Gold Hill Village what it is today. Naturally, there are many people involved; however, at that moment I became very aware that “The Lighting of the Fall Fires” is much more than an event to raise money and awareness for the Gold Hill Historic Preservation Society; it is a celebration of the fact that Gold Hill has significant Carolina history and, most importantly, it stands today as the Historic Gold Hill Village and provides a glimpse into our past and comfort for our future.

We will be back in Gold Hill for more filming during the “Christmas in the Village” celebration which is always the first full weekend in December.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas Season!  Let’s make some new friends and traditions this year and if we do maybe depression will not be in our stockings during the upcoming months.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its eleventh year of syndication.   For more on the show visit  www.lifeinthecarolinas.com and join the free weekly email list. It’s a great way to keep up with the show and things going on in the Carolinas. You can email Carl White at [email protected].