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coochiequeens · 2 years

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These is a long read but it describes what happens to women when they don’t have access to abortion.

Elle doesn’t find it easy to talk about her abortion, not because she regrets it – she would do the same again without any hesitation – but because the memory of the terrible, almost overwhelming, fear and isolation she experienced at the time still makes her feel so angry. “I’m privileged,” she says, twisting the ring on her index finger. “I could afford to travel. But what about those less fortunate than me? I know of a woman who felt so desperate when she found out she was pregnant again, she put her three children in front of some cartoons on the TV, and went straight upstairs to the bathroom to begin launching herself from the toilet on to the floor in the hope of inducing a miscarriage.” She’s fighting tears now. “That woman almost killed herself. What about her? Does anyone want to hear her story?”

Elle, who is 40, works in the culture sector, in a job that she loves. Three years ago, she found herself pregnant, something that came as a terrible surprise: “I’d always been told by my doctors that I couldn’t have children.” Had she ever wanted them? “To be honest, I never really did. I don’t need a child to define myself. But it wasn’t only this that made me afraid. I’m from a single-parent family – my father has a wife and children elsewhere who don’t know about me – and my relationship with my mother is complicated. When I found out I was pregnant, I felt strongly that I didn’t want history to repeat itself. My heart had only recently been broken, and now I was in an on-off relationship with this foreigner who was planning to leave soon. When I saw the result, I freaked out. I didn’t need to make a decision. I knew straight away that I wasn’t going to have a baby. It wasn’t something I felt I was able to do.”

She was, she admits, “very ignorant”. Of course she knew that in Malta, the country where she was born and has lived all her life, abortion is illegal. But until that day, this was not a law she’d ever had to consider breaking. Where could she get information? With whom could she even discuss her situation? Her gynaecologist, booked for a confirmatory scan, was in celebratory mode. Miracles like this didn’t happen every day, she told Elle, offering her congratulations, ignoring her patient’s tears. When Elle suggested that she didn’t want to be pregnant, a veiled threat was made: there would be paperwork; her pregnancy would be noted. Her GP was no better. “Oh, he’ll change his tune when you talk to him,” said this man, when Elle told him she wasn’t in a stable relationship. “At least now you’ll have someone to look after you when you’re older,” he insisted.

What was she to do? But if she was frightened, she was also determined. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered something she’d read, and this led her, eventually, to the Abortion Support Network, the charity that used to help Irish women to travel to London for terminations (abortion in Ireland was legalised in 2018). The ASN referred her to the British Pregnancy Advisory Service, but she also ordered abortion pills from abroad (a number of women’s organisations offer this service to those in the first trimester; it normally takes a fortnight for them to arrive). “I was clueless,” she says. “It was taking weeks to get everything sorted: to get an appointment, to arrange leave from work. The pills were my insurance policy.” This, for Elle, was the worst part. The waiting was unendurable. “I had to use my work address for the parcel. I was absolutely terrified. I was obsessed with the fact that someone would intercept it, and call me out.”

In the end, Elle didn’t have to have an illegal abortion in Malta. She travelled with her mother to the UK, and took her pills there, under the supervision of a British clinic – and in this sense, she feels she was lucky (most women dare not risk talking to their mothers, and go through the entire experience alone). But she was also extremely unlucky. The World Health Organization now believes that the safest way to terminate an early stage pregnancy is by using medicine rather than surgically (during the pandemic, it was the only way Maltese women who were less than 10 weeks pregnant could do so – and those further on had no options at all). However, in rare cases, there can be problems such as excessive pain and bleeding; on occasion, the pills may not be effective, and another dose must be taken.

Elle was one of these cases. Quite soon, she was in agony, her temperature rising rapidly. “I thought I was going to die,” she says. “I only managed to stay conscious by thinking about what it would be like for my mother to lose me, her only child. My God. I remember leaning on the side of the bed. My mother would put a cold towel to the back of my neck. The pain was blinding. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I could hardly speak.” She had to take two lots of pills; after the first dose, she didn’t bleed. But eventually the clinic told her that she could now return to Malta: “They advise you to have a follow-up appointment. But this is impossible. You can’t tell anyone what you have done. You just have to take the risk.”

Back at home, Elle had a new respect for her body; she felt superhuman, she says. She was also radicalised. “Afterwards, I suffered from a lot of anxiety,” she tells me. “It wasn’t to do with the abortion. I only felt relieved about that. It was to do with the situation. To have to go through that so far from home. I wanted so much to talk to someone. But I didn’t find anyone, not for a long time.” A veil of silence prevails in Malta on the subject of abortion. No one knows who to trust. Three years on, she dreams of going public: of talking about her experience, the better to shame a government that makes criminals of women; that discriminates openly against half of its citizens, forcing them to take such risks with their health. But right now, she doesn’t dare.

The openly pro-choice regularly receive death threats in Malta; they are murderers and butchers and baby-killers, and should be lined up and shot. Those who have had abortions are sluts who should learn to “keep their legs closed”; if they’re unable to do this, it’s their sacred duty to become mothers, irrespective of their circumstances. Not so long ago, an anti-abortion government minister was informed of the numbers of Maltese women who each year travel to have a termination. “He said that in his opinion, they needed to be hunted down and prosecuted, even if they’d had the procedure abroad. Eventually, someone put him straight. You can’t prosecute someone for something they did in another jurisdiction. But for three or four days, I was absolutely petrified.” Across the table, Elle takes my hand and squeezes it hard.

Malta, which joined the EU in 2004, likes to boast of its liberal credentials. After the (long overdue) legalisation of divorce in the country in 2011, it has since become possible for gay couples to marry, and for transgender people easily to update their birth records to reflect their chosen gender. But this is not, by any means, the whole story. “The LGBTQ community has more rights than women, and I say that as someone who used to be in a same-sex relationship herself,” says Elle. Malta is the only country in the EU where abortion is illegal for any reason, including rape and incest (even in Poland, where restrictions on abortion have been dramatically tightened, a woman who has been raped is still, in theory, entitled to an abortion). If a foetus is found to be unviable, or the baby likely to die at birth or soon afterwards, the pregnancy must continue. If the health of the mother is threatened – as in the case of an ectopic pregnancy – doctors will act, if at all, only when it may already be too late.

Campaigners often cite the example of a Maltese Canadian, Marion Mifsud Mora, whose waters broke prematurely – she was only 17 weeks pregnant at time – while she was on holiday on the island in 2014. Mora begged doctors to abort her foetus, but they refused. Her temperature began to rise dangerously. Believing that her life was in danger, again she asked them to end the pregnancy. Again, they refused. She was saved only by her Canadian health insurance, which paid for her to be airlifted to France for the procedure. Had she not been in possession of such insurance, she would, according to Prof Isabel Stabile, the only gynaecologist in Malta who is openly pro-choice, almost certainly have gone down in history as Malta’s Savita (Savita Halappanavar died of sepsis in 2012, doctors in Ireland having refused to perform an abortion after her waters broke at 17 weeks).

Mora’s doctors may have been anti-abortion. But even if they weren’t – some pro-choice doctors keep their views private – they would have known they were practising in a grey area; they may have been unwilling to take the risk. In Malta, a person who supports a woman who is having an abortion is also deemed to be breaking the law, which makes it extremely difficult for doctors properly to treat their patients (there have been successful prosecutions). “I feel very angry,” says Stabile, when we meet for coffee at my hotel. “Some of my colleagues have tried to argue that even providing information is aiding and abetting.”

Women who use abortion pills in Malta are advised to take them orally rather than vaginally, even though this is widely considered to be less effective, the idea being that should anything go wrong, they are not detectable by doctors. “What do I tell a patient if she tells me she’s taken the pills, and that she’s bleeding too heavily? I have to tell them to lie,” says Stabile. “I must tell them to go to casualty and to tell the doctors there that they are having a miscarriage. Can you imagine having to tell a patient to lie like that? It’s immoral.”

What makes this situation all the more vexatious is the fact that contraception is neither free nor easily available in Malta – and there is widespread ignorance about conception (sex education in schools tends to focus on abstinence and marriage). “Some doctors are still very uncomfortable about prescribing contraception,” says Stabile. “What do you think is the most common form of contraception here? I’ll tell you. It’s withdrawal, because it’s free.” During the Covid pandemic, the Maltese government deemed contraception to be “non-essential” and supplies, which came from abroad, at one point ran out entirely.

How many Maltese women are currently having abortions? In terms of unsupervised illegal abortions using pills taken in Malta, some data exists. In 2021, for instance, 350 packets were shipped to the island. But these numbers do not include pills already in Malta, passed on by friends or well-wishers, or those who want or need to travel (either those who do not want to break the law, or whose pregnancies are too advanced). “On average, 55 women travel to Britain every year,” says Stabile. “But this is the only country we have data for.” Thanks to its booming economy, Malta’s population now comprises a high number (about 20% of the total population) of immigrants and expats. These women may return to their home countries for treatment. Others, particularly those whose papers are not in order, may be completely stuck.

Many women are known to travel to Sicily, which is close to Malta, where a small tourist industry has sprung up around the procedure (“packages” include a driver to pick you up at the airport and, if you require it, a villa). Not all of the operations performed there are, however, fully safe, or performed in professional settings. “We have heard of botched abortions in Sicily,” says Dr Lara Dimitrijevic of the Women’s Rights Foundation. “Some women have had serious medical issues afterwards.” In 2020, an organisation called Doctors for Choice set up a 24-hour helpline for women in need of medical advice. “Four people have called just today,” Dr Natalie Psaila, a GP, tells me, when I meet her one Sunday at her home. Put all these things together and, Stabile estimates, it seems likely that at least 400 women have an abortion every year, and probably many more. “One happens every day,” she says. This isn’t an insignificant number. Malta’s population is only about 500,000.

Those who seek help are of all ages and social backgrounds. The mean age of those ordering pills online is 29.3. Fifty-two per cent are mothers; 24% have two or more children. While I’m in Malta, I meet several women who have had abortions, either on the island or off it. Mary is 26, single, and a teacher, and took pills she ordered to Malta when she fell pregnant. Sophia is 38, an entrepreneur and a single parent to her daughter. She was lucky enough to have a friend who had pills to hand. Clare, a secretary, is a 43-year-old married mother of two who had an abortion in Amsterdam 20 years ago (long before she met her husband).

But however different their situations, they have the same things in common: a fierce sense of outrage at the risks that they and others have had to take; a shared determination that things must change. “The government is exporting a problem,” says Sophia. “It’s always saying we’re No 1 for human rights, but we’re not at all. How can we be when women are treated like walking incubators?” Mary agrees: “The least we deserve is decriminalisation, because women will go on doing this. If you really, really need something, you will find a way of getting it. We’re talking about healthcare, not recreational drugs.”

Malta is a patriarchy, they tell me, one that silences women, and which always “knows best”. There is no equality, they say, not while the influence of the Catholic church remains so powerful. It begins in schools (where the controversial discredited 1984 anti-abortion film The Silent Scream is still sometimes shown to children), and continues from there. Those under-16s who get pregnant are described as “young mums”, not children. In cases of domestic violence and femicide, women almost always take the blame in the court of public opinion (Malta was obsessed by the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard libel case, which confirmed many people’s ideas about victims). In one recent study, 20% of respondents said that rape can be provoked. Women continue to be largely absent from public life. Even after the implementation of a mechanism to enable political parties to appoint women directly to parliament, only 27.8% of Maltese MPs are female.

meet Sophia at an old hotel near the San Anton Gardens, a park that surrounds the official residence of the president of Malta, and after our meeting is over, I wander into it in search of peace and shade. What happens next is almost too perfect, given all that we discussed. A first communion has taken place nearby, and the paths are crammed with small girls dressed as miniature brides: Minnie Mouse shoes, bouncy white veils, pale posies in their hot little hands. The children’s parents look on proudly as professional photographers strain for the right shot, and I watch them, too, from a bench by a fountain. They look so innocent and adorable and happy, but it’s also very hard not to think of what might lie ahead for them, these girls who will form the next generation of Maltese women.

Across Europe, there has been a tightening of abortion laws. “Any country is only one election away from losing abortion rights,” says Mara Clarke, the founder of Abortion Support Network. Poland controversially imposed a near-total ban in 2020; it is now so difficult to get an abortion in Hungary and Romania that ASN is to extend its services to both. There are also a number of places where paper and practice don’t match up. Italy, for instance, has abortion on request up to 12 weeks, but in 2016, Italian health ministry data showed that 70% of gynaecologists refuse to perform the procedure; the ASN doesn’t think the situation has improved since then. In Ireland, women achieved a great victory when abortion was legalised, but many are still travelling to London: there simply isn’t enough provision. Meanwhile, in the US, worry grows following the leaked revelation that the nation’s highest court had provisionally voted to overturn Roe v Wade, the 1973 ruling that effectively legalised abortion in the country.

Malta’s laws mean that campaigners at least have nothing to lose. “Things can’t get any worse,” says Dimitrijevic. “The status quo is the worst-case scenario.” But there are, she believes, tiny chinks of light. Women’s rights groups are increasingly organised. The word “abortion” is no longer so taboo (conversations like ours would, she says, have been unimaginable even five years ago). Activists take succour, too, from the fact that legislation has been passed that will allow foetuses that are the result of IVF to be tested for nine life-threatening genetic diseases, including Huntingdon’s (though such embryos will not be destroyed). The language around this change has pushed the debate forwards.

But still, the fight ahead looks to be long and hard. Last Wednesday, the Women’s Rights Foundation filed a judicial protest on behalf of 188 women, a document that says the Maltese government’s blanket ban on abortion breaches their right to health, privacy and equality. This move replicates the approach the same group took six years ago, when it filed a judicial protest on behalf of 102 women who were campaigning for emergency contraception to be made legal on the island. In that instance, the activists were successful; within months, the government had acquiesced. This time, they do not expect the government to act. But if it doesn’t, they will be free to take their fight to the courts. Most believe the case will end up in the European court of human rights and that there, they will win.

On my last night in Valletta, Malta’s capital, I head out to meet Dr Andreana Dibben, an academic at the University of Malta, the chair of the Women’s Rights Foundation, and the person who passed me all the telephone numbers I needed to do this piece. It is Sunday, and every church I pass – there is a different church for every day of the year in tiny Malta – is full of people celebrating mass. At a bar by the harbour, we talk for a long time, and every word she says is interesting and vital.

A teenage mother herself, it was only when she became a social worker and met victims of domestic violence that she became pro-choice. Violent men use pregnancy as a control mechanism, she says; in Malta, they’ve also been known to use its abortion laws to prevent their partners travelling. Does she feel there is any political will to change? She isn’t sure. The ruling Labour party would, she says, win an election even if it lost the votes of older voters who are anti-abortion. However, politicians continue to speak one language in Malta, and another to their European counterparts, playing it both ways. (The human rights commissioner for the Council of Europe and the human rights committee of the UN have both told Malta the situation must change; some MEPs are also pushing for abortion to be included in the EU’s charter of rights.)

But she won’t be pessimistic. The first time she went on television to talk about abortion several years ago, she was trembling. Even to say the word in public felt momentous. Now, though, she feels strong. There is such solidarity among activists, and she knows how badly women want change, even if many are too frightened to make this public. Sometimes, it gets her down, hearing women’s stories: the suffering, the loneliness, the fear. To listen is to carry a heavy burden. “But then, someone will recognise me, and they’ll say thank you. And then they’ll say it again: No, I really mean it. Thank you.” Behind her fabulous glasses, her eyes narrow. She’s smiling now. “It happens all the time, and it makes all of it worthwhile.”

Some names have been changed

#Malta #Women’s lives without abortion access #reproductive justice #Men who say “but rich women will have access to abortion” don’t really care about poor women

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ladymazzy · 2 years

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US woman denied abortion in Malta flies to Spain to terminate pregnancy | Abortion | The Guardian

Malta is one of a number of countries that prohibits abortion under any circumstances- even if you are miscarrying and the pregnancy is no longer viable

Anti-choice legislation is anti-science, anti-medicine, anti-bodily autonomy, misogynist, callous, ignorant...

How is it remotely 'pro-life' to endanger the lives of living people carrying non-viable pregnancies?

#malta #abortion rights #reproductive justice #abortion access #miscarriage cw #demythologise pregnancy

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downthetubes · 24 days

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Remembering Jon Haward: Tim Perkins

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#Alan Grant #Ballistic Project #Classical Comics #downthetubes News #Fantastic Four #John Stokes #Jon Haward #Justice League America #Malta Comic Con #Spider-Man #Tales of the Buddha #The Avengers #The Saga of Zoran #Tim Perkins #Worlds End

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cannabisbusinessexecutive · 2 years

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German Adult-Use Legalization Hearings and EU Countries Collab on Cannabis: What Can We Expect Next?

By Niklas Kouparanis Current international law, which restricts the cultivation, supply and possession of cannabis only for medical and scientific purposes, has failed to achieve its set goals. Recently, three European Union (EU) countries–Malta, Luxembourg and Germany–have come together to draft a common statement on why the EU needs a new approach to cannabis use for adult-use production, sale,…

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#1961 United Nations (UN) Single Convention and Narcotics Law #Adult Use Cannabis Legalization #European Court of Justice (ECJ)#Germany #International Law #Luxembourg #Malta

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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1968 [Chapter 3: Hermes, God Of Thieves]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 4.5k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

They say it’s the most dangerous job in Vietnam. That’s why I wanted to do it.

Chinooks transport men and equipment, Cobras are gunships, Jolly Green Giants are used in search-and-rescue missions. But the Loach—Light Observation Helicopter—is a scout. We have to fly low enough to spot fresh footprints in mud, glints of sunlit metal, blooms of firelight from smoldering cigarettes in the primordial maze of the jungle. And when you go looking for the enemy, sometimes that’s exactly who you find. U.S. Army regulations decree that each Loach must be inspected after 300 hours of flight time, but they rarely make it that long. I’ve been shot down twice already. You roll out of the wreckage, grab your buddies, and book it out of the area before the Vietcong kill you, or worse: drag you back to the Hanoi Hilton so you can die slow.

Currently we’re just north of Pleiku, coasting close enough to the treetops that I could reach out and touch them. I’m in the back seat with my M16, no door between me and the outside world, my hair tied back with a green bandana, the wind hot and sticky. It’s so fucking humid here. Why can’t the communists be trying to take over Malta or Sweden or Monterey Bay, California?

It was the old men who suggested I might be of greatest service to the family by enlisting. I was 25, newly graduated from Columbia Law—a family tradition—and dreading the desk job that awaited me at the Department of Justice. Some people are born to type their lives away in some leather-upholstered office with a view of Pennsylvania Avenue, but not me, and I know this like I know the sun or the stars, ancient truths that can never be changed. And so when Otto and Viserys sat me down—my father had only had one stroke by that point, and was still relatively involved in the day-to-day minutia of putting a Targaryen in the White House—and said Aemond having a brother in Vietnam would make him more relatable, more sympathetic, more noble, not an observer to the carnage of the war but a fellow victim of it…I told them I’d go.

Everyone needs a project. If you don’t have something to distract you from the futility of human existence, it’ll break you in half. I have the Loach. Otto and Viserys, both immigrants ineligible to serve as president of the United States, have their shared ambition of getting their bloodlines in the Oval Office. Aemond has his legacy. My mother has her children, and Criston has my mother. Helaena has her gardens, her bugs, quiet gentle things that she tends with her own thorn-pricked hands. Aegon doesn’t have a project, he never really has, and it’s driven him to the cliff’s edge of insanity. See what I mean?

Anyway, let me tell you something about Vietnam. The Army gives us all the steak, beer, and cigarettes we can handle, but I’d kill for a lemon-lime Mr. Misty—

“Daeron, get down!” the guy to my left screams over the noise of the rotors. His name is Richie Swindell, and he’s from Omaha, Nebraska, and now he’s plummeting out of the helicopter as bullets riddle his chest. I duck low and cover my head as we spiral sideways into the trees, snapping branches, shredding leaves like confetti. I can hear the pilot yelling something, but I can’t tell what. When we hit the earth, the lightweight aluminum skin of the Loach does exactly what it’s supposed to, crumpling to absorb the shock of the collision and reduce trauma to us mortals inside. I scramble out of the rubble on my hands and knees and go to check on the pilot, but it’s too late. He’s already being hauled out by the Vietcong and gets a bullet to the brain. I reach back into the ruins of the Loach to grab my M16, but there are hands around my ankles yanking me out. And now I’m next, and there’s nowhere left to run, and I’m hoping Criston will be there to hold my mother when she gets the Western Union telegram.

One of the soldiers shouts and stops the others, shoving them aside to get a better look at me. With the barrel of his AK-47, supplied by either China or the Russians, he prods at the patch displaying my last name: Targaryen. His compatriots don’t seem impressed. Again, he batters my nametag, speaking to them in Vietnamese.

He knows who I am, I realize. He knows Aemond is running for president.

Now there is a hell of a lot of excitement. The men are talking rapidly amongst themselves, marveling at me, poking and examining me. Then two of them grab me by the arms. I look to the soldier who knows English, at least enough of it to read those nine fated letters. He smiles at me, not like a friend. Like a wolf baring its teeth.

He says: “It is okay, Targaryen boy. We just have some questions for you.”

Guess I’ll be checking into the Hanoi Hilton after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to Aegon strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Johnny Cash. The guitar must be new. The one he left at Asteria is plain maple wood and covered in stickers; this unfamiliar instrument is a vivid, Caribbean blue and has Gibson written across the headstock.

“I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ‘round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin’ on…”

“Let me die. I’m ready to go.”

Aegon laughs, setting his new guitar aside.

“Is Ari okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing great. And I got the stuff you asked for.”

Sure enough, there are three roomy sundresses hanging from the coatrack—you wanted to have options in case you had trouble finding one that fit correctly, though you gave Aegon a general neighborhood for sizes—as well as an array of cosmetics on the nightstand, including a bottle of shimmering champagne-colored nail polish. “I’m really impressed. You barely forgot anything. Though I will look odd with blush but no foundation.”

“Ohhhhh. Fuck.”

“And this isn’t human shampoo. It’s for dogs. That’s why it has a mastiff on the label.”

“I thought it looked like you,” Aegon says, smirking mischievously.

“Well, thanks for trying.”

“And I found this at the gift shop.” He tosses a card at you like a frisbee. You open the envelope to see a cartoon cow on the front, black and white and wearing a huge copper bell and a party hat. Inside is printed: May your graduation be legenDAIRY! Aegon has crossed it out and written instead I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! followed by his illegible scribble of a signature.

“A cow,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Because I’m Io.”

“You’ve got about a million of those pouring in from all over the country. Congratulations cards, get well soon cards, we really hope your husband gets elected so we aren’t consumed by nuclear Armageddon cards. And then Richard Nixon sent a pipe bomb.”

You set Aegon’s card on your nightstand, half-open so it will stay standing upright. Then you drink the apple juice from the tray the nurses left for you. “Aemond’s not here yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” Aegon says vaguely, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He’s been shopping for himself too. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black The Kinks t-shirt, ripped jeans, moccasins. He uses the remote to turn on the television: The Dating Game. “So, what did you study in college? You went to Manhattanville, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you?”

“I try not to.”

“Yes, I went to Manhattanville. And I studied math.”

“No way. You didn’t major in math.”

“Women can’t do math?” you tease. “That’s sexist.”

“I didn’t say women can’t do math. I’m saying there’s no way your parents sent you to a housewife factory like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart to get a math degree.”

“They didn’t, which is why my bachelor’s is in math education. So half-math, half-kid stuff. Makes it a little more…domestic.”

“Cool. Teach me math.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he finds a receipt, then locates a pen in the nightstand drawer. He hands both to you and then stands so he can watch over your shoulder as you work. You can smell him: cigarette smoke, rum, the cool grey rain that is falling outside. It drips off his hair, carelessly slicked back from his face.

“What’s something you don’t know how to do?” you ask, expecting to get an answer like exponents or calculating the volume of a pyramid.

“Uh. Long division.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Going all the way back to 4th grade. Alright then.” You begin writing. “So let’s take a large number—this year, 1968—and divide it by…hm…how many kids you have. So five.”

Aegon whistles. “Five kids. Goddamn.”

“Yes, and you probably couldn’t name them, but there are indeed five. Trust me, I’ve counted.”

“Okay, this is the part I don’t get. Five goes into 19 almost four times. But there’s no way to say almost four.”

“There certainly is not. Five goes into 19 three times, so we put a three up top and then subtract 15 from 19. We get four, drop down the six from 1968, and now we’re dividing 46 by five.”

“Nine.”

“Right. Five times nine is 45. So the nine goes up top and we subtract 45 from 46.”

“45 is basically 46. Let’s call it a day. Close enough.”

“No,” you insist. “We get one, then drop down the eight from 1968, which makes 18.”

“And five goes into 18 three times.”

“Where’s the three go?”

“Up top,” Aegon says, observing fixedly.

“And then we subtract…”

“15 from 18, which is three. So the answer is 393.3.”

“Wrong. Loser.”

“What! How am I wrong?!”

“You don’t just put the three after the decimal,” you say. “You drop down a zero—”

“A zero?! Where the fuck did a zero come from?”

“From the fact that 1968 is a whole number, so it’s actually 1968.0.”

“Oh.” Aegon blinks a few times. “Gotcha.”

“Add the zero after the three to get 30—”

“And 30 divided by five is six. So the answer is 393.6.”

“I am so proud. You are officially as smart as an average nine-year-old.”

He takes the receipt from you and studies it. “This was super enlightening.”

“You want to try calculus now?”

He cackles and sinks back into his plush salmon pink armchair, his miniature dominion in your hospital room kingdom. “You like teaching?”

“I love it,” you admit. “I had to do a semester of student teaching the spring before I graduated, and at first I was kind of petrified. But the kids are so hilarious and interesting and full of excitement about everything, and they’re sweet in totally unexpected ways. They’d chatter all through a lesson and make me want to jump out a five-story window, and then bring me some of their Easter candy. That’s when I realized they weren’t trying to torture me. They’re just kids.”

Aegon is meditative. “Yeah, kids are fun.”

“I wasn’t aware you had much interest in them.”

“No, I do.” And something about the way he says it makes you feel bad for taking the shot. He runs his fingers through his hair, perhaps debating how much he wants to share. “You know Viserys made us all do these little missions after college so we could learn about the real world, right?”

“Right.” Daeron spent his on lobster boats up in Maine, Helaena learned horticulture in France, Aemond helped register voters in Mississippi and Alabama. You can’t recall ever hearing about Aegon’s.

“I got sent to Yuma, Arizona to teach on the reservation there. When I stepped off the bus, I thought it was hell on earth. And then when my time was up I didn’t want to leave.”

“What did you teach?” And then you add: “Hopefully not math.”

“No, definitely not math,” he says, smiling but distant, remembering. “English. Books, poems, all that. But my favorite thing to do was take a song and break it down line by line, really get them curious about what the author was thinking. And then of course we’d all sing it together. I’d play guitar, they’d run around jumping on the furniture, it was a good time.”

“But you couldn’t stay.”

“No,” he sighs. “I had to come back here so I could get dragged kicking and screaming through law school and then married off.”

“And elected mayor of Trenton,” you say, trying to make him laugh. It works.

“Oh God, we are not talking about that. Most miserable two years of my life.”

“So far.”

“Yeah. If Aemond wins and makes me the attorney general, that might be worse.”

“Knock knock!” comes a cheerful trill from the doorway, and then Alicent and Mimi rush in. They descend upon your hospital bed, cooing and soothing, squeezing your hands and trying to smooth your untamed hair.

“What did it feel like?” Mimi is morbidly fascinated, swaying a little, eyes bleary with gin. “When they were digging around in there?”

“Well, obviously she was sedated, hon,” Aegon says, a bit impatiently. He and Mimi share a nod in greeting, no warmth, no depth. You wonder what it must be like for someone you spent so much time tangled up with to become a stranger.

“Oh, darling, I barely recognize you!” Alicent says. “You poor thing, you must be in such awful pain. I’ve never seen you like this before. Your face, your hair…”

Aegon gives her a quick, disapproving look and then lights a cigarette of the traditional variety. He puffs on it as he gazes at the window, like he’s counting the raindrops on the glass.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” you assure Alicent.

Her eyes flick down to your belly, still swollen beneath your blankets. “Will it scar terribly, do you think?”

You shrug; you haven’t thought much about that part yet. “It’s a battle scar. Aemond gets them in the real world, I get them in here. Same war, different arenas.” You peek out into the hallway. “Is Aemond…is he with you…?”

“He wanted to be,” Alicent says, like it’s a consolation. “But, Washington, you know…the primary there is so close. So, so close. He kept saying that he and Humphrey were neck and neck, and they still are, I believe. Every vote counts, and he’s campaigning all over the Puget Sound.”

“He’s still in Washington?” Your voice is flat with disbelief, with disapproval.

“He wishes he could be here with you and the baby,” Alicent insists, stroking your hair. “I’m sure he’ll fly back as soon as he’s able. But he’s thinking of you so, so much. That’s why he let me and Mimi leave this morning.”

“Right,” you reply numbly. And then you remember what you’re supposed to say. “The election is important. It affects everyone, our son included. For the greater good, personal sacrifices are necessary.”

“We saw him,” Alicent tells you, radiant with joy. “Aristos Apollo.”

“So precious,” Mimi says. “But so small! And trapped in that hideous machine! We could only see him through those little round windows.”

Aegon casts her a violent glare. You are alarmed. “He’s not in an incubator?”

“They have him in a…what was it called, Mimi?” Alicent asks. Mimi has nothing useful to contribute. “A hyperbaric chamber, I think. To help him get more oxygen.”

“But he’s fine,” Aegon says firmly, giving his wife and mother a warning. “Didn’t the doctor say it was a precaution?”

“He did, he did,” Alicent promises you. “Yes, just a precaution, that’s what we were told. The doctor has been trying to reach Aemond, apparently, but since he landed in Washington, he’s never in one place for long…”

“We should buy gifts for the baby,” Mimi says excitedly. “Adorable hats and shirts and trousers. Although even the tiniest clothes might be too big for him right now.”

“Yes, gifts! We must shop for gifts. Oh, it’s all been such a whirlwind. We hurried off the plane to come straight here, love,” Alicent tells you. “Can Mimi and I get you something for dinner?”

“Sure, sure.” You are distracted, still thinking of Ari. “Anything is fine. Wherever you end up.”

“Would you like me to bring a priest to pray with you? Saint Nicholas Church is right around the corner.”

You smile. “That’s very kind, but I think I’d prefer some books.”

“Baby clothes, dinner, and books. We can do that. Can’t we, Mimi?”

“We absolutely can,” Mimi agrees with tipsy, girlish enthusiasm.

As an afterthought, Alicent says: “Aegon, have you been here all this time? You must be exhausted. We’re going to book a suite at the Plaza, there will be plenty of room for you too. We can drop you off there on our way to go shopping, if you’d like.”

“I’ll stay,” he says softly, watching the rain again.

Alicent’s brow furrows; her dark doe-like eyes are puzzled. “Alright, dear.” Then she and Mimi disappear into the hall.

“Is he really okay?” you ask Aegon when they’re gone.

“Yes. That’s exactly what the doctor told me, just a precaution. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Aegon,” you say, and don’t continue until he meets your eyes. “Why are you still here?”

He lights a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore. Alicent visits me, Mimi visits me.”

“Yeah, but you feel like you have to put on a show for them. Play the perfect Targaryen wife with all that stoic, dignified, unshakable faith. You hate me, so there isn’t as much pressure.”

“I don’t hate you, Aegon.”

“Yes you do. You always have. You don’t have to be polite about it.”

“Well…I have valid reasons to hate you.”

He smiles, exhaling smoke. “Right.”

“And you hate me too.”

Now he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Everybody worships you, everybody thinks I’m a waste of chromosomes, is it really that hard to psychoanalyze?”

“No one worships me. They worship Aemond.”

“But you’re a package deal. Jack and Jackie, Franklin and Eleanor.”

You trace the lines in your palm with a fingertip, not knowing what to say. You’re so close to Aemond, so inseparable, and yet so vastly far. “Will you wheel me downstairs to see Ari after dinner?” It’s best to go at night when there are less staff around to try to stop you.

“Sure. You want a Mr. Misty?”

“Yeah. Lemon-lime.” That’s what he brought you last time, and it wasn’t bad for a cardboard cup of florescent green sugar water.

“Got it,” Aegon says, and leaves you alone.

You look at the phone on your nightstand. You’ve tried to call Aemond to no avail, though you spoke to Criston twice; on both occasions he said Aemond was in the middle of an interview. It’s understandable that you would have difficulty getting ahold of your husband while he’s off campaigning, leaping from town to town like an electric current. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. But Aemond could call you anytime he likes. You haven’t moved; he knows exactly where you are.

You keep staring at the phone. It doesn’t ring.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s night again, and you swim up from morphine-soft dreams into your hospital room, dark except for the flashing color of the television, low volume, NBC news. Aegon is curled up in the chair he’s claimed, snoring and half-covered with a cheap, pale blue hospital blanket. And it’s a strange feeling—a foreign language, a new religion—to realize that you’re relieved to see he’s still here, that there’s a comfort in it, a safety.

Suddenly, Aemond is on the television screen. You sit up in bed as gingerly as you can, leaning in, listening close. He’s rarely looked better: blue suit, prosthetic eye, rested and measured and sharp. He’s giving a speech at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle, three hours behind the time you’re living in on the East Coast. Flanking him on the stage are Criston, Otto, Helaena, Fosco, the eight charming children. Five-year-old Cosmo keeps waving at the camera.

“Right now, my wife and newborn son are at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City,” Aemond says, beaming, and the audience whistles and cheers. You should smile, but you can’t. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be on his way home. “But tonight I’m here with all of you, fighting with everything I’m made of to win the great state of Washington. And I won’t leave until the job is done, because I know the greatest act of devotion that any of us can show our children is to ensure they grow up in a better America than the one we find ourselves in today…”

You look over at Aegon and see that his glassy eyes are open, watching the television just like you are. You don’t know how long he’s been awake. The two of you exchange a glance, and there is a silent, shared recognition of what won’t be said. You can’t criticize your husband. Aegon isn’t going to kick you while you’re down. You are grateful for this. It is a conviction he has only recently acquired.

Aegon pulls his blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning away from you. You close your eyes and dream of being a child back in Tarpon Springs, mesmerized as you watch Greek sponge divers emerge from the bubbling depths in their suits of rubber armor.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the afternoon of the 13th. The Washington State Democratic Convention is being held tonight, and so win or lose Aemond will be walking into Mount Sinai Hospital tomorrow. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have no excuse to be anywhere else, and journalists will be swarming at the entranceway like bull sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.

It’s raining again. You’re reading one of the books that Alicent brought you, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. You had been meaning to get a copy before you were consumed by Aemond’s campaign and then his near-assassination, his maiming, his fleeting brush with oblivion. Aegon is cross-legged in the salmon pink armchair and plucking lazily at his guitar, singing so low no one outside the room would be able to hear him. It’s a Rolling Stones song, slow and mournful.

“You don’t know what’s going on

You’ve been away for far too long

You can’t come back and think you are still mine.”

As you flip a page and raindrops patter gently against the window, you find yourself thinking how easy this is, your hair undone and your feet bare, no photos to take or lines to remember, no practiced smiles, no overwrought itineraries, only compassion that is quiet and small and real.

“Well, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time

I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time…”

Aegon abruptly stops playing, cutting off with a twang. You look up at him. He’s gazing back with eyes that are filling up his face, glistening with horror. You turn to find out what he’s seen. There’s a doctor standing in the doorway, but he’s not alone. There’s a Greek Orthodox priest with him.

“Mrs. Targaryen,” the doctor begins, then glances to the priest. The holy man—black robes, gold chains, clasping a komboskini like the one Aemond keeps in a box on his writing desk at Asteria, stained with his own blood—gives an encouraging nod. “We’ve tried to reach your husband. We’ve called his hotel in Tacoma several times, but the senator must be out campaigning, and…” Again, he looks to the priest. Aegon is setting his guitar on the floor, covering his mouth with his hands.

Ari. Too early, too fragile, too defenseless in a world full of wolves.

Your words come out in a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“We must remember, child,” the priest tells you, vague patronizing pity. “That the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but what is lost to us in this life is never truly gone. Those we love wait for us on the other side in paradise—”

“Please leave. I don’t want to talk to a priest. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

I just gave birth to him. I just started to believe he was mine.

The doctor begins: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news—”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone. So please leave,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.”

The doctor looks to Aegon. A man’s permission is sought. “Go,” Aegon manages, raspy and strangled, and the doctor obeys.

“God bless you and your husband, Mrs. Targaryen,” the priest says as he departs with a swift bow. You can’t reply. You’re biting back sobs as the tears begin to slither down your cheeks, scalding and furious, not just grief but the bottomless rage of Nemesis.

Aegon is watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you need.

Aemond would want you to be stoic. Aemond would want you to have faith, forbearance, grace. “It is God’s will.”

“Hey.” Aegon reaches across the space between you, grabs your hand, holds it so tightly your bones ache. Still, you wouldn’t want him to let go. “You’re allowed to be fucked up about this. I am too.”

When your eyes drift to him, they are glaring and heartsick and poisonous. “Where’s Aemond?” Why isn’t he here?

Aegon sighs deeply and picks up the phone with his free hand. He spins the rotary dial with his index finger and then holds the handset to his ear. He waits as it rings. “Pantages Theater, Tacoma, Washington,” he tells the operator. A minute or more crawls by. “I need to speak to Senator Targaryen immediately. Yes, I know there’s a convention underway there, that’s why I’m calling you. Go get him.” More minutes, eternal, terrible beyond description. “What do you mean you can’t find him?!” Aegon snaps. “Okay, give me someone else. Anyone travelling with him. Criston Cole, Fosco Viviani, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen. Hurry up. Let’s go.”

Outside the rain grows heavy and loud; it falls in sheets against the misty windows. In the distance, thunder growls.

“Hi, Criston, it’s me. He needs to come home now. Right now.”

Aegon closes his eyes. Criston must be arguing with him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Aegon says, forcing the words to leave his lips and ride the wires to the West Coast, to where the sun sets, to where the future is dawning. He’s still holding your hand. “Aemond doesn’t have a son anymore.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you

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justinspoliticalcorner · 9 days

Text

Rory Carroll and Sam Jones at The Guardian:

Ireland, Spain and Norway have announced they will formally recognise a Palestinian state on 28 May, triggering an immediate response from Israel, which recalled its ambassadors from Dublin and Oslo. The Irish, Spanish and Norwegian governments made the long-awaited announcements in coordinated moves on Wednesday morning that they said were intended to support a two-state solution and foster peace in the Middle East.

“We are going to recognise Palestine for many reasons and we can sum that up in three words – peace, justice and consistency,” Spain’s prime minister, Pedro Sánchez, told the parliament in Madrid, earning applause. “We have to make sure that the two-state solution is respected and there must be mutual guarantees of security.” Ireland’s taoiseach, Simon Harris, said Palestine had a legitimate right to statehood. “It is a statement of unequivocal support for a two-state solution, the only credible path to peace and security for Israel, for Palestine and for their peoples,” he told a press conference in Dublin. “I’m confident that further countries will join us in taking this important step in the coming weeks.” In Oslo, Norway’s prime minister, Jonas Gahr Støre, said there could not be peace in the Middle East without recognition, and that Norway would regard Palestine as an independent state “with all the rights and obligations that entails”.

Israel launched a swift diplomatic counteroffensive to try to deter other European countries such as Slovenia and Malta that have signalled a willingness to recognise Palestine. The foreign minister, Israel Katz, ordered his ambassadors in Dublin and Oslo to return immediately for “urgent consultations” and promised further measures. He accused Ireland and Norway of sending a message that “terrorism pays”, a reference to the Hamas attacks of 7 October that triggered the war in Gaza. Recognition would impede efforts to return hostages held in Gaza and made a ceasefire less likely by “rewarding the jihadists of Hamas and Iran”, Katz said. He also threatened to recall Israel’s ambassador to Spain. Israel’s foreign ministry on Tuesday warned Ireland it risked becoming a “pawn in the hands of Hamas” and would fuel “more terrorism, instability in the region and jeopardise any prospects for peace”. The developments came amid a grinding seven-month war in Gaza that has sparked global calls for a ceasefire and lasting solution for peace in the region, as well as the pursuit of arrest warrants on war crimes charges by the international criminal court.

3 European Union members-- Norway, Spain, and Ireland-- will recognize the State of Palestine as part of the two-state solution. In 2014, Sweden was the first EU nation to recognize Palestinian statehood as a current EU member.

Several current members of the EU, such as Czech Republic, Romania, Bulgaria, and Slovakia, have recognized the State of Palestine prior to joining the EU.

As a result of the recognition of Palestine by Ireland and Norway, the Israel Apartheid State recalled its ambassadors in protest.

See Also:

HuffPost: More Countries Will Soon Recognise Palestine As A State. Why Is That Such A Big Deal?

The Guardian: How significant is Spain, Norway and Ireland’s recognition of Palestinian state?

#World News #State Of Palestine #Palestine #Two State Solution #Israel #Israel Apartheid State #European Union #Ireland #Spain #Norway #Europe #Israel/Hamas War #Recognition of Palestine

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umahumahumah · 27 days

Note

How about Kenya?

Don't worry guys I haven't forgotten about this its been in the back of my head the entire time </3 i decided to draw them in wwii uniforms this time for a change of pace, but maybe ill draw them in their traditional clothes some other time

first off, kenya!!! shes actually already a canon character but shes barely in hetalia. forever cursed to be a gakuen hetalia chibi head... sigh...

even though nothing hints to this in her appearance in gakuen hetalia, i think she would have a kind of tomboyish and energetic personality! like the girl-next-door type! she's also the first person to ask seychelles a question in the gakuen hetalia demo, which makes me think shes a huge extrovert.

sometimes i wonder if she was part of the group of countries who laughed at seychelles' coat of arms. in my heart, i wanna believe she didnt... but um she probably did. bruh who knows the demo is over a decade old now himas not gonna confirm it. please come back to hetalia, kenya. i need you.

next is malta! his appearance is a little scuffed here because he was going through it in wwii, but he's doing way better in present day

obviously he was influenced by italy so he naturally gets an italian curl. i like to think that he looked up to romano when he was younger and started subconciously taking after him. i was debating whether i should give him thick eyebrows or not, but i think france's occupation cancels it out even if it was a really short time.

in present day i think he cares a lot about his architecture and tourism. i think he'd also be a bit of a womanizer due to the italies' influence on him but he definitely has a lot more decency compared to them. or maybe hes just toos hy to talk to them, that would be cute lol

last is morocco! she was kind of fun to design and i was thinking about her personality throughout while drawing her. i like to think that she is pretty intelligent and is capable of doing a lot of stuff... but she'd rather go smoke weed and have parties, so she feigns ignorance to get out of her responsibilities. on top of that, because of france, she is a huge romantic and can make people swoon for her with just one word

i have no idea if hima would ever make a character like this since his girl characters mostly appeal to cuteness rather than uhh sultriness? but i think moroccos laziness has a cute appeal if you squint hard enough. if he does make a girl character like this i think she'd be some sort of bait and switch or something

also here are some bonus chibis of characters i already designed, mexico and uzbekistan!

i decided to redraw mexico because i dont think i did mexico justice having his back away from the camera. come to think of it maybe i should have drawn him in the mexican revolution uniform but there was already a pattern of wwii going on anyways...

uzbekistan is my favorite design from this series, which is why i decided to draw him again. tbh i think his first appearance didnt seem to come across as sandcat-like, so i decided to change his eyes a little bit, but overall he stayed the same. i wanted to change his pupils to dots, like germany, but it made him look too different

#hetalia #aph #hws #aph kenya #hws kenya #aph malta #hws malta #aph morocco #hws morocco #aph mexico #hws mexico #aph uzbekistan #hws uzbekistan #hetalia oc

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endlingmusings · 1 year

Photo

[ The body of a deceased European turtle dove, photographed by Antoine Monnier. ]

“A dead turtle dove was left on the steps of Castille by Birdlife following a news conference the organisation held prior to an expected court decision on the hunting of turtle doves on Friday.

Addressing the media, members of the organisation said the current spring hunting season on the common quail, which has been open since Monday, has already resulted in a significant number of European turtle-doves being killed illegally. A decision on whether turtle-doves may be hunted legally in Malta is expected on Friday.

Birdlife had filed a warrant of prohibitory injunction last week which was provisionally upheld by the court.

It is arguing that the decision allowing turtle-doves to be hunted between April 17 and 30 is based on false data disregarding the periled conservation status of the species.

A court presided by Mr Justice Giovanni Grixti shall be hearing the case on Friday.

The recommendation to open a hunting season on turtle-dove was taken at an Ornis Committee meeting on March 29 on the basis of a report tabled by the Wild Birds Regulation Unit (WBRU).

This stated that Malta’s reference population on turtle-doves has increased between 10-12%, with the committee agreeing to a quota of 1,500 birds to be killed over a two-week period.

BirdLife Malta is contesting the science behind "such flawed calculations" especially given the fact that top experts and scientific institutions regard the European turtle-dove as continuously declining, with their populations being at the lowest since 2003.

Birdlife said that the most up-to-date data on declining turtle-dove populations was recently tabled during a meeting of the EU’s task force on the recovery of birds, for which officials from the Ministry for Gozo’s WBRU also attended.

During the meeting experts recommended a Europe-wide suspension on the hunting of turtle-doves to mitigate the continued loss of the species, and even singled out Malta, Birdlife said.

Addressing journalists in front of Castille on Thursday, Birdlife president Darryl Grima said Birdlife is seeking justice "on this travesty of a season which risks damaging a declining species".”

- Excerpt from “Dead turtle dove placed on steps of Castille” via Times of Malta.

#European turtle dove #Bird #EN #Article #Text #Photo #Deceased specimen

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

EU to Facebook: 'Drop Dead'

A leak from the European Data Protection Board reveals that the EU’s top privacy regulator is about to overrule the Irish Data Protection Commission and declare Facebook’s business model illegal, banning surveillance-based ads without explicit consent:

https://noyb.eu/en/noyb-win-personalized-ads-facebook-instagram-and-whatsapp-declared-illegal

In some ways, this is unsurprising. Since the GDPR’s beginning, it’s been crystal clear that the intention of the landmark privacy regulation was to extinguish commercial surveillance and ring down the curtain on “consent theater” — the fiction that you “agree” to be spied on by clicking “I agree” or just by landing on a web-page that has a link to some fine-print.

Under the GDPR, the default for data-collection is meaningful consent, meaning that a company that wants to spy on you and then sell or use the data it gathers has to ask you about each piece of data they plan to capture and each use they plan to make of it.

These uses have to be individually enumerated, and the user has to actively opt into giving up each piece of data and into each use of that data. That means that if you’re planning to steal 700 pieces of information from me and then use it in 700 ways, you need to ask me 1,400 questions and get a “Yes” to each of them.

What’s more, I have to be given a single tickbox at the start of this process that says, “No to all,” and then I have to be given access to all the features of the site or service.

The point of this exercise is to reveal consent theater for the sham it is. For all that apologists for commercial surveillance insist that “people like ads, so long as they’re well-targeted” and “the fact that people use high-surveillance services like Facebook shows a ‘revealed preference’ for being spied on,” we all know that no one likes surveillance.

There’s empirical proof of this! When Apple added one-click tracker opt-out on its Ios platform, 96% of users opted out, costing Facebook more than $10b in the first year (talk about a ‘revealed preference!’) (of course, Apple only opted those users out of tracking by its rivals, and secretly continued highly invasive, nonconsenual tracking of its customers):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Properly enforced, the GDPR would have upended the order of the digital world: any argument about surveillance between product managers at a digital firm would have been settled in favor of privacy, because the pro-privacy side could argue that no one would give consent, and the very act of asking would scare off lots of users.

But the GDPR wasn’t properly enforced, thanks to structural problems with European federalism itself. The first line of GDPR enforcement came from privacy regulators in whatever country a privacy-violator called home. That meant that when Big Tech companies violated the GDPR, they’d have to account for themselves to the privacy regulator in Ireland.

For multinational corporations, Ireland is what old-time con-artists used to call a “made town,” where the cop on the beat is in on the side of the criminals. Ireland’s decision to transform itself into a tax haven means that it can’t afford to upset the corporations that fly Irish flags of convenience and maintain the pretense that all their profits are floating in a state of untaxable grace in the Irish Sea.

That’s because there are plenty of other EU countries that compete with Ireland in the international race to the bottom on corporate governance: Malta, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Cyprus, etc (and of course, there’s post-Brexit UK, where the plan is to create an unregulated haven for the worst, wealthiest companies in the world).

All this means that seeking Irish justice from a corporation that wronged you is like asking a court in Moscow to punish an oligarch’s commercial empire on your behalf. Irish regulators are either “dingo babysitters” (guards in league with the guarded) or resource-starved into ineffectual torpor.

That’s how Facebook got away with violating the GDPR for so many years. The company hid behind the laughable fairy-tale that it didn’t need our consent to spy on us because it had a ��legitimate purpose” for its surveillance, namely, that it was contractually obliged to spy on us thanks to the “agreement” we clicked on when we signed up for the service.

That is, you and Facebook had entered into a contract whereby Facebook promised you that it would spy on you, and if it didn’t spy on you, it would be violating that promise.

Har.

But while the GDPR has a structural weakness — allowing corporations to choose to be regulated in countries that can’t afford to piss them off — it also has a key strength: the private right of action, that is, the right of individuals to sue companies that violate the law, rather than having to convince a public prosecutor to take up their case.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/01/you-should-have-right-sue-companies-violate-your-privacy

The private right of action is vital to any privacy regulation, which is why companies fight it so hard. Whenever a privacy bill with a private right of action comes up, they tell scare-stories about “ambulance chasers” who’ll “clog up the system,” trotting out urban legends like the McDonald’s Hot Coffee story:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/hot-coffee/#mcgeico

But here we are, in the last days of 2022, and the private right of action is about to do what the Irish regulators wouldn’t do: force Facebook to obey the law. For that, we can thank Max Schrems and the nonprofit he founded, noyb.

Schrems, you may recall, is the Austrian activist, who, as a Stanford law student, realized that EU law barred American tech companies from sending their surveillance data on Europeans to US data-centers, which the NSA and other spy agencies treated as an arm of their own surveillance projects:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/16/text-adventures-resurgent/#nein

Schrems brought a case against the Irish regulator to the EU’s top privacy authority, arguing that it had failed its duty by ruling that Facebook’s “contractual obligation” excuse held water. According to the leaked report, Schrems has succeeded, which means, once again, Facebook’s business model is illegal.

Facebook will doubtless appeal, but the writing is on the wall here: it’s the end of the line for surveillance advertising in Europe, an affluent territory with 500m+ residents. This decision will doubtless give a tailwind to other important privacy cases in the EU, like Johnny Ryan’s case against the ad-tech consortium IAB over its “audience taxonomy” codes:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/16/inside-the-clock-tower/#inference

It’s also likely good news for Schrems’ other ongoing cases, like the one he’s brought against Google:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/15/out-here-everything-hurts/#noyb

Facebook has repeatedly threatened to leave the EU if it is required to stop breaking the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/22/uncivvl/#fb-v-eu

This is a pretty implausible threat, growing less plausible by the day. The company keeps delivering bad news to investors, who are not mollified by Mark Zuckerberg’s promise to rescue the company by convincing all of humanity to spend the rest of their lives as highly surveilled, legless, sexless, low-polygon cartoon characters:

https://www.fool.com/investing/2022/12/06/why-meta-platforms-stock-dove-today/

Zuckerberg and his entire senior team have seen their net worth plummet with Meta’s share price, and that means the company needs to pay engineers with actual dollars, rather than promises of shares, which kills the massive wage-bill discount the company has enjoyed. This is not a company that can afford to walk away from Europe!

Between Apple’s mobile (third-party) tracker-blocking and the EU calling time on surveillance ads, things are looking grim for Facebook. You love to see it! But things could get even worse, and soon, thanks to the double-edged sword of “network effects.”

Facebook is a network effects business: people join the service to socialize with the people who are already there — then more people join to socialize with them. But what network effects give, they can also take away: a service that gets more valuable when a new user signs up loses value when that user leaves.

This is beautifully explained in danah boyd’s “What if failure is the plan?” which recounts boyd’s experiences watching MySpace unravel as key nodes in its social graph disappeared when users quit: “Failure of social media sites tends to be slow then fast”:

http://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2022/12/05/what-if-failure-is-the-plan.html

Facebook long understood this, which is why it spent years creating artificial “switching costs” — penalties it could impose on users who quit, such as the loss of their family photos:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

This is why Facebook and other tech giants are so scared of interoperability, and why they are so furious about the new EU Digital Markets Act (DMA), which will force them to allow new services to connect to their platforms, so that users who quit Big Tech won’t have to lose their friends or data:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/04/eu-digital-markets-acts-interoperability-rule-addresses-important-need-raises

An interoperable Facebook would make it easy to leave social media by removing the penalties Facebook imposes on its disloyal users, and the EU’s privacy framework means that when they flee to a smaller safe haven, they won’t have to worry about commercial surveillance:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

But what about advertising-supported media? Sure, being spied on sucks, but a subscription-first media landscape is a world where “the truth is paywalled, but the lies are free”:

https://www.currentaffairs.org/2020/08/the-truth-is-paywalled-but-the-lies-are-free/

Ironically, killing surveillance ads is good news for ad-driven media. Surveillance-based ad-targeting is nowhere near as effective as Google, Facebook and the other ad-tech companies claim (these companies are compulsive liars, it would be amazing if the only time they told the truth is when they were boasting about their products!):

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

And consent-theater or no, targeted ads reach fewer users every day, thanks to ad- blockers, AKA, “the biggest boycott in world history”:

https://blogs.harvard.edu/doc/2015/09/28/beyond-ad-blocking-the-biggest-boycott-in-human-history/

And when a publisher does manage to display a targeted ad, they get screwed. The Googbook dupololy is a crooked affair, with the two tech companies illegally colluding (via the Jedi Blue conspiracy) to divert money from publishers to their own pockets:

https://techcrunch.com/2022/03/11/google-meta-jedi-blue-eu-uk-antitrust-probes/

Targeted ads are a cesspit of ad-fraud. 15% of all ad revenues are just unaccounted for:

https://twitter.com/swodinsky/status/1511172472762163202

The remaining funds aren’t any more trustworthy. Ad-tech is a bezzle (“the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it”):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/

As Tim Hwang foretold in his essential Subprime Attention Crisis, the pretense that targeted ads are wildly effective has been slowly but surely losing ground to the wider awareness of the fraud behind the system, and a reckoning is at hand:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

Experiments with contextual ads (ads based on the content of the page you’re looking at, not on your behavior and demographics) have found them to about as effective in generated clicks and sales as surveillance ads.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/29/taken-in-context/#creep-me-not

But this is misleading. Contextual ads don’t require consent opt-in (because they’re not based on your data) and they don’t drive users to install blockers the way creepy surveillance ads do, so lots more people will see a contextual ad than a surveillance one. Thus, even if contextual ads generate slightly less money per reader or viewer, they generate far more money overall, because they are aren’t blocked.

Even better for publishers: contextual ads don’t erode their own rate cards. Today, when you visit a high-quality publisher like the Washington Post, many ad brokers bid to show you an ad, but only one wins the auction. However, all the others have tagged you as a “Washington Post reader,” and they can sell that to bottom-feeder junk sites. That is, they can collude with Tabooleh or its rivals to offer advertisers a chance to advertise to Post readers at a fraction of what the Post charges. Lather, rinse, repeat, and the Post’s own ad revenues are drained.

This doesn’t apply with contextual ads. Indeed, none of the tech giants’ much-vaunted “data advantage” — the largely overstated value of knowing what you did online 10 or 20 years ago, the belief in which keeps new companies out of the market — applies to context ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/11/halflife/#minatory-legend

The transformative power of banning surveillance advertising goes beyond merely protecting our privacy. It also largely answers the case for “link taxes” (pseudo-copyright systems that let giant media companies decide who can link to them and charge for the privilege).

The underlying case for link taxes, snippet taxes, etc, is that Big Tech is stealing the news media’s content (by letting their users talk about and quote the news), when the reality is that Big Tech is stealing their money (through ad-fraud):

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-isnt-stealing-news-publishers-content-a97306884a6b

Unrigging the ad-tech market is a much better policy than establishing a link-tax, like the Democrats are poised to do with their Journalism Competition and Preservation Act (JCPA):

https://www.politico.com/newsletters/politico-influence/2022/12/06/jcpa-opponents-spring-into-action-to-block-ndaa-inclusion-00072602

It’s easy to understand why the monopoly/private-equity-dominated news industry wants JCPA, rather than a clean ad market. The JCPA just imposes a tax on the crooked ad-tech giants that is paid to the largest media companies, while a fair ad market would reward the media outlets that invested most in news (and thus in expensive, unionized news-gathering reporters).

Indeed, the JCPA only works if the ad-tech market remains corrupt: the excess Big Tech rents that Big News wants to claim here are the product of a rigged system. Unrig the system and there won’t be any money to pay the link tax with.

Image: Anthony Quintano (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mark_Zuckerberg_F8_2018_Keynote_%2841118883004%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A theater proscenium. Over the proscenium, in script, are the words 'Consent Theatre.' On the screen is an image of Mark Zuckerberg standing in front of the words 'Data Privacy.' He is gesturing expansively. A targeting reticle is centered on his face. The reticle is made of the stars from the EU flag.]

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jamiebamberdaily · 3 months

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The Wives : What We Know So Far (UPDATED - 4th March 2024)

The first casting announcement of 2024 has finally been announced with the news of Channel 5's The Wives.

About

Written and created by Helen Black, The Wives is a domestic thriller that centres on 3 sister-in-laws, Sylvie, Natasha and Beth who, just as they have done for the last 15 years, embark on their usual family holiday to Malta. However, this year is different.

The official synopsis reads:

Last year, four sisters-in-law and their families escaped to their Maltese holiday apartments, as they’ve done every summer for fifteen years. Sylvie Morgan, was happily married, Natasha, was swimming in wealth, and Beth and Annabelle Morgan, were thick as thieves. But this year, as they come together again, everything is different. Sylvie’s now single and loving life, Natasha’s hiding a desperate financial situation, Beth is barely keeping her life together and Annabelle is, well… dead. When Annabelle’s widower Charlie, arrives with a new woman in tow, Beth tries to be happy for them, but something doesn’t sit right. Charlie’s new girlfriend Jade, looks exactly like Annabelle. Beth’s plans to have a great summer are quickly scuppered by Charlie’s odd behaviour, and her suspicion that there is more to Annabelle’s death is heightened. With lies coming to light and evidence building, the women work together and against each other to unravel the mystery and bring the culprit to justice. But with corrupt officials, drug cartels and career criminals closer to home than ever expected, have they bitten off more than they can chew?

The Wives has been ordered for Channel 5 by Sebastian Cardwell, Deputy Chief Content Officer, Paramount UK and Paul Testar, Commissioning Editor, Drama, Channel 5 and Paramount+. Executive producers for Gaumont are Jess Connell and Alison Jackson. Produced by Margot Gavan Duffy, The Wives was written and created by Helen Black (Time S2, Life and Death in the Warehouse), with episodes by Ciara Conway (Screw, Holby City) and Jamie Jackson. The series will be directed by Claire Tailyour (Phoenix Rise, Deceit) and Paulette Randall (Waterloo Road, Tin Star).

The Cast

Jamie will star as Annabelle's widower, Charlie Morgan.

Also starring will be:

Angela Griffin as Natasha Morgan

Tamzin Outhwaite as Sylvie Morgan

Jo Joyner is Beth Morgan

Katie Clarkson-Hill is Charlie's new girlfriend, Jade

Christine Bottomley is Annabelle Morgan

Catriona Chandler will be playing Annabelle and Charlie's daughter, Sky

Ben Willbond is Beth's husband, Frankie Morgan

Jonathan Forbes as Natasha's husband, Sean Morgan

Louis Boyer as charming local businessman, Luca Vella

Ajay Chhabra as consulate official Vinay Taneja

Jamie, Jonathan and Ben will be playing wealthy brothers, Charlie, Sean and Frankie Morgan.

Filming Locations

The series began filming in Malta in February 2024.

Episodes

There will be 6 episodes.

Air Date

It will air on Channel 5 (in the UK), later this year.

#Jamie Bamber #The Wives #Angela Griffin #Tamzin Outwaite #Jo Joyner #Katie Clarkson-Hill #Catriona Chandler #Ben Willbond #Jonathan Forbes #Louis Boyer #Ajay Chhabra #News #Casting News #Casting Update #What We Know So Far

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zabberzim · 2 months

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Fic ideas for the LanDot nation

The many LanDot ideas I have but never got to write (it’s midterms now ;-;)

I’ll classify this into spoilers and non spoilers for the manga so anyone can read this :3

No Spoilers fanwork ideas

Dot gets told that his love life will flourish by a prophet and he is HYPED

Based off the official fan book info where he spends his pocket money on monthly prophet magazines.

Astrology guy x Astronomy guy

Shenanigans ensue

Dot has a nightmare where he is surrounded by Anna dolls

The dolls tell him to confess/make sense of his feelings like the Christmas ghost of the past, the future and the present

Could be a reoccurring nightmare or just a one time thing, both give Dot a sense of “???huh???” But being a little bit of a believer, he really thinks about it and what it could mean.

Feelings realisation with the help of a little girl he’s never personally met

Lance makes merch for Anna and made one of Dot to get back at him

It was funny until it wasn’t, Lance feels like he has to make it look perfect and struggles on how none of the pictures he had does Dot justice. Some of them are goofy in a dorky way, some others are just him being angry, and there are just some that he can’t bring himself to make merch of…

A little bit of feelings realisation, as a treat

And or he can try to get a good photo

Established relationship, Dot and Lance try to keep it low, but their matching earrings/accessories gave it away…

and it’s prequel

Established relationship, the origin of the matching accessories

I HC Lance to show affection through gifts or materialistic means more than Dot (see. His merch collection)

Early in the relationship, a pair of matching accessories catch Lance’s attention. He buys it for himself and Dot to wear together.

Dot was initially a bit bashful but gives in.

Their friends begin to notice this and starts to wonder what’s going on between the two.

There’s a little cut out of Dot in the lower right corner of Lance’s pendant now

RPG AU (based off of light novel/choose your own adventure books 2&3) Dot has his tummy exposed, Lance dotes him on it

On the cover of the 2nd LN/CYOA book, Dot, presumably with the class barbarian, doesn’t have his clothes cover him properly. Being the older brother that he is, Lance dotes on him.

An exposed tummy leaves one with a higher chance of being sick , Lance offers Dot his cape.

Dot is flattered by this but ends up getting sick anyway

Established/Developing relationship: meeting the family

Either Dot brings Lance to meet his family to get semi-interrogated by Malta (Dot’s grandma and mother watch from the sidelines, his grandma is also surprisingly capable of being intimidating)

Or Lance gets Dot to meet Anna, Dot gets seriously interrogated by a 12 year old over tea.

The gang gets an invite to Macaron’s Orchestra when Dot gets to perform as the violinist, Lance is surprised and slightly moved by the music

Dot is good at the violin, of course he should perform.

Lance wasn’t there at the scene where he was playing, so I want him to be the only one slightly surprised at this reveal and very surprised that Dot can actually play well.

Fantasy AU: knights and dragons( Dot is the knight and Lance is the Dragon)

In this fantasy AU, princesses being locked in towers is still something that happens, albeit somewhat rare.

Due to her age and politics of her kingdom, Princess Anna was sent to escape with her brother when their kingdom was under attack. Lance can transform into a dragon because of some potion he took in order to better protect Anna. He keeps her in the tower most of the time for safety, but Anna still gets lonely, so she makes paper airplanes and flies them out to try to find people occasionally (Despite her brother’s disapproval, she does it while he isn’t looking)

Aspiring young knight of a nearby kingdom, who wishes nothing more to find a princess of his own stumbles upon one of these planes (after many attempts to save tower princesses and proposing to girls, royalty or not)

When reaching the tower while Lance was away, it was clear Anna isn’t the princess he’s looking for, but he still plays with her before her brother comes back. (Big scare)

Semi-domestic fluff: Since Anna isn’t the right princess, maybe her brother is ?

Demon AU: Demon Dot and Human Lance

Dot, a demon, accidentally gets summoned when Lance, a human, wanted to summon a guardian Angel for his sister.

With no real return button, Dot’s just stuck there I guess. Lance makes Dot act as Anna’s guardian Angel despite knowing the fact that he’s a demon

(Angels, demons, similar spell; this Demon that he summoned is the best he can get atm, and he technically still has to fulfil his wish of keeping his sister safe. Plus, he’s got some little bits of feathers on his wings, it’s like a discounted Angel at worst)

Other people can see Dot, not his wings, tail or horns though

More details here hehe

(WINGS WINGS WINGS

Hi, I was a Destiel fan , can you tell?)

Excessive use of the Ira Kruez makes Dot ill, team mom Lance is here to help

Sick fic! Using Ira Kruez in the rain causes Dot to have a magical burnout. Lance takes care of him in a sick fic way

Alternatively:

Dot falls from the fucking sky because of a broom mishap, Lance takes care of him with bad pick up lines and more

Mash gets challenged by Lloyd Cavill’s goons and Dot takes up the challenge for his friend. The competition was rigged and a broom mishap happened half way through, leaving Dot badly injured.

Lance is the only one who can take care of him periodically because 1. He’s good with class so he can skip skip sometimes 2. He’s the most capable at take care of people amongst their group of friends.

The bad pick up line part came from “laughter is the best medicine”, it’s advice the others gave to Lance when Dot is still in a magic coma, amongst many other dumb suggestions.

“Did it hurt?”

“Huh??”

“When you fell out of the sky and got a concussion “

A little more display of affection, Dot eating it up.

They are both dumb

Modern AU: Doctor Lance and less successful/ failing musician Dot; And they were roommates

Years after graduation, the gang goes their separate ways. Mash becomes an unconventional cream puff baker, Finn becomes a public servant, Lemon works in her family’s bookshop suspiciously close to Mash’s bakery. Lance works at a high paying job as a successful doctor, and no one really knows what Dot is up to…

A chance meeting after work leads Lance to find out (fuck around, find out)

Lance bumps into Dot at a convenience store. It wasn’t a route he passed by much, so it was a surprise to see the spiky red haired boy there, handing in… something and looking dejected.

Upon meeting Lance’s eyes, Dot hopped over with faux-familiarity and an air of awkwardness when he offered to grab dinner, dragging him by the elbow to leave.

Over some fried rice with a few cups of beer, Dot vents his troubles in finding work after his ambitions to start a band failed; he got kicked out from his last apartment for late rent and his sister is starting to nag him to move out of hers. Lance just pats Dot’s back as he wails shitfaced. In the end, Lance brings Dot home so he can rest.

Naturally, Lance paid for that meal.

In this AU, the gang are all adults, so I HC Anna to be in junior/high school.

Anna obviously would live with Lance. Idk if i should make Anna’s illness a thing in this AU.

The Crown family is middle high class, fairly influential,

Despite Lance’s success, they cut ties with him (homophobia? )

Anyways that my idea

TBC

Spoilers to manga)

Lance has difficulty balancing work as a new DV, Dot offers to help out as his assistant DV

Between Anna, school work and DV work, life has been hard to handle as of late. Shortly after a chat with Orter Madl, unlikely help appears in the form of Dot Barrett!

Dot’s reason for volunteering as his assistant :

It’d look good on his CV

He can spend more time at the Bureau of Magic, maybe the three of them can get lunch tgt more often

It’s a good opportunity to poke fun at Lance

Established relationship: PTSD or nightmares of the final battle

The scene was so all too familiar to him: Lance rushing forward to block the projectiles before he could even react; his warm body slumping down on his as the smell of iron, the liquidy feeling of warm blood seeps through the cape into his palms, now stained red. What if Lance died that day? Why is he always putting himself in danger?

Memories of the final battle twist into nightmares in Dot’s mind

Dot finds a pin with his face on it among the many other Anna pins

Short and sweet, possible sequel to Lance making Dot merch fic idea.

Remember the sea of Anna pins that acted as chain mail for Lance? Imagine Lance changing it every once in a while.

As roommates, Dot might notice something special when Lance leaves his cloak on his bed one day

Lance and Dot buy back to school products for Anna

As a newly enrolled student of Easton Academy, it’s necessary to buy new things to get ready for this brand new school life.

After no one else being willing to go, Lance drags Dot along with him with the promise of treating him to something nice

It turns into a shopping date

Future AU :they get married

They get married and boom Ira kreuz

TBC

*funny thing is that I’ve written the start to some of these already, I’ve just never gotten around to finishing them…

#mashle #dot barrett #lance crown #lancedot #landot #fic ideas #lance x dot #mashle muscle and magic #I’m so tired rn this took a day to write

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