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#world elder abuse awareness day
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An opportunity for all of us to pause and consider the extent of the heinous crime of abuse of older persons.
World Elder Abuse Awareness Day is an excellent opportunity for all of us to pause and consider the extent of the heinous crime of abuse of older persons.  Millions of older persons around the world are abused, neglected or exploited.  This abuse takes place in the home, in the workplace, and in institutions that are meant to care for the elderly.  And what is worse, perpetrators are often close family members.
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murderousink23 · 10 months
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Day of Valdemar and Reunion Day 🇩🇰, International Working Animal Day 🌏, National Smile Power Day 🇺🇲, Nature Photography Day 🇺🇲, National Dump the Pump Day ⛽🇺🇲, National Beer Day 🍺🇬🇧, Clean Air Day 💨🇬🇧, World Elder Abuse Awareness Day 👵👴🇺🇳
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restoryhealthytech · 1 year
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World Elder Abuse Awareness Day
World Elder Abuse Awareness Day is celebrated on 15 June all over the globe as an awareness initiative.
This day aims to raise awareness about the plight of elderly people who are abused and harmed. The primary goal is to develop a better understanding of elder abuse and neglect by raising awareness about the cultural, social, economic, and demographic factors that influence such abuse and neglect. As per the statistics and incidents reported, adult children and family members are the leading abusers of elderly people, and violence against elders happens mostly at home.
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The theme for World Elder Abuse Awareness Day 2022 is ‘Digital Equity for All Active Age.’  Access to technology can change the life of an elder whether it is for convenience  or for communication with loved ones.
We have written a small blog about how accidentally or intentionally our elders are exposed to abuse. To know more kindly contact us on (7568555123) RESTORY.IN
Geriatric Tele Consultation
Tips To Prevent Social Isolation in Elderly
Social Media for Elders
Socialisation and Challenges of Loneliness in the Elderly
Regular Health Check Ups
Physical Ageing
Nutrition in Elderly
Importance of correct exercise
Attitudes and Ageism
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mathsproofread · 10 months
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Combatting Elder Abuse
This year, World Elder Abuse Awareness Day (WEAAD) coincides with two important events. The first is the start of the United Nations Decade of Healthy Ageing (2021-2030). This marks the beginning of ten years of concerted, catalytic, and sustained collaboration with diverse stakeholders on improving the lives of older people, their families, and their communities. The second is the 20th milestone of the Second World Assembly on Ageing and the fourth review and appraisal of the implementation of the Madrid International Plan of Action on Ageing (MIPAA). These provide an opportunity to generate renewed momentum for international action to advance the ageing agenda.
MIPAA represents the first time Governments agreed to link questions of ageing to other frameworks for social and economic development and human rights. The 159 Member States who signed onto the MIPAA reaffirmed the commitment to spare no effort to protect human rights and fundamental freedoms, including the right to development.
Source: United Nations Read more on World Elder Abuse Awareness Day here!
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memo-blogs · 12 days
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Wish An Astarion x Tav (any gender) fic (wholesome/SFW) ((Also, contains spoilers for the game))
As the warm glow of the fading sun caressed the sky, he awoke. Alone, again. Astarion trekked up to the first floor window and peeked outside at the fading sun, longing more than for its warming rays. He looked at the note he had been carrying in his pocket again. The messy familiar scrawlings of his darling.
"There's something I have to do. Please wait for me. -Tav"
It had been days. Where were they? Why wouldn't they take him with them? His mood darkening with the sky, Astarion turned away from the window of his humble abode with Tav.
Or well, maybe "humble" wasn't the right word. Fabulous, well and tastefully adorned, just as Astarion liked it. Tav had smiled that adoring smile of theirs as they let Astarion decorate their home. "You always did have excellent taste, love", Tav had said as they helped Astarion put everything just so. They had been all around the world, looking for just the right drapes, cutlery, carpets, paintings and so on. Their home had two floors and a surprisingly large basement. The days spent finding and putting together the place were mundane and domestic, but full of so much warmth and gentleness that Astarion let a sigh escape his lips as he descended back to the basement floor, painfully aware.
Aware that while the house was exactly how he'd like his home to be, and that while he was excited to actually have a place to call home, it was just a place without Tav. Astarion walked the corridors adorning their nest with knick-knacks and memoirs from their travels together, chuckling at the vibrating dog-collar found in the Underdark, realising that the most at home he'd ever felt was with Tav. He opened their bedroom door and winced at the empty bed. Somehow, even though he had room to roam, and the right to leave the house every night, the empty loneliness of their shared bedroom reminded him of the year he spent in a coffin in isolation as punishment from Cazador. He shuddered. His back ached with the memory of abuse. But he also remembered how softly Tav had wrapped their arms around him, promising never again would he be trapped. And so far, Tav had more than kept their word.
He sat down on their bed. His and Tav's. Astarion absent-mindedly caressed the bedsheets, lost in thoughts.
Where was Tav? What could take this long? Why not take him with them? After all they'd been through together, didn't they trust him? Or… Maybe Tav needed to do something in daylight. Astarion felt the pang of loss. While being tadpoled by an elder brain had been a horror, he had enjoyed the unexpected side-effect of being able to walk in the sun, and missed it dearly. Maybe it was his elf blood that made him ache for the sun. Ah, but to be a vampire, and to walk in the sun! That had been power. That had been the first taste of delicious freedom for him.
Astarion let his thoughts wander back to Cazador's ritual of ascension. Would have sacrificing all those souls really been worth not having to thirst and to be free to walk in the sun? Gods. There were moments where he genuinely thought he'd give anything for that. Fearful, painful moments. And he was so close to giving in to his panic to never be caged ever again.
But then, he recalled Tav's hand in his. Their smiling face. Their selfless bravery in battle, shielding him, always having his back. The way Tav looked at him, how, even if Astarion was just joking that he only wanted vain empty compliments, Tav's responses were always sincere and full of affection. The gentle way they made love. Something about the way Tav loved Astarion was so true, he couldn't deny it. It was in everything Tav did. It was in the way Tav opened up about being a Bhaalspawn, and fearing they'd hurt him. How they weren't afraid of losing power or control or murdering innocents in general - Tav was more scared and willing to give up the one thing they truly loved, if it meant keeping him safe. Him. Astarion. A measly vampire spawn who, in the grand scheme of things, should have meant nothing to someone like Tav. Yet they had died at Bhaal's altar, giving up all that power to be a decent, regular person, and to have a chance to love Astarion. For Tav, it had been more important to die wanting to be good and to love than to give up their soul to live powerful but practically in slavery. Thank the gods Withers had been there to raise Tav as a mortal, no longer tied to Bhaal. To give them and Astarion a chance to live.
Astarion lied down on the bed. Tav loved him enough to set him free. Tav didn't want to own or control him. They never had. They had always let Astarion make his own decisions. Stood by Astarion when he confronted Cazador. Never telling him what to do, but supporting him through it all. If he had ascended, he would have been lost forever. He would have gained power, but he would have lost himself, and become a beast beyond reckoning… Probably very much like Tav almost did, like their sister Orin had. Astarion had read up on vampire lords after, and realised part of the reason Cazador had been so cruel wasn't only that his master Vellion had been equally brutal to Cazador… But also because the one edge spawns had over full fledged vampires, was that they were still capable of love. Of feelings. Cazador had hated him with a passion, partly because he couldn't feel anything else.
And what if it hadn't been him to have been swept up in the mindflayer ship? What if it had been one of his vampire siblings? If the roles had been reversed, and he was still stuck with Cazador while his sibling dealt with the Netherbrain with Tav, he would have hoped to have been given a chance to live as well. He chuckled. Gods. All those spawn down in the Underdark, wreaking havoc. Ah, to be a spider on the ceiling!
Astarion stared at the ceiling of their bed. Mindflayers and vampire lords weren't that different beasts, after all. Soulless opportunists looking to drain whatever they found useful until it no longer wasn't. Astarion turned his head to look at the empty pillow beside him. The longing and uselessness he felt almost made him want to be some emotionless monster. He got up, frustrated.
He felt alone and oddly fragile. More so with each passing day Tav was absent. He trusted Tav. They said they'll be back. So they would be. But Astarion was worried. He walked to Tav's bedroom table and picked up the Sending Stone. He had picked it up and put it down many times as the days passed. He rolled it in his hands again, pondering who to message.
He finally gave the Stone a squeeze, activating it, and uttered: "Shadowheart love, sorry to bother you on a wonderful night such as this, but do you happen to know where Tav is?" The Stone flashed, letting him know the message was sent. He waited for a response.
None came. Odd. They weren't exactly the bestest of friends with Shadowheart, but she had always given some sort of reply when he had messaged her. Was she missing with Tav? Did they take Shadowheart with them wherever they went, but not him? What was going on? He thought of their old companions. Wyll and Karlach were still in the Hells, as far as he knew. Halsin was rebuilding the Shadowlands now that the shadows were no more. Jaheira was rebuilding Baldur's Gate. Lae'Zel was long gone fighting for the freedom of her people. He didn't dare to even think what Minsc was up to, or how he'd respond to any message, really. This didn't leave him many options on who to try next. He squeezed the Stone again, activating it.
"Gale - would you be a dear and let me know if you have any idea where Tav is?"
The response came in surprisingly quick this time. "Astarion! A little busy right now - ack!" The response cut out.
Astarion sat back down on the bed, Sending Stone in hand. So Shadowheart was unresponsive and Gale, professor of magic in Waterdeep, was clearly in some kind of battle - what were the odds these two events were unrelated? What was Tav up to that they had called on Shadowheart and Gale, but left him at home to worry? He stood up and paced. What was going on?
He heard a weary sigh in his ear. "Astarion." It was Gale. He was sending a message back. Astarion stopped to listen. "Terribly sorry not to respond. In a bit of a spot of bother. We're helping Tav… Retrieve an item, and it is proving rather tricky. Not to worry! Shadowheart has patched up the worst of Tav's injuries and we're nearly done here. We'll bring Tav home tomorrow night once we've all rested from today's activities."
"Tav is hurt?" Astarion found himself nearly shouting. He contained himself and poised his next words to be more his usual lax self. "Do make sure to tell them to not drag any blood on my Calimshite carpets when you return. They were very expensive. I suppose I'll have dinner waiting after sunset. You still drink wine, don't you Gale?"
Gale chuckled. "Tav says they wouldn't dream of dirtying your precious carpets. And a fine wine with some cheese sounds wonderful. See you tomorrow."
Astarion put the Stone back on Tav's table. Honestly he couldn't care less about the stupid carpets or even this entire house - he just wanted Tav back safe and sound. Tav getting injured worried him, as he knew how annoyingly self-sacrificing they could be. Didn't they agree to look after themselves first after the whole mess with the Netherbrain? What was Tav thinking?
Astarion walked upstairs and put on a coat. He needed the air to calm his nerves, and a meal to quench his thirst. Plus, now he'd have to prepare dinner for at least three since Tav was coming home with an entourage. He thought back to where Tav placed the recipe for that strange sauce Gale kept harping on about, and with a put upon sigh determined to make his best effort to make the stupid thing. Tav would be happy if he tried to be kind to their friends. And if they brought Tav back to him alive, maybe slaving over a meal wasn't such a big thing.
The next sunset, Astarion felt a little pathetic, sitting by their door waiting. But he couldn't help it. He was anxious to see what Tav had gone out to retrieve that was apparently worth dying over. And mostly, just to see his beloved idiot again. It had been horribly lonely and empty without Tav. And honestly, just mind-numbingly boring. He had started preparing dinner early as he couldn't really sleep the day, waiting. It was simmering on their stove. He had gone a bit overboard with setting the table as well, picking out Tav's favourite flowers and bringing out their best cutlery for their friends.
Astarion gingerly stole a glance at the last rays of the sun diving underneath the horizon, and as soon as they disappeared, a teleportation circle promptly manifested in their yard. As expected, Gale walked out, looking behind him as if encouraging whomever was behind him to follow. Out came Shadowheart and surprisingly, Jaheira, supporting a limping Tav between them. As soon as they were through, Gale shut the portal behind them.
Astarion couldn't contain himself. He flung the door open and ran to hold Tav. He held them hard, as if afraid Tav would vanish if he let go. For a small moment, he was lost in Tav's familiar scent. The one he had come to associate with being loved and being home, and he managed to hold back his tears on how good it felt to have Tav near him again. Tav gently kissed Astarion on his head, laying their head on his. "Hello, darling. Miss me?"
Astarion suddenly felt acutely aware they weren't alone and broke off their embrace. He tried to ignore Jaheira's knowing smirk and Shadowheart's little smile as he turned to face the latter. "I thought Gale said you'd patch my precious knucklehead before sending them home. Why are they still injured?"
Tav looked embarrassed. "Well, uh-" They were cut off by Jaheira. "Because we only have so many healing spells to spare a day, spawn, and we did as much as we could after a night's rest for the reckless cub, Shadowheart and I." Jaheira smacked Tav on the shoulder, as if to reprimand them for needing healing in the first place. Astarion's eyes widened in shock. "How hurt were you?"
"Exhaustingly so." Shadowheart sighed. "For a moment there, I wasn't sure Tav was still among the living, or that we could even bring them back, but we did, thank Selûne."
"Aye, burnt to a crisp by that one trap we missed. Shame the temple was filled with so much undead-repelling magics that we couldn't risk bringing our favourite vampire spawn in there to check for all of them, but we managed."
Everyone stopped when they noticed how quiet Astarion got. There was an awkward silence that hung among the group, as everyone realised even without tadpoles to connect them that Astarion was not okay with the news given. Tav looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you to come along. I know you would have come even if I didn't ask if I said I was going. But, there is a reason for this." Tav signaled for Shadowheart and Jaheira to release them, and stood up on their own feet.
Astarion sighed. "Just don't do it again. Now, I've made enough dinner for all of you, and there are guest bedrooms upstairs if you want to stay the night. You can tell me all about it over dinner." Astarion walked up to Tav, offering them a hand to lean on as he led them home. Their friends smiled and walked behind them, grateful for the offer of a hearth, a meal and a warm home.
Tav whispered in his ear. "Just like that? You forgive me for taking off without you?" Astarion gave their arm a gentle squeeze. "Yes love. I said I trust you, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, I still do." They walked together into their home with their friends. "But please don't leave me alone like this again. I don't like being alone with my thoughts for so long." Tav kissed his pale cheek. "I promise. This was the last escapade I'll ever do without your blessing."
As they sat down for dinner Jaheira laughed. "Astarion, seems I have misjudged you yet again. Not only was I right in mistaking you for a good man, now I am beginning to believe I might mistake you for a great husband. This is a beautiful setup!"
"Oh hush, you old crone. It's just dinner among friends", Astarion quipped back, smiling despite himself.
Gale sniffed the air as he sat down. "Is that Hundur sauce I smell?" He took a small dab of sauce on his spoon and tasted it. "By Mystra, you even got the flavours just right! Astarion! I didn't know you had the makings of a cook."
"There are many things you don't know about me, darling."
Shadowheart piped in while breaking bread for herself. "Indeed - I for one, am having a hard time telling which one of you loves the other more, you or Tav. Especially after this stunt we helped them pull. It'd be disgusting if you two weren't so adorable together… What isn't a mystery though, is who decorated your house. Really, Astarion?"
"You're just jealous you don't have my sense of style, love."
They all smirked, Tav smiling the biggest of them all. "Thank you, everyone. For being here. For you three for helping me with this… We can talk about what we did, but I'd like to tell Astarion in private what we got out of it, if that's okay. And… Just, you are all my family and I love you all very much. I am honoured to be among such amazing friends, and could not ask for better ones. If you ever need anything, anything at all, call and you know I will be there."
A choked silence hung among them, as no one really knew what to add to such heartfelt words of affection. Astarion smiled. Tav was one-of-a-kind. And all his. Jaheira turned her head to wipe a tear. Shadowheart smiled. Gale cleared his throat. "Well, let's not waste our gracious chef's efforts by letting this feast go cold. Shall we?"
They ate together as mostly Gale and Shadowheart regaled them with the story of how they had found a long-abandoned temple of Lathander, and plunged into it's surprisingly sunny depths, with occasional snarky remarks from the wizened Jaheira of all the blunders they made along the way. Tav focused on the meal, following along the story, nodding in places in agreement on the retelling of their past few days, and laughing at everyone's quips and remarks on their mishaps while at it. Astarion wondered what was worth this much trouble. The Blood of Lathander was still with Shadowheart. What more could the sun god offer that was worth the risk? He also noted that Tav seemed oddly nervous, and avoided his gaze throughout the dinner, shyly blushing into their dinner whenever their eyes did meet. Astarion found himself anxious as well, every now and then letting his foot tap under the table before he caught himself, and composed himself once more.
Eventually dinner came to a close, and they saw their guests to bed. Shadowheart promised to finish healing up Tav as soon as she woke up and before Gale teleported them all back home. They wished their friends a good night.
Astarion gently helped Tav down into their basement bedroom, and then to take off their armour and clothes. Dawn was already approaching, which was their bedtime, as Tav had adopted Astarion's nocturnal schedule with ease. He noted the bruising, the burns, the barely closed wounds from the battles Tav had recently fought without him while undressing them. He got lost in softly caressing Tav's battered body, until Tav's hand found his, and gently held it. Astarion looked into Tav's eyes. "Alright. We're alone now - could you please tell me what was worth nearly killing yourself over, again? The suspense is killing me, darling."
Tav looked at their knees, searching for their words. "You know how you showed me your grave stone", they started.
"Of course love, how could I forget? We made such excellent love on top of it that night. I cannot think of a better way to celebrate my rebirth at the time", Astarion shot back with a devilish grin. "I fail to see how my faded grave stone has anything to do with your little adventure", he added.
"Well that's just it - your grave was so faded, we couldn't make out the day you died. Or the day you were born. And you still can't remember, right?"
"Well no, I can't and honestly, I don't really care to. That person is long gone and can stay that way for all I care. Why does it matter?"
Tav played with their hands in their lap. "Today's a year from the day we first met. I was afraid I wouldn't make it back on time, but I did." Tav used the bed post to stand up, and limped to their satchel. They took out an unassuming scroll case. "I figured, today could be both yours and my birthday. Since I can't remember my birthday either. It could be our anniversary. A day of celebration. Our day. And I went out and got the one thing I really, truly want to give you above all... I've been plotting ways to find one for some time now." Tav limped in front of Astarion and painfully but meticulously got on one knee. Astarion could feel his cheeks getting hot - a feeling he wasn't sure he was even capable of anymore, being undead and all.
Tav presented the scroll case to him. "The temple of the sun god had been rumoured to contain a Wish spell. I risked everything to find out if the rumour was true, and it was. With this scroll, anyone can wish for anything; once." Tav placed the scroll into Astarion's hands.
"I know how much you loved walking in the sun, Astarion. Your life was taken from you. Your freedom. Even the sun was stolen from you. I give you this scroll, so that you can wish for anything. You can wish to ascend without sacrificing all those spawn, you can wish to be rid of your vampiric curse, you could wish to rule the world - anything you want." Tav gently squeezed Astarion's hands, holding the scroll case, and looked up at him with their piercing eyes. "I love you, Astarion. And I always will. I give you ultimate freedom to choose anything you want, anything at all."
For a moment, it felt as if time stood still as Astarion fully absorbed what Tav just said. What they were offering him. Suddenly, he couldn't help but cry. He threw the scroll case into a corner of the room and knelt down to hold his precious Tav as close as he could. How had he gotten so lucky? After centuries of misery, how was he here, now, with this amazing creature? He kissed them deeply, passionately, as if trying to convey all his overwhelming affection and gratitude in one, two, no; dozens of kisses and caresses. He didn't care he was still crying. He didn't care if he seemed insane. He just wanted to feel Tav, and never let go. To tell them without words Tav meant more to him than anything he could ever bring home.
After awhile, he stopped and they leaned their foreheads together, holding hands. Astarion noticed Tav was crying too, but Tav gave him a little smile nonetheless. There was an unanswered question in Tav's eyes -
What did Astarion want to Wish for?
Astarion kissed Tav on the forehead once more. "You are a reckless idiot." He got up and picked up the scroll case, and took out the scroll. Such a mundane looking piece of paper, to give out a moment of godlike powers to mere mortals. He played with it as if it was nothing. Tav smirked. "I know. So love, what are you going to use it for?"
Astarion grinned back at Tav. "Oh, I don't know. World domination does sound like an awful lot of work, doesn't it? And I have never heard of a happy vampire lord, now that I think of it. Powerful, to be sure - but not happy."
"I could wish for a sea of puppy dogs and kittens for you", Astarion joked. Tav laughed. "I got the scroll for you, smooth brain. I already have everything I need - what I want, is you to be free, in whatever way you want to be free." Tav dropped their joking demeanor and picked up their surprisingly disarming sincerity. "With or without me, I want you to be happy. You helped me find freedom and regain myself and my life back. Without you, I'd still be a slave to Bhaal's endless fervour to murder, or a mindflayer. You believed in me when no one else did, and supported me through bouts of madness. I owe my life to you… So I want you to choose yours. And whatever you choose, know I'll always love you for carrying me through my darkest days."
Astarion looked at Tav. He didn't need to connect through the no-longer-present tadpole to know they meant every word. He looked down at the scroll of Wish in his hands. He could be anyone. He could do anything. He could be the most powerful, influential and beloved man in all of Faerûn - all he had to do was say the words.
The scroll knew he meant to make his Wish. It glowed in anticipation. He smiled at Tav. "I wish to be cured of vampirism and to be an elf that's capable of walking in the sun with his beloved."
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Part 5 - dare not preach
Dp x DC AU: Regent!Jazz & Vigilante!Jazz
Masterlist Part 4
"And If I had the answers I'd have written them out so I could tell you what to do and what this thing is about. But all I've ever learned comes second-hand and I dare not preach what I don't understand." -Make A Move by Icon For Hire
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Content warning: briefly implied child abuse (Vlad is not a good guy by any definition),
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Time was lost in between bouts of consciousness, flashes of pretty eyes and fire hair,  soft muttering and gentle caresses against his skin soothing his aches. 
Jason was caught between heaven and hell, wracked with agony behind his ribs one moment and healed with persistent warmth the next, a never ending cycle. 
He wanted to scream. 
One bout of semi-clarity was of some citrus concoction on his tongue, gentle murmurs of a woman by his ear before she kissed him again, forced something down his throat again. 
He both loved and hated that woman. She felt familiar in a way that made his bat-honed paranoia rear its ugly head, the instinct to survive in his gut a heavy weight, but she brought him peace in the same moment she could damn him. 
He caught his name once, his real name, spoken by her as he swallowed dutifully, a spike of want in his heart almost a welcome change from the pain by that point. 
————————————————
Jazz spoke with the Lady frequently as the Red Hood, Jason, healed in her bed. 
The elder spirit, regal in mannerisms and aura, demanded the Regent to aid this one vigilante, this one knight and Jazz had finally figured out why. 
It was so obvious when she had all the puzzle pieces, the depth of occult knowledge both in her brain and at her disposal should have been her first resource used to dig deeper, but she’d allowed Danny and Frostbite to assume (and let her assume) that the Red Hood was an awakened Liminal who was recovering from corrupted Ecto in his system. 
The Red Hood had been Jason Todd-Wayne, the second Robin- bright light of Gotham- and he’d been murdered by the Joker. 
Unburied in my soil. 
Jazz groaned in self-contempt as she paced the graveyard of Gotham’s Crime Alley. It was decrepit and uncared for, not like the higher class cemetery of Gotham proper where the Rich and powerful are buried. She what’s spent the better part of three days researching her new bedmate roommate once he’d been stabilized enough to be on a consistent schedule for ecto-infusion. He’d be unlikely to regain full consciousness for another month or so, but he would recover fully. 
That was, if he understood what he had become in his near-fatal collapse. 
(Thanks to Jazz and her rash actions.) 
The Lady had been cryptic when speaking of Red Hood at first, but with his recovery and development of a strong proto-core Lady Gotham was eager to aid the Regent in making her once Robin adjust to a world-changing consequence once again. 
(At least this time he would have support.) 
Not only was Jason a Liminal with an indisputable death-claim, he had been a- a Revenant whose continued existence was a mind boggling happenstance of circumstance that was one in a infinite chance of ever happening again. 
The Lady claimed him. The Lady gave a bit of herself to resurrect her bright Light, the one who shouldn’t have died so young, not while he deserved happiness for the hope he brought to so many. 
(Damn it all.)
He clawed himself out of his own casket, to be found by Talia Al Ghul of all people… then survive the Lazarus Pits in body, with only Pit Madness to show for it? 
(It was a callous way to think about it, but Jazz knew that it had also given him his freedom in many ways, that Jason wouldn’t have if he was still just a Revenant.) 
(Did the Al Ghul know what she had found that night in dreary Gotham?) 
(Was she aware she had given Jason Todd a third chance at life- however much of one being death-claimed by Lady Gotham could be called a life.) 
The Lady, wistful once assured in the Regent’s anger having passed, swore an oath that Jason would never be forced to be a Knight again. 
(Jazz reveled in the understanding that Batman, Bruce Wayne, was destined to be Gotham Knight for his mortal lifetime- possibly beyond.) 
(Had he sworn his fealty by accident in his grief? Or had his donning that ridiculous gimmick been enough of a bind to tie his soul to the Lady?)
(Regardless, for his inaction, Jazz privately reveled in the satisfaction of the true consequences of his choices.) 
Jazz, who’d been pacing a strict line in the uneven row of headstones, came to a rest at the grave of the once-Revenant who now lay in her bed. 
Jason Todd 
He’d been only a year older than her little brother when he’d been murdered by the Joker, buried under a name that was half-complete. He was a Wayne in life, but not in death? How hypocritical of the old bat, to not give him the courtesy of giving him the hyphenated last name if he wasn’t going to bury him in the Wayne cemetery. 
What would it have been like if Danny had a grave, complete with a stone and inscription? 
(The portal was his grave. He’d died there and the house was his graveyard.) 
Would it have been up to Jazz to choose the words to describe her little light, the brightest star in the galaxy, the one reason she had for getting up in the morning… or would her parents have cremated him and put him on a shelf to prevent a corpse from ‘piloting’ his corpse? 
(Jazz still had nightmares about Danny’s death scream. The portal ripping him apart in the same moment it fused him back together.) 
(Into something different, something more.) 
(He was her little brother, the same one who she spent her birthday money on to get those ridiculous glow-in-the-dark stars.) 
(They’d spent hours forming constellations on his ceiling.) 
How does one paraphrase a life? 
Would Jazz start with his name, his preferred name, or with his date of birth? 
Would she put down ‘dearest brother’ or ‘missed’, ‘Be at peace’? 
No. Jazz knew she’d give the most important pieces of what made her little brother the brightest star in the sky- 
Danny, per aspera ad Astra.
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Danny had an unconventional memorial tucked away in the remnants of the Fenton lab, underneath the debris of what was once a strange machine to a world unseen. 
The portal was built into the wall with ample access space in the rear for intended maintenance, though it was not required once the portal was completed and functional. 
Jazz left flowers for Danny in that maintenance space three days after she first saw his transformation, yellow tulips, though she didn’t know the impact the action would have later in life. 
Once a month, Jazz would return to replace the dried flowers, dust away the cobwebs, close the door, rinse and repeat. 
Christmas was particularly complicated in the Fenton household, but the first year of Danny’s half-life was the worst Jazz could recall up to that point. 
It wasn’t the eerie lack of ghost attacks (thanks to her not knowing of the Truce then), or the winter storm being harsher than any other Amity Park had faced in previous years… No, it was that Danny had died, while nothing and everything changed. 
Jack and Maddie still screamed their arguments about Santa Claus, loud and proud for the world to be privy to. 
Jazz had extra tutoring to take up for Christmas presents. 
Danny… Danny still had to fight a ghost. 
Ghostwriter wasn’t a malicious ghost in nature, far from it in fact, but he was never a fan of her little brother. 
Jazz overheard Danny tell his friends about his ‘storybook adventure’ and she had to sleep in the access space for the night, just so she didn’t wake anyone with her crying. 
It wasn’t right. 
That thought repeated on a never-ending loop in her head as she tucked her growing limbs into the cramped space, eyes shut tight and the darkness shrouding her in safety. 
(That had been the first nightmare of her own death to come, fingers frantically searching for a pulse as she woke in the dark.) 
Perhaps she should have never left that darkness. 
Because then the anger that had been building inside of her would never have been unshackled after the release of the tyrant king. 
Jazz had been a patient girl her entire life. It was a necessary evil when raised by scientists to follow in their footsteps, though she had no intention to make her life into any imitation of her negligent parents, she learned those lessons at the knee of Maddie Fenton, who had given her life to the pursuit of ecto-science. 
(Built a very strange machine to a world unseen.)
When Jazz failed to achieve something, she observed and struck when the opportunity presented it. That’s how she’d survived ghost attacks for so long, escpecially when it was her own dinner- that and the ingrained knowledge to strike hard and quick when it was required. A paradox of a hunter and a hunted, but that was Jasmine Fenton’s upbringing in a nutshell. 
Jasmine knew Vladimir Masters was a bigger predator than she was capable of hunting as a young girl. 
(Jazz was just a little girl when Vlad became obsessed with her and her mom.)
(Only the dead truly knew what an older man could do to someone so much smaller.)
It was a waiting game that morphed as she grew, bones sturdy and teeth sharper as Ecto-contamination finally settled into her molecules- Death-claimed, Liminality. Vlad was a false halfa, just as he was a false friend to her parents and a false business man, but as long as he stayed out of her way in caring for her little brother than she would not destroy him. 
(She was a patient hunter.)
Pariah Dark was the final crack. 
(It needed somewhere to go, all that anger, all that rage.)
Jazz had been patrolling the outer limits of the ghost shield now that Amity was returned to the Living Realm, anxiety in her gut as Danny had yet to show from his battle against the tyrant king. 
He had obviously won if they were all safe, right? The mech suit would boost him enough, but could it really kill what was already dead? 
Hidden in the embrace of familiar shadows, Jazz witnessed Plasmius carrying an unconscious Danny over his shoulder and a…crown in his right hand. 
Not only had the bastard released the King for the Crown of Fire, he’d damned them all for the same item he’d stolen in the aftermath.
Jazz’s next actions weren’t borne from Vengeance, they were unfiltered rage.
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Vlad had died that night, Jazz believed wholeheartedly, he died before she locked him in his casket- a since soldered shut Fenton Thermos. 
Thing was, Jazz didn’t recall what happened between them- all she could really remember when thinking of that time frame was a green haze that was so similar in color to the damned portal. 
One moment, Plasmius had Danny and the Crown. The next, he was a beaten man in his human form with no rise and fall of his chest to convince Jazz he was alive. 
Was it concerning? Of course. Jazz never wanted to hurt anyone, especially not in a blackout rage state. 
(How times have changed.) 
Would she ever mourn Vlad? No. He deserved a far worse fate than a second death. 
(His sins were numerous.) 
If his casket would later be given to Pandora, the trusted Mentor of the Boy King’s Regent…. Well, where better to keep a body hidden than with a Matriarch who understands the sins of man? 
(Pandora had always believed in Jazz, the Regent’s soul was far too bright to be snuffed out without a war.) 
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Within the Infinite Realms, the Regent was called many things- titles that held little meaning to the one in question, but offered weight to her authority. 
The Lady of the Acropolis, for her mentorship with Pandora and position of respect among the populace. 
First Knight of the Star King, would be granted once her Regency was over and Danny was crowned. His epithet as ‘Star King’ was a beautiful homage of a lost dream. 
Death-Claimed Champion. 
It made the Regent grit her teeth when addressed as such, especially when she lived in Gotham presently- the city of Lady Gotham’s Knights… her Champions. 
Jazz had survived to adulthood as a highly contaminated Liminal, no patron to claim as her- Not even Pandora counted even though they shared a teacher/student relationship. 
Would Jason, Red Hood of the Alley, be able to handle managing his territory without the backing of a patron claim? The Lady did swear that the once-Revenant was no longer bound to her service, which meant he could pack up his gear forever if he wanted to.
Though that was highly doubtful. 
Jason was a strong willed man to lay claim to his haunt so quickly and hold fast for so long. Jazz shared her haunt with Danny, but that was only because he was the powerful Halfa and future King. His Haunt would never be challenged by a competent opponent, not in Gotham at least. 
Perhaps Jason would be willing to unite their haunts? 
It was a common tradition for older ghosts to allow weaker ones to share their haunt for protection, but that didn’t translate well to the Death-Claimed. 
(Jazz had a hunch that Jason was so in tune with his haunt that he instinctively knew when she or Danny stepped foot across his boundary.) 
(They tried not to linger, out of respect of another’s haunt of course.) 
Then again, Jason was the Baby Liminal between the two of them. Danny and Jazz should be offering him to share a haunt for protection. 
(Jazz couldn’t help but wonder what Jason looked like as a child.) 
(She would bet almost anything that he was an adorable kid.) 
(Would their kids be so cute?)
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There was a slight lilt of sadness that lingered over the daytime hero, Signal, that Danny almost choked on his Death Wish. 
The coffee, that is. 
Little late on the literal bit. 
Gotham (city, not the Lady) was an ever-gloomy fruit basket full of ghastly vibes. You see it and you know you’re in for a bad time, but that’s typically at night. 
So what was up with Sunshine Child? 
Yeah, he was clearly human and allowed to have off days, duh, but for it to hang like a shroud of storm clouds over Sunny? Yeah, no. That shit needs to be gone, like yesterday. 
“Hey, Sunshine!” Danny called out with a false cheer. It was too damn early in the morning for real cheer, are you mad, but Signal didn’t seem to notice as he approached the lawn chair the Halfa had decided would be his new throne. 
(At least Jazz would find it funny.) 
“Hi Danny. Can I help you with something?” 
Danny took a loud sip of his coffee before he went straight for the throat, “You’re doom and gloom this morning, Sunny. Whose bones do I need ‘ta steal?” 
“No, no, it’s fine. Just…” the meta Hero trailed off, voice tired as he let himself relax for a moment in Danny’s presence. 
(That’s right, Danny’s just a friendly civilian teenager with anger issues, right?)
(Oh he would be cackling at that lie when he had a moment to himself again.)
“My brother is missing.”
Danny blinked. 
“Your brother? One of the birdies?” He tried very hard not to pull out any of his jokes about traffic lights and Stabby Robin, but at least he didn’t sound condescending? 
“Sorta. Red Hood… he went off grid about a week and a half ago.”
(Yeah this isn’t something Danny should be privy to.) 
(Like at all.) 
(It’s not like he was housing the guy in his home right?) 
(Oh wait.) 
“Yikes, Sunny. That sucks, ‘m sorry.”
Signal sighed, “Yeah, thanks Danny.” He paused again, studying the canonical adoption bait that was Danny Fenton before he dropped a bombshell. 
“Batman thinks he’s dead.” 
(Danny almost cackled in manic glee at that statement.)
(Overshot the mark there, Bats. Yikes.) 
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Danny happily waved goodbye to his meta friend, a dorky salute with his coffee cup in commersiation of a shitty hour of the day to be awake, before he leaned back in his lawn chair and yawned. 
“Oh, what drama. Jazz is gonna kill me all the way if she finds out.” He said out loud to no one in particular. The occasional shade that kept him company didn’t bother to move at the sound of his voice now that Signal had left, but it did let out a mournful trill that made Dannny chuckle. 
“Yeah, yep, you’re right- when, when, Jazz finds out.” Danny laughed again, “Worth it.” 
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A/N:
Yeah, I wasn't expecting so much angst either, but apparently, that's my jam, because I literally cannot write anything else. Well, anything that doesn't sound like two robots trying to mimic humans at least.
This was supposed to be a more upbeat entry and look how epically I failed. I had to put a content warning up top because I wrote/heavily implied that Jazz was abused by Vlad due to his obsession with Maddie.
In other news, I have a playlist now for what songs I listen to while writing this. It's called 'Guns & Sword: Jazz on' 'cause 2am me thinks she's clever.
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cr0w-if · 1 year
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THE DEMO/[Google Forum.]
|The world around you has gone quiet as snow covers it with a white blanket, singing it to sleep. Your palm tingle, and your dazed eyes twinkle with the reflected light of grains of flickering purple. It seeps through your fingertips and enlighten the darkness engulfing you.
Fate has chosen. A Witch. That's who you are.|
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Trigger warning: This game is written with a mature audience in mind, for containing mention/depiction of death, blood, violence, abuse, childhood trauma and sexual themes.
STIGMA: A DRAGONFLY is an Interactive Fiction game set in a high fantasy world. A setting that's inspired by African and Asian cultures. heavily north african.
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SYPONISIS:
You were made to feel like a monster your entire life. How could it ever be fair?
You were aware of it since your childhood. How could you not when you were sent to an Academy just to explore your identity as a Witch, a mutated human or a Mystic. Maybe both or neither.
How was it? knowing you. That you were one of many, but none at the same time.
You ran away that day. Never looking back for once. You ran as fast as your feet could take you, and it haunts you to this day. It is a race with time, with nightmares and sufferings. It was a race you could never win.
But then... You were back. Because who dares defy them.
That very cursed fate of yours acquired you an audience with The Crown. You returned to them with your own two feets.
The Crown has spoken.
A single sentence, knowledge. A fact that was so simply stated you were pinned to your spot. A gold coated letter and a luxurious pretty title changed everything in your life. Forever.
A request? No. An order. Is it a curse? Or an opportunity?
Choose, Witch.
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FEATURES:
ꕥ ​Customise your MC: You're given the chance to customis​​e your Character from [Name, Appearance, personality, skills to purpose]. Includes:
Customizable personality system: Your Witch can be sarcastic with a sharp tongue, stoic with a soft heart, playful but secretive or as cold as a winter storm.
What type of witch are you: This feature allows you to wear the world as a ring on your small finger. To be their darkest nightmare? Or maybe, the sacrificial sheep, or are you the wolf in sheep's clothing? Play it your way.
Witch's Skill System: From Intelligence, Agility, Vigour to Perception. These skills open up many different doors, outcomes, and options for your witch. And whether it succeeds or fails, it may tell you about secrets you did not take into account.
Customizable appearance: Customise your Witchfrom head to toe, includes but is not limited to; height, unique features, tattoos.
The Witch's purpose: You're playing a dangerous game, but you're not who started it. What purpose do you have to survive it all?
ꕥ​ Face the consequences of your choices: Be careful, or don't. In both cases, the decision is in your hands, and the consequences are yours to bear. So what path will you draw for yourself?
ꕥ​ Romance one of four different ROs: Two mysterious strangers, a florist or maybe someone you never wished to see again.
​ꕥ​Influence others' fates as much as they do yours: Develop your relationship with others. Or use them to achieve your motive. Your decisions and every step you take affects those around you as much as it affects you. Would you care?​
ꕥThe wise Elders are ambiguous: Explore this world and find the secrets it holds and behold.
ꕥ​Take in a little apprentice to succeed you.
ꕥVengeance. Deceit. Betrayal. Treason: It is blood for blood? How will you face the world that burned you alive?
ꕥYou don't fit anywhere, or maybe it's that you belong everywhere: Choose on your own, Humans or Mystics. Which side will you support?
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[ROMANCES][MORE DETAILS IN GAME PROFILE]
RAEL GOVIATT: [M]
 [Isn't it curious? Do you want to flip and see the other face of the coin?]
TRAITS:  Mischievous, Ambitious, Brilliant and Patient.
ABOUT: People say Rael have a bit of a dual personality. His friendly but mysterious persona makes them lower their guard around him. Though, he never shows or tells the real attention behind anything he does, even if it looks foolish to others.
Rael appears to be always amused by something. He flashes a disarming winning smile that lightens his whole face but his untelling eyes.
[You are killing me, and you are keeping me from dying.]
ANWAR HAYFAR. [F/M]
[Eternal chaos and internal chaos are distinct from each other. But I seem to attract both.]
TRAIT:  Reserved, Tolerant, Idealistic and Secretive.
ABOUT: Quiet and unassuming. Anwar is a think before you act, type of person. They prefer to live in peace and away from politics or petty matters of the wealthy. But they are not that simple, as this florist may throw their guise and strike if pricked from the wrong side.
[And if a hundred loved you, they will only love you a drop compared to my ocean.]
HELIA [REDACTED] [F/M]
[Quit. Broke. Died. And made it through it all.]
TRAITS:  Observant, Practical, Indifferent and Stubborn.
ABOUT: Helia's cold and indifferent appearance can be deceptive, despite being part of his truth.
A common first impression of Helia is a mixture of intimidation, intrigue and a sense of stability. They have an imposing aura and the kind of demeanour that demands attention in every room, with otherworldly elegance and grace.
[It's the same rain I loved that drowned me.]
YASIR [REDACTED] [M]
[Either find a way or be prepared to bleed and make one.]
TRAIT:  Charming, Ambitious, Assertive and Inquisitive.
ABOUT:  Yasir is a calculating and cool-headed person. And while Yasir can be materialistic, his love for money is not sacred, but it is definitely up there on his values list.
Yasir is authoritative and demanding, especially of his subjects. He also prefers to rule with an iron hand, which may surprise people who have not seen him in action.
[I have passed by many eyes but I only got lost in yours.]
[REDACTED][REDACTED] [POSSIBLE SECRET RO]
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best-underrated-anime · 2 months
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Best Underrated Anime Group A Round 3: #A4 vs #A7
#A4: Immortal vampires with daddy issues and family drama
#A7: Immortal being learns what it’s like to be human
Details and poll under the cut!
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#A4: Servamp
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Summary:
A normal 15-year-old boy named Mahiru Shirota, who likes to keep things ‘simple’ and uncomplicated, finds a black kitten in an alleyway and decides to take him home. He names the cat Kuro. Mahiru later discovers that Kuro is actually a Servamp (a servant vampire), and that by giving him a name he has formed a contract with him. This results in him getting dragged into a war between the other vampires and a vampire-hunting organization called C3.
Propaganda:
Servamp deals with intergenerational trauma and how wars don’t always have a clear-cut good/bad guy. The main antagonist Tsubaki, the Servamp of melancholy, and his subclasses (people he turned into vampires) seem reluctant at times to fight/hurt Mahiru unless they feel like it is necessary, and they all clearly care about each other (evil found family). Tsubaki even seems to have a bit of a bleeding heart considering how often he brings in new people even if they aren’t good at fighting. But that doesn’t change the fact that he is willing to let the world burn to achieve his goals as long as his people aren’t hurt in the process.
Then you have C3, the vampire-hunting organization. They view themselves as protectors of humanity and are willing to do anything to defeat Tsubaki, even kidnapping Mahiru to try and convince him to work with them under threat of death.
Then you have how the different Servamps deal with immortality. You have Lily, the Servamp of lust, who takes in and raises kids who are abandoned or abused. If any of the kids died before he could save them, he turns them into his subclasses instead. Then, there is Kuro, the Servamp of sloth. He doesn’t have any subclasses because you can’t know if someone want to be immortal, and it is cruel to force that upon someone. And finally, Lawless, who, for some reason, has started to kill his eves (the people he forms a contract with) once he gets bored with them.
The anime also has some absolutely beautiful animation and music. Plus, all the characters are well written and fun. (Fun fact: the person who sings the opening “Deal With” also voices Tsubaki.)
Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Suicide
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#A7: To Your Eternity (Fumetsu no Anata e)
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Summary:
An Orb, known only as It, is cast to Earth to be observed from afar. Capable of changing forms from beings whose reflections It captures, It first becomes a rock and then, due to the rising temperature, moss.
It does not move until one snowy day, a wolf at death’s door barely crosses by. When It takes the animal’s form, It attains awareness of its consciousness and starts to wander with an unclear destination in mind. Soon, It comes across the wolf’s master—a young boy waiting for his tribe to return from a paradise abundant with fish and fruit in the south. Although the boy is lonely, he still hopes those whom he holds dear in his memories have not forgotten him and that he will reunite with them one day.
The boy wants to explore new surroundings and decides to abandon his home with It to find the paradise using the traces his tribe left behind. However, with a heavily injured body and no sight of his elder comrades, what will become of the boy?
Propaganda:
I don’t think I’ve ever watched an anime that has meant so much. It’s/Fushi’s journey from being born as nothing and without emotions, to becoming a genuine, real person who loves and cries is so special to me. The constant war he’s in between being too human and being not human at all is written so well—for him to love so much it hurts, leading him to isolate himself for years on end, for him to want to make friends, to love, but too afraid of them leaving and eventually dying to meet anyone new. For him to get so detached from life and death and the cycle it perpetuates that he loses understanding of why human life is so special—why should he save people, if they will die anyway? Why should he save them, if he can just bring them back to life, if he can just become them? The constant cycle of him learning to love again, and learning to treasure life again, only to lose it once he’s experienced death in a new and agonizing way. It’s about love, and it’s about humanity. Always.
Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty/Death, Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Racism, Rape/Non-Con, Self-Harm, Suicide
All TW’s apply to the protagonists, except child abuse and the racism. The world itself has hints of racism/discrimination throughout the anime, and not directly towards the protagonist. As for the rape, an antagonist attempts to rape the protagonist. There is a ton of self harm (protagonist and side characters) and blood as there is a lot of wars also happening in the anime
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When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.
If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.
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Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.
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writingmaidenwarrior · 2 months
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List of my WIPs
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Their Call for Home
A high fantasy slice of life story, inspired by Dragon Age, DnD, and Elder Scrolls that slowly grows into having some stakes when the life of the protagonists changes drastically thanks to the new king becoming a tyrant and trying to kill one of them for personal reasons.
Moon Daughter
Modern day supernatural story fueled by me accidentally reading too many of those werewolf romance that are full of abuse and violence and my spiteful ass wanting to write a werewolf story that is different. Mika is half werewolf but wasn't aware of it because her mother kept it a secret from her, even on the deathbed. When Mika meets Connor, who tells her his pack had been looking for her because she is the daughter of their alpha, she is skeptical at first, but something tells her he tells the truth. The pack itself in uproar because of the alpha and his mate dead, and beside Mika the only one with a claim is Neil who has zero intentions despite everyone's suspicion. From there things just get more and more complicate.
Rebellious Souls
A slightly dystopic alternative world in which reincarnation exist and science found a way to give you access to your past lives memories. Unfortunately, depending on who you were, you are expected to continue the path of your previous life. Even more unfortunate that the protagonists Amren, Keir and Màiren don't want to play by this rule because it means Amren and Keir have to break up for "the sake of society and walk the path of their previous life". The three of them being a polyamorous trio decide to go against this and stay together secretly and set things in motion no one could forsee.
Sin Eaters
Fantasy/Post-apocalyptic story set in a world where dangerous monsters roam barren lands and the remains of civilization gathered in a big city parted in an area for humans and one for horned ones. Only the elite group of fighters called Sin Eaters are what stands between the city and the monsters, protecting the people from what roams the lands. The story starts when Talindra becomes a Sin Eater and gets paired with the horned one Wynthan as fighting partner. Right away she starts to learn there is more to being a Sin Eater than just being the elite fighters and with Wynthan's guidance and help uncovers the the true history of what happened centuries ago while navigating that strange connection they both have.
as at January 2024
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HYBRID SIDE EVENT: CLOSING THE CIRCLE: ADDRESSING GENDER-BASED VIOLENCE IN OLDER AGE.
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Gender-based violence against older women remains largely a taboo subject as the gender aspects of elder abuse and violence against older persons are too often obscured. Older women are not a monolithic group, but rather include women from all countries, ethnicities, sexualities, gender identities, professions, and health and socio-economic statuses. Those from marginalized populations continue to be at greater or unique risks for violence throughout their lifespan, including in older age. An expert panel will provide updates on combatting violence against older women policies. The #event will be held in hybrid mode (in person and on Webex platform).
Opening remarks:
- Ambassador Federico Villegas, Permanent Representative of the Argentine Republic to the UN Office and other international organizations in Geneva
Panel speakers:
- Claudia Mahler, Independent Expert on the enjoyment of all human rights by older persons
- Todd Howland, Chief of the Development and Economic and Social Issues Branch, OHCHR
- Claudia Garcia Moreno, Head of Unit on Addressing vulnerable populations, World Health Organization (WHO)
- Elizabeth Broderick, Expert of the UN Working Group on discrimination against women and girls
- Silvia Perel-Levin, The International Network for the Prevention of Elder Abuse (INPEA) (INPEA)
Closing remarks by Ambassador Anita Pipan, Representative of the Permanent Mission of the Republic of Slovenia to the United Nations and other international organizations in Geneva.
Moderator:
Monica Ferro, Director of the UNFPA Office in Geneva;
The World Elder Abuse Awareness Day is observed on 15 June. It was officially recognized by the United Nations General Assembly in its resolution 66/127 in 2011, following a request by the International Network for the Prevention of Elder Abuse (INPEA), who first established the commemoration in 2006.
The event is co-organized by Missions of Slovenia and Argentina in Geneva, International Network for the Prevention of Elder
Abuse, NGO Committee on Ageing, UN Decade on Healthy Ageing, UNFPA, WHO and OHCHR Special Procedures Branch.
The event is cosponsored by Missions of Permanent Mission of Austria to the UN - Vienna, Permanent Mission of Brazil, Permanent Mission of the Dominican Republic to the United Nations, Permanent Mission of Serbia and Montenegro, the Permanent Representative of the Philippines to the United Nations, and Uruguay mission in Geneva,
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jihoonmk · 4 months
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so, this is probably the latest i've ever been with an intro post (a week? i think....) anywho! it's just me, jiwoo's mun here with a 2nd (but not really a new muse, just bring life back to a muse who has actually lived a few times before and i have a special attachment to hehehe). meet kang jihoon, my sweet boy with quite a bit of trauma (which i won't get into here much + will make sure to use tw's as needed!).
he's my black bird manipulation baby who just wants to fit in and feel like he belongs somewhere. he can also do a bit of dream walking, but he's sort of afraid to use his minor ability due to the risks of it (listed on his profile).
anyway, i'll list below a few things to know about him for plotting purposes so if you'd like to plot with this boy here feel free to like this post and i'll slide into your dm's! (i will be getting to jiwoo's stuff tomorrow, i promise i haven't forgotten anyone. it's just been a really hectic week. ;;). of course i also have a discord but that's only available upon request if it's easier for you to plot there! ^^
things to know:
jihoon is from Melbourne, Australia where he previously lived with his mother and father (who was, and still is, completely unaware of this magical world that jihoon is a part of and he would very much like to keep it as a secret from the man for as long as he possibly can).
family death tw: his mother sadly passed away when he was 17 years old, leaving behind only jihoon and his father. her death took a major toll on not only jihoon, but his father as well (taking her death extremely hard to the point where he began to change after).
jihoon isn't exactly close to his father, even more so after everything that happened when it just became the two of them. it's part of the reason why he managed to 'train himself' to be 'invisible' in others' presences and learned to keep to himself when in rooms with other people.
abuse tw/alcohol tw/family death tw: after his mother's death, jihoon's father began drinking uncontrollably. it got so bad to the point that he began drunkenly taking his sorrow/anger out on jihoon, often beating him to make himself 'feel better' while dealing with the death of his wife. jihoon learned over time to just stay still and take the beatings that he received, knowing that if he tried to stop his father, run away, or even begged him to stop then the beatings would only get worse. eventually the man fled Australia and moved to busan in order to evade any of his wife's family, running out of excuses as to why they couldn't check up on jihoon and see how he was managing after his mother's passing.
the day that an elder visited jihoon, thankfully his father was too 'out of it' and passed out on the bedroom floor to even notice any visitors. this day was the one day that gave jihoon the slightest bit of hope of even having some sort of 'happiness' in his life. a life away from the not-so-perfect life that he has at home with his father.
it took quite a bit of convincing to finally get his father to agree and let him leave busan to go to 'seoul', telling the man that he would have a better 'job' opportunity there and that he'd be able to give the man even more money. thus giving jihoon the chance to get away from the man and more or less go into hiding where he could start a new life for himself in jeju.
it's only when jihoon arrives in jeju that he realizes he had never been on his own before, making him even more nervous and aware of his own surroundings. even after starting his studies, he mainly kept to himself and would be known as that one kid in the back of the class. the kid that was always so quiet and didn't have many friends, despite others actually trying to approach him to befriend him.
even now, in his junior year, jihoon has very few friends and mostly keeps to himself. he works in order to feed himself, is one of those students that always turns his work in on time, and can even be found gazing up at the starts most nights while lost in his own thoughts. no one really knows what's going on inside that head of his, and it seems that his only 'friend' is his companion (aside from the few that managed to break through those walls he had previously built up around himself).
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wantonlywindswept · 11 months
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Mand’alor Grogu ficbit 3
one | two
i did have a good deal of this written; it was just not finished and was a different break in the story so it was awkward to post, hence the smol sad bit earlier
also my wife made me go to sleep
anyway
tw for past child abuse/injury, briefly mentioned
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The slavers' deaths were briefly suspended: the children had been taken to the Temple.
Situated in the heart of Sundari, the Jedi Temple wasn't nearly as grand as the old one on Coruscant had been, but it had been built with growth in mind. The massive pagoda had added numerous floors over the course of Grogu's life, and the surrounding area had grown to match: the Temple was less of a singular structure these days and more of a district, with markets and residences and recreation areas just like the rest of the city.
No walls surrounded the Temple; there was no forced isolation for those within. Both Jedi and Mandalorians walked the grounds freely, living side-by-side, as had been intended when the very first stone was placed.
Mirn met them on the landing pad closest to the Hall of Healing, offering a perfunctory salute before falling into step as Grogu strode toward the entrance, Nadire and Tarikke following behind. 
(His strides were, generally, not terribly long. But anything was possible through the Force, and neither of his parents had ever really discouraged cheating.)
"Mand'alor," Mirn greeted. The Selonian seemed calm despite her ruffled golden-brown fur, beskar armor scored from blaster bolts. "We had Master Balen with us on patrol today; he said that both of the children had unusual readings in the Force, so we brought them here for treatment instead of the Medcenter."
"Unusual how?"
Mirn, who was only slightly more Force-sensitive than a rock, tilted her head towards him bemusedly.
Grogu chuckled.
"Right. Nevermind."
They were met at the ornate doors by a tall Twi'lek with vibrant green skin, clad in the traditional black robes of the Grandmaster of the Order. She bowed deeply with both hands tucked into her sleeves, the movement effortlessly graceful.
"Mand'alor."
Grogu smiled.
"Cinna."
Cinna straightened up with an amused quirk to her lips. She was immensely powerful, and her gravitas commanded respect from most other beings, but it was hard for Grogu to feel the same when he'd known her at two years old and teething. 
"The children?" he asked.
Cinna nodded, and motioned for them to follow. 
"Two human boys, one nine years old, the other eight. They're both being treated for malnourishment and dehydration, and have injuries on their necks consistent with slave collars. The elder has three cracked ribs and the younger was struck with a whip."
Grogu heard Mirn growl behind him, low and dangerous. He kept a tight rein on his own emotions, well aware of how the boiling rage in his own chest could affect the hundreds of Force-sensitives living at the Temple if he let it escape his beskar-clad shields. 
His father never had quite been able to train all the fury out of him.
"They're both powerful in the Force," Cinna continued, leading them down the steps deeper into the Temple, "But it was their presence that Balen noticed. They're connected to each other, of course, but they also seemed to feel--familiar, in a way."
"Familiar to him?" Grogu asked. 
Cinna shook her head.
"Familiar to Mandalore itself."
Grogu lifted his eyebrows, humming curiously. Every planet had its own unique presence in the Force, to those aware enough to sense it, and Mandalore was no exception. Any time he returned from off world he felt soothed as soon as he set foot on the ground, reaching out through the Force and feeling the comfort of home settle back into his bones.
But for the planet to reach back?
He was going to inquire further, but as they drew closer to the Hall of Healing, a hazy blue figure wavered into existence right outside of the ornate doors.
Grogu stopped in his tracks.
"Oh sweet Force protect us," he breathed.
Grandfather was grinning.
It wasn't just a smile: it was a full-on shit-eating grin, wide and pleased and utterly shameless, and despite himself Grogu quickened his steps as he was excitedly waved over. 
"Grogu!" Grandfather called, nearly bouncing on his feet in excitement. "Kid, come see, they're finally here!"
And then he walked right through the wall.
Grogu cursed and hurried after him, flicking open the doors with a twist of his fingers. The healers look startled as he rushed in, barely pausing to nod at them before chasing after his absolute gremlin of a grandfather. Anakin didn't stop until he made it to the children's ward, taking an abrupt left through the closed door of one of the smaller playrooms.
Grogu stopped outside to compose himself, settling his presence in the Force: making sure to completely banish his earlier anger and the ever-present irritation that came with dealing with his grandfather. 
He inhaled a few deep, calming breaths, and knocked on the door.
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sometimesraven · 5 months
Text
I've been thinking a lot about generational problems and why gen z (specifically Chronically Online Gen Z) are the way they are, and I think some of it is down to Gen X???
I mean tbh it's a combination of all the current older generations' faults, millenials included, and is a natural conclusion of all that, but I think we just don't credit gen X enough for anything bad they did so here goes:
Bare in mind I'm coming at this from a chronically online cusp/Zillenial perspective and I could be totally wrong bc I'm not entirely smart on generations and stuff, I just see social patterns and theorise about them, and I think a lot of this only applies to the versions of these generations we see online and not so much the offline ones (because we all collectively forget that most people don't spend 80% of their time on the internet)
Like, Gen X are the "forgotten" generation. Why are they forgotten? Because they don't do anything. Gen X is the generation of apathy. Of turning your head when the thing is uncomfortable. Of "well there's nothing I can do about it so why bother caring".
Don't get me wrong, they did a lot. Obviously almost all of the media that shaped Millenials came from Gen X but I think that's kind of the point? There obviously are Gen X who give a lot of shits, but they could only express it through the arts and rarely through hands-on social action like other generations. An artist could write so many songs about how shit the world is but when they're asked in an interview it's "no comment". Artists who do and have always spoken out are silenced or brushed off as 'radical'.
I think that's also why there's a lot of people who are now being outed as shitty, for the same reason. Gen X spend so much time looking away from things that make them uncomfortable that they often end up looking like fools or outing themselves as bigots when they do speak out, because that discomfort avoidance means they don't have the same social awareness they're expected to have.
Millenials were largely raised by boomers, right? They were raised by a generation who were extremely entitled and privileged. Then Gen X started making art that said "actually no fuck that" but never actually going against the status quo, and they took the message to heart, combined it with their experience of being raised by just,,,, rude, shitty, entitled people, and became the generation of social consciousness.
Elder Millenials focused on all the things their boomer parents were bad at and Gen X talked about on TV. Being polite at restaurants, noticing the ways abuse and social discrimination are perpetuated and trying to break those cycles. Boomers are emotionally neglectful with their "stiff upper lip, bootstraps" mentality and Gen X are only outspoken on TV, so Millenials focused on mental health and being unapologetic about individual identity in their day to day lives.
Younger Millenials started to be more politically conscious as more of us were raised by Gen X parents but still experienced a lot of Boomer shit firsthand, so we started to care more about everything because we saw firsthand how the previous two generations had ruined our chances and didn't want that for the next ones.
Then come Gen Z. A lot of Gen Z are raised by Gen X so the political consciousness became the forefront of our beliefs. We had millenial older siblings or millenial media growing up, so our social consciousness was ingrained in us that way, and with the internet it was a lot easier to spread that conscious message.
Unfortunately, with the way the world is, Gen Z had to realise pretty quickly the lesson that Millenials learned much slower -- that the previous generations fucked us. Hard. Gen Z channeled that at a terrifying speed into political activism and the most widespread social action we'd seen in a Long Time.
Younger gen Z were raised by combination Gen X and older Millenials. Older Millenials were young enough to have spent a lot of time on the internet but too old for it to truly have shaped their psyche the way it did younder millenials. Now we have a generation who Doesn't Care combined with a generation who doesn't understand the internet anymore and has let their kids have free reign on all the shit.
Older gen z and younger millenials understand how much the internet fucks you up, I think. We seem to be more cautious with our kids' exposure to the internet, if we have kids at all. Idk what Gen Alpha are gonna be like at this point. But here lies part of the problem. Younger Gen Z had full reign of the internet from a young age. They saw a lot of shit they shouldn't mostly because they had no idea how to police their own online experience.
On top of this, and this is the most important part, Gen Z were being watched by the internet. Always.
So younger Gen Z have a strong political compass but also have seen the full spectrum of shitshow that is the internet.
In real life, they saw Gen X caring about nothing because it hurts their feelings. They saw elder Millenials caring so much about mental health and people's feelings that they failed to truly address anything politically. They took those things, and decided that being afraid of hurting people's feelings was the true evil -- that if we are to grow a just society, we have to be able to ruffle feathers.
And they're right! But then that combined with their siblings and media, elder Gen Z/younger Millenials', understanding that openly taking a stance on politics is important, and with the constant surveillance of the internet combined with a sprinkle of algorithms making it super easy to be pushed down extremist pipelines.
The result? A generation who thinks they must take a hard stance all the time and care very much about everything always, and hurting peoples' feelings is Always Okay if you think it's righteous.
I think they also have a lil entitlement (but also horrible pressure) that comes from being told by millenials at an early age that they're frighteningly politically conscious and are Absolutely Going To Change The Whole World and are just The Best Generation Ever
tl;dr - it's everyone's fault that Gen Z are Like That and we should work towards figuring out how to help them Not Be Like That, but also Gen X being apathetic about literally everything has had a huge domino-effect impact on Gen Z caring too much about literally everything
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By: Rio Veradonir
As most of us understand it, social justice is a good thing. Definitions vary, but the common thread is a belief that society should actively work to expand access to social goods for all people, regardless of race, sex, or other immutable characteristics. Like all decent people, I support that noble goal. So it worries me that a vocal minority of extremists with dangerous ideas and toxic tactics have abused the concept in recent years, throwing it into disrepute. A cadre of activists today push a radical ideology in the name of “social justice,” one with none of its liberal principles. Because its proponents intentionally manipulate language to evade criticism, I will use the terms Liberal Social Justice (LSJ) and Critical Social Justice (CSJ) to distinguish between the original version and the new one.
Growing up in a Cult
My elementary and high school education took place at a private religious school, Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) to be exact. The SDA Church is a fundamentalist, Protestant Christian denomination that began in the United States in the mid-19th century — an era during which many separatist cult-like movements sprang forth out of American Christianity, the most famous being Mormonism. The SDA Church was born out of the Millerite movement whose early believers predicted, based upon an esoteric reading of the Bible, that the world would end on October 22nd, 1844. When that day passed, offshoots of the movement formed based upon one or another justification for the miscalculation. To this day, SDA Church doctrine states that we are living in “The End Times.” I was instructed by teachers who had no qualms informing students that Armageddon would probably come “during our lifetime.” Despite that certainty, some of those elders have since passed away without the pleasure of experiencing the end of the world.
Apart from being a bit kooky, that kind of eccentricity seems harmless enough. But beliefs invariably influence other beliefs. I was taught Young-Earth creationism — in Science class no less — and that anyone who tried to persuade us otherwise, even with credible evidence, was a tool of Satan sent to damn our souls. My early schooling was about two years ahead of public school in some subjects — but 200+ years behind in science.
Some of the indoctrination inevitably took root. I was a skeptical but otherwise upstanding SDA kid. I had no objections when my friends casually stated that they would never marry outside the Church. We were discouraged from even associating with non-Adventist kids. I remember taking an odd pride in that, like outsiders were beneath me. This went on well into my teens. Then something changed.
Escaping the Cult
My sexuality was pivotal to my relationship with the SDA church. I was aware from early adolescence that I was attracted to both boys and girls. At first, I thought little of it, but over time it began to cause cognitive dissonance. The Bible, as we were taught it, stated explicitly that homosexuality (and by extension bisexuality) is a sin. Did this mean I was supposed to resist temptation and just marry a nice SDA girl when I grew up? Perhaps. We were also supposed to follow other strict rules, such as not engaging in “secular activities” on Saturday. The truly devout would never eat pork or shellfish. Many were even vegetarian. In that context, everything seemed equally arbitrary — as illustrated by the common answer adults gave to pesky questions: “Because God says so.” By sixteen, I had outgrown it. I’d had enough of the hypocrisy and the dismissal of my skepticism. So, I tested out of high school early and started college.
Most of my SDA friends went to private Adventist universities where their indoctrination continued unabated, but I dove headlong into the belly of the beast: public community college, then a public state university. I flourished in that new environment. Whereas my skepticism and curiosity had been frowned upon by religious instructors, outside it was welcomed — even encouraged. For the first time, I felt free to fully explore the world of ideas, unconstrained by dogma. I quickly realized I’d been led astray not only in science, but in history, and even the arts, where only the most Christian-friendly material was covered. My intellectual experience had been filtered through the lens of a single subculture. It was a pedagogy built upon circular reasoning with the goal of reinforcing faith in SDA doctrine.
To compensate, I spent the next ten years immersing myself in a broad education — changing majors four times. In contrast to my prior schooling, these public institutions were founded on Enlightenment values — where critical thinking, logic, and evidence ruled — not blind faith. It’s not that tradition was disrespected; I was exposed to philosophical and religious traditions from all over the world. It was a breath of fresh air — life-giving. I appreciated my newfound intellectual freedom all the more because I knew firsthand what it was like to be arbitrarily constrained. My experience had fine-tuned my dogma-radar, and when secular education institutions began falling to a different but equally stultifying set of dogmas, red flags went off.
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Warning Signs
It was in an advanced literature course in the late 2000s that I was first exposed to a school of thought called Critical Theory, which we used as an approach to literary criticism. I remember the professor saying, “The author’s intent doesn’t matter,” which meant that it was considered acceptable to attribute meanings to a work even if the author had explicitly stated that they never intended such. That rubbed me the wrong way. It begged the question “By what standard can we judge which interpretations are correct, or is it just anything goes?”
As the semester wore on, however, I gained a new insight: that language is an imperfect tool for communication, because “signifiers” (such as words) can only be defined by other signifiers. There is no way to directly access the “signifieds,” which are different for each speaker and listener because they are informed by our different experiences. In other words, it is never possible to ascertain exactly what the speaker means, only an interpretation of it, because we all have different associations with each word or phrase. That collectively adds up to substantially different readings of a given work.
I was mesmerized. It made sense. Applied to art, it resulted in more dynamic and interesting criticism. Besides, this was just one perspective out of many I studied at a school that had earned my trust by exposing me to a variety of differing perspectives. Little did I know, Critical Theory would escape its confines and expand well beyond literary criticism.
Queer Liberation
Southern Oregon University, the last school I attended, has repeatedly been recognized as one of the most LGBT-friendly colleges in the US. Still, I remember anxiously walking into the campus’s Queer Resource Center (QRC). Anybody who saw me might assume I was gay. What if people looked at me funny? I wasn’t ashamed of my bisexuality, but the fear of being judged by my new peers brought back latent insecurities from my childhood. The girl at the help desk was kind — and cute! After some flirtatious pleasantries, I asked her, “How do I meet other LGBT people around here? I’d really like to find a circle of bi folks.” She invited me to a dance put on by the QRC. I went, and I had a great time. Everybody was friendly and supportive. Nobody had anything to hide. It was another world, a freer one, compared to the insular and judgmental atmosphere of my youth.
After school, I got engaged and moved to Los Angeles with my fiancé, now my wife, so she could pursue her master’s at the USC School of Cinematic Arts in — notably — Critical Studies. We got involved with a wonderful social club for bi people called amBi. I’d finally found that bi circle! It was healing to be surrounded by tolerant, open-minded people — yet another liberating chapter in my life. Before long, we made a name for ourselves as event organizers, and then as volunteers at Pride parades and festivals. In time, I was invited to work for a nonprofit called The American Institute of Bisexuality. I readily accepted.
The organization, also called The Bi Foundation, shares the liberal Enlightenment values that helped me escape the indoctrination of my youth. But as it turns out, they are something of an outlier. The vast majority of LGBT orgs now take a different, illiberal, counter-Enlightenment approach. I would soon discover that the world of contemporary queer activism could not be more different from the liberal arts education I received in the 2000s or from the carefree bi social club I had since come to love. Instead, it was much more like the repressive environment in which I had grown up back in the 90s. It came to remind me of a fundamentalist cult, with a lot of the same qualities.
Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire
The first bi-related conference I attended was BECAUSE (Bisexual Empowerment Conference: A Uniting, Supportive Experience), in the Twin Cities, Minnesota. It began as a way for bi activists to network with one another. Upon checking in, I was asked to put on a name tag with my pronouns. I didn’t think much of it. I was asked to fill out a survey with questions about my personal history, including my preferred label to describe my “bi+ and gender identities.” That felt a little strange. Regardless, the conference was a positive networking experience with engaging speakers. There were early warning signs, though. The discussion groups were rife with virtue signaling. It reminded me of the religious one-upmanship of my SDA days, and the pride in perceived victimhood.
In 2016 I attended an LGBT event in DC hosted by the Obama administration as an invited bi activist. I didn’t know what to expect. I was hoping for something productive. What I witnessed was anything but. There was virtually no discussion of policy ideas that might make a real material difference in the lives of bi people. It was nothing but grandstanding. Panelists were competing in the Oppression Olympics, obnoxiously vying to portray themselves as both the most virtuous and beleaguered. Every speech began with a recitation of the speaker’s intersecting oppressed identities. The more intersectionality points, the more street cred. Poor chaps who had the misfortune of being born white, male, and/or heterosexual (and who weren’t trans) were admonished to “Check their privilege,” which meant that their opinions were worthless. The quality of one’s ideas didn’t matter, not that anything concrete was being discussed anyway. Instead, the political strategy amounted to nothing but endless shouting about how American society was irredeemably awful and needed to be torn down. It felt like the White House invited us so we would feel listened to, even though it served no other practical purpose. Of course Obama was not in attendance — I’m sure he had more important things to do — but I wondered what he would make of the weird, illiberal theater I’d witnessed. I thought back on his speech, delivered after attacks on his association with the radical Reverend Jeremiah Wright:
“… We’ve heard my former pastor ... use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; … they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country — a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America...”
No, President Obama would not have approved. He is a liberal, like me, who shares Martin Luther King Jr.’s vision of inclusion as a pathway to integration and treating people the same, regardless of any immutable trait. I got into LGBT activism in service of that dream. Isn’t the whole point to bring about a future where everybody is treated as an individual, rather than stereotyped on the basis of superficial qualities? Shouldn’t we be working to break down barriers, instead of fomenting perpetual divisions for tribal warfare? Why were these activists, among the most privileged people in society, so full of disdain for the Enlightenment values that rest at the foundation of all that is good about this country and for the liberal values that made LGBT rights possible? Didn’t they understand that replacing one form of bigotry with another was not real progress? I reassured myself that this was probably just an eccentric group. It was just one day, after all. Surely most LGBT activists shared my liberal values. They had to, right?
I returned to DC to attend training sessions with a leading expert on social media strategy. A friend and colleague, who happened to be a cis white male, committed the cardinal sin: stating an opinion contrary to the Critical “Social Justice” (CSJ) dogma. When asked explicitly to give feedback, he expressed sympathy and understanding for the ideas presented, but dared convey concern that some of the more extreme language being used might alienate allies. He was brutally pilloried by several fellow students in the class, who claimed that his words had triggered them and amounted to “actual violence”, and demanded that he rescind his statement or be expelled. I was flabbergasted, and my friend was fighting back tears, which only elicited more yelling and taunting. We’d made real sacrifices to be there. It felt wrong.
Over the following years, we attended many more progressive conferences, including Netroots Nation (attended every year by Democratic lawmakers). They all had the same toxic culture — and it got worse by the year, especially after Trump took office. Eventually, almost every discussion group, presentation, or speech seemed narrowly focused on this emerging, illiberal ideology. With it, came more obnoxious behavior. Attendees who spoke up in defense of traditional liberal values were protested, shouted down, and disinvited. I witnessed outright racism against white people, sexism against men, and cisheterophobia — all coming from the movement that was supposed to be standing for equality and human rights. Even SSSS (the Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality) eventually succumbed to the dogma. They were pressured into releasing embarrassing statements denying biological sex, reinforcing the irrational worldview of CSJ and undermining their scientific mission. There had to be an explanation. I needed to understand the motivations behind this trend.
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The Cult of “Social Justice”
I looked to my better half for support. With her MA in Critical Studies, which was somehow related to this convoluted landscape, I knew my wife Talia could help me decode this riddle. She explained that Critical Theory, the obscure academic philosophy I encountered in a literature course, had expanded to become the dominant political principle and epistemology of modern progressive politics.
Madness! How did a single perspective of limited practical application come to capture half of Western political thought — and so quickly?! It wasn’t just the US Democratic Party — it had spread to the global left. I needed to research it further. I compiled a reading list of figures influential in cultural-left thought, including Hegel, Marx, The Frankfurt School, various postmodernists, and their contemporary successors. The common thread was a mode of thought much less grounded in rationality than the analytical, pro-Enlightenment thinkers I preferred. It was like going back to religious school all over again!
Religion, like social justice, is hard to define. Superficially plausible descriptions such as “A belief in god(s)” fall short, because not all religions have such beliefs. Scholars tend to prefer broader, less parochial definitions like “A particular system of faith and worship” or “A pursuit or interest to which someone ascribes supreme importance.” Contemporary thinkers have argued in all seriousness that some apparently secular ideologies can be regarded as religions. In “Strange Rites: New Religions for a Godless World”, theologian Tara Isabella Burton argues that the “social justice” phenomenon has all the key components of a religion: it provides believers with an all-encompassing worldview, meaning and purpose, clearly defined communal boundaries, and powerful self-actualizing rituals. Linguist John McWhorter’s “Woke Racism: How a New Religion Has Betrayed Black America” maintains that a blind faith in systemic oppression (despite evidence of unprecedented progress) is a kind of fallen creation myth. Cisgender, heterosexual, white, and/or male people are “born in sin” and can never purge themselves of it — they can only endlessly atone by saying the right words and performing the right self-flagellations. Biologist Richard Dawkins, a notorious critic of religion, has come under fire for making similar invidious comparisons in his attempts to defend his own scientific field from related gender essentialism and science denial. Political Theory Professor Joshua Mitchell has argued that the boundaries between politics and religion are breaking down, and that CSJ has strong structural parallels with Christianity. Entrepreneur Vivek Ramaswamy, in his book “Woke Inc.”, wrote that CSJ beliefs arguably “Meet the legal definition of a religion” and thus employers would be well-advised not to force these views upon their employees. Among others, CSJ shares with religions the qualities of blind faith, circular epistemology, self-referential exegeses, cynical apologetics, sacred testimony, indoctrination, authoritarianism, holier-than-thou attitudes, hostility to science and rationality, and the persecution and excommunication of heretics.
In Christian school, “faith” was the convenient get-out-of-jail-free-card for authorities who had no real answer to valid questions. Every dogma is reducible to an article of faith, which means that it requires no evidence to back it up. If there was evidence, then there’d be no need for faith. What matters is that we prove our loyalty to God and the Church by choosing to believe despite the dearth of evidence. The less evidence, the more faith is required, and the more noble and virtuous it is to believe. This creates a self-reinforcing, perpetual motion machine of irrationality. It would be harmless enough if people were content to keep those beliefs to themselves, but a great many religious people see it as their calling to force those beliefs onto others through indoctrination and even legislation. The Cult of CSJ is no exception. If someone asks heretic but otherwise perfectly reasonable questions calling for evidence-based answers, they are told that logic and science are tools of the oppressor. It is a symptom of our privilege (sin) that we have these doubts. In other words, we are supposed to take the central tenets of CSJ on faith.
Of course, that doesn’t mean proponents never attempt to offer logical reasons or evidence for their ideas. They often do, but it comes in the form of pseudo-evidence that is reducible to faith. In Adventist school, appeals to science and reason were selectively made only when the apparent facts aligned with the dogma. Any argument or evidence that did not was conveniently ignored or explained away as the devil trying to deceive us. But that isn’t how rationality and science work; you don’t get to pick and choose when their standards apply. Without consistent and universally applied principles, appeals to logic and science are insincere. Does this argument or data point seem superficially compatible with my cherished belief? If yes, then it is true. If no, then it is false. It’s just confirmation bias. Years of working in CSJ-dominated spaces have made it quite clear that this kind of dishonesty is baked into the ideology.
The same circular standard applies to sacred texts: At Christian school, it was the Bible, among other SDA writings. In CSJ circles, it’s the approved canon of scholarship. Religious schools teach a process called exegesis, whereby the sacred text is interpreted. You start with the assumption that the text is the infallible word of God (or one of his prophets), and you proceed from there. If something about the text seems inaccurate or incoherent, you must be misreading the text. After all, you’re a fallible human being — so who are you to judge God’s word? Any apparent failings of the text are thus explained away as user (reader) error. This is exactly how believers in CSJ defend their own core canon. If critics point to logical errors, claims contrary to evidence, or self-contradictions, CSJ defenders are quick to accuse you of “misunderstanding” the material. There’s nothing wrong with Theory — only you’re too dense to comprehend its wisdom. It’s the same tactic.
In religious traditions, apologetics is a discipline where practitioners known as apologists devote their lives to making excuses for the irrationality and immorality of their chosen faith. Is your church engaging in the systematic cover-up of child rape? No problem — put out a ten-thousand-word essay explaining why Catholic tradition is blameless nevertheless. CSJ apologists include academics with pro-CSJ dissertations that lay out the philosophical basis for the practice, and journalists or public intellectuals who apply them in defense of the faith. The underlying principle is blind devotion to the dogma. It’s easy to excuse bad behavior done in its name (or deny that it happens at all), because CSJ is The Truth. If you’ve felt gaslit by people telling you that your concerns are totally misplaced, that cancel culture isn’t real (or it’s a good thing), or that rioting, looting, and arson in the name of CSJ is justified, you’ve been in the company of a religious apologist.
Another form of “proof” used by the religious is sacred testimony. In my Christian school, much fanfare accompanied the testimonies of the “born again.” The testifier would recount negative life experiences such as drug addiction, criminality, or sexual deviance, and how coming to faith in the salvation of Jesus Christ our Lord saved them from a miserable, meaningless existence. Of course stories such as my own, where escaping the church was the liberating experience, were not allowed to be discussed. CSJ’s “lived experience” is the same thing as sacred testimony. We are told we must respect the lived experiences of oppressed groups, and that only oppressed bodies are qualified to discuss issues related to their oppression — which as it turns out, conveniently encompasses all issues. If the “lived experience” in question is compatible with CSJ dogma, it must be believed, and any skepticism is pure bigotry. But if the lived experience does not reinforce CSJ dogma, into the trash they go (even if the speaker is a member of the oppressed group). My experience as a bi person, triggered by the cult-like behavior that brings back childhood traumas doesn’t count for anything at all — because it makes CSJ look bad. Similarly, the lived experiences of black critics of CSJ, like John McWhorter, are also rejected. There are no real principles here.
Just as with religion, people are not born believing dogmatic ideologies. They are indoctrinated into these beliefs. In my childhood, that was accomplished by a curated revisionist history and science curriculum. The CSJ cult uses taxpayer-funded public schools. Every subject must be reworked to ensure students are only permitted to see the issue through a CSJ lens. Ideologues always prefer indoctrination to genuine education that teaches students how to think instead of what to think, because critical thinking, rationality, skepticism, debate, and free speech are the tools that dismantle nonsense. By contrast, dogmatic belief systems shut down criticism by punishing the critics and silencing free speech. Liberalism, with its preference for open and universal inquiry, is seen as dangerous because it steers people away from the virtuous path. According to “social justice” pedagogy, not only are there ‘stupid questions,' there are evil ones. The very act of questioning CSJ is “literal violence” that must be shut down — by punishing the student (or teacher) who does so.
This ideology is consuming every academic subject. It began in the humanities, but it is now infecting even the hard sciences and mathematics. Universal, objective standards for success in these fields are derided as oppressive. Science and mathematics are now “One way of knowing,” no better than any other, and perhaps even inferior — since they are the preferred tools of Western culture. Those who disagree with its tenets are pressured, intimidated, silenced, or exiled as heretics. Professors like former Portland State University professor Peter Boghossian and even administrators like former Harvard President Lawrence Summers are run out of academia; employees like former Google engineer James Damore and even executives like former Roivant CEO Vivek Ramaswamy are forced out of corporations, and in the nonprofit world I’ve seen the same play out over and over again — especially in progressive spaces like LGBT activism.
Give Me that Old-Time Religion
Religion satisfies a deep need for many people, and it is not my place to take it away from anyone. But religion has boundaries. The world’s first liberal democracy was founded by Enlightenment thinkers who understood that the best way to respect religious freedom was to separate church from state. The establishment clause of the 1st Amendment to the Constitution was devised to serve that purpose, as eloquently explained by Thomas Jefferson in his Letter to the Danbury Baptists:
“I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should ‘make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,’ thus building a wall of separation between Church and State.”
That wall must apply to all religions, theistic or otherwise. Believers of Critical Social Justice have every right to hold their beliefs. But the freedom of religion also means freedom from religion. Just as they must be free to believe as they wish, we must be free from having their beliefs forced down our throats. Taxpayer-funded schools should not teach the tenets of CSJ, and their ideas should not be applied to the pedagogy or curriculum of public schools. Corporations and nonprofits should have no more right to discriminate against employees based on CSJ beliefs than upon traditional (religious) ones. A liberal society should tolerate differences of opinion and allow ideas to compete fairly in the marketplace of ideas. CSJ cannot be granted special status, because that road leads to totalitarianism. The debate over CSJ isn’t likely to be settled any time soon, but we should be able to come to a consensus about its place in the public sphere. We need only choose between the liberty afforded by secularism or the tyranny imposed by theocracy. I know which I prefer. As a bi man who was liberated from religiously-induced self-loathing by exposure to a more secular environment, I can attest that liberalism and Enlightenment ideals are the path forward for our movement. Tethering ourselves to illiberal ideologies like CSJ is not.
“Social Justice” is Not Just
At the outset, I explained that I distinguish between two conceptions of Social Justice: the liberal one (LSJ) and a newly ascendant illiberal one (CSJ). Liberal Social Justice is the vision that has given us the progress we’ve made on civil rights; it is one based on the liberal principle of equal treatment for all individuals regardless of their membership in any identity group. It’s what was championed by the original feminists, LGBT activists, and anti-racist leaders. By contrast, Critical Social Justice, in the name of Neo-Marxist “equity” (equal outcomes), advocates for intentional systemic discrimination against historically “oppressive” groups. This is because you cannot have that kind of “equity” without violating the liberal principle of equality. The most informed and honest of its adherents will admit this if pressed.
A collectivist conception of “justice” breeds tribal warfare and tyranny. CSJ proponents are correct that there is a history of oppression against marginalized groups. But that oppression wasn’t in the name of liberalism; it was in the name of different illiberal ideologies: pre-liberal feudalism, mercantilist slavery, theocratic homophobia, and fascism. For a group that claims to value nuanced critiques of issues, CSJ proponents seem to miss a key fact about the West: we are not and never have been perfectly liberal. Progress has happened gradually, always slowed and sometimes reversed by various illiberal alternatives that have animated segments of our society all along. And, yes, the early liberal and Enlightenment thinkers were not perfect exemplars of their ideals. Nobody ever is. But this is to be expected. Utopia isn’t possible, which is why we channel inevitable human conflicts in productive directions through institutions like capitalism and democracy. Beware the cult that sells you a utopia, because any dictatorial action can be justified by such a false vision.
It wasn’t Critical Social Justice that liberated me as a bi person. It was Liberal Social Justice. For any individual to be liberated, they need a conception of justice that values individual liberty. CSJ proponents aren’t going to liberate anyone. They are merely justifying a new kind of prejudice by appealing to an old one. This is why they must deny that we’ve made progress on civil rights in the West. If they were to admit it, they’d lose their excuse for that power grab. Liberals should not be taken in by this con. CSJ isn’t the new frontier of civil rights. It’s just one of liberalism’s old enemies resurfacing and rebranded with a trendy 21st-century pseudo-woke veneer — one of many illiberal ideologies vying for the power to tear society down and seize control for itself. Given liberalism’s proven track record of progress on civil rights, we’d be unwise to ally, even temporarily, with a movement that opposes those ideals. We need an awakening, but a liberal one — which celebrates real progress and views collective action as voluntary arrangements between individuals. We need a new Enlightenment, not just another deluded cult. It’s time liberals wake up to the fact that Critical Social Justice is an oxymoron, a mockery, and a Trojan horse. CSJ might just as well stand for “The Cult of ‘Social Justice.’”
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helputrust · 2 years
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आप जो पसंद करते हैं वह करना आपकी स्वतंत्रता है, परन्तु आपकी पसंद से बुजुर्ग को खुशी प्राप्त हो I लखनऊ 15.06.2022 | वृद्धाश्रमों में अकेलेपन और अवसाद से जूझते बुजुर्ग हमारे सभ्य व शिक्षित समाज का वह आइ‌ना है जिसमें उन्हें अपने बच्चों को दी गयी परवरिश की धुंधली तस्वीर दिखायी देती है। एक ऐसा देश भारत जहाँ माता-पिता को भगवान का दर्जा दिया गया है, उसी देश में वृद्धाश्रमों की संख्या में तेजी से बढ़ोत्तरी आज की युवा पीढ़ी की सोच पर सवालिया निशान लगाती है व कहीं न कहीं भारतीय संस्कृति की 'वसुधैव कुटुम्बकम' की छवि को धूमिल करती है।
हेल्प यू एजुकेशनल एंड चैरिटेबल ट्रस्ट ने "विश्व बुजुर्ग दुर्व्यव्हार जागरूकता दिवस" के अवसर पर युवा पीढ़ी से अपने बड़े-बुजुर्गों का आदर करने की अपील करने हेतु "बड़े बुजुर्गो का कर्ज चुकायें" विषयक ऑनलाइन उद्‌बोधन कार्यक्रम का आयोजन किया। कार्यक्रम में विद्वान वक्तागणों के रूप में श्रीमती पुष्पलता अग्रवाल (शिक्षाविद्), श्रीमती (डॉ०) सोनाली सिंह (शिक्षाविद्) तथा संयोजक स्क्वाड्रन लीडर राखी अग्रवाल (समाज सेविका) ने अपने- अपने विचार व्यक्त किये। ऑनलाइन उद्बोधन कार्यक्रम का सीधा प्रसारण फेसबुक लिंक: https://www.facebook.com/HelpUEducationalAndCharitableTrust पर किया गया।
जानी मानी शिक्षाविद् श्रीमती पुष्पलता अग्रवाल ने वृद्धाश्रम में अपना जीवन बिताने को मजबूर बुजुर्गों की व्यथा बताते हुये कहा कि, शिक्षा से जुड़ी होने के कारण मैं कई सामाजिक संस्थाओं से भी जुड़ी हूँ जिनके द्वारा बहुत से सेवा कार्य होते हैं इसी सिलसिले में कई बार लखनऊ में चलाए जा रहे वृद्ध आश्रम जाने का अवसर प्राप्त होता रहता है । वहाँ मैंने कई बुजुर्गों से वृद्ध आश्रम में रहने का कारण पूछा उसमें से दो-चार लोगों ने बड़ी मुश्किल से अपने दिल की व्यथा बतायी। अधिकांश लोगों की समस्या लगभग एक जैसी ही थी कोई भी बुजुर्ग अपनी ख़ुशी से वहाँ नहीं रह रहा था अधिकतर बुजुर्गों ने अपने बच्चों की उपेक्षा या अकेलेपन के कारण तथा बुढ़ापे में होने वाली कठिनाइयों से मजबूरी में वृद्ध आश्रम में रहने का निर्णय लिया था । एक अच्छी बात यह है कि वहाँ उनको देखभाल के अलावा हम उम्र के लोगों के साथ सुख दुख बाँटने का अवसर मिलता है । यह सभी बुजुर्ग या तो अपने बच्चों के अलग या विदेश में रहने के कारण ख़ुद को घर में असुरक्षित महसूस कर रहे थे या अपने ही बच्चों के दुर्व्यवहार के कारण तिनका तिनका जोड़कर बनाए गए अपने ही घर से निकाल दिए जाने के कारण वृद्ध आश्रम में रहने के लिए मजबूर हुए । जबकि जीवन की प्राकृतिक सच्चाई में एक दिन बच्चों को भी बुजुर्ग होना ही है तब उन्हें अपने बच्चों का दुर्व्यवहार सहन करना होगा यदि आज के बच्चों में अपने माता पिता के प्रति सम्मान और ज़िम्मेदारी का निर्वहन नहीं किया I इसलिए मेरा आज के बच्चों को स्पष्ट सन्देश है कि अपने माता पिता के प्रति ऐसा व्यवहार करें जैसा भविष्य में वह अपने बच्चों से अपेच्छित करें I आप जो पसंद करते हैं वह करना आपकी स्वतंत्रता है, परन्तु आपकी पसंद से बुजुर्ग को खुशी प्राप्त हो I
श्रीमती सोनाली सिंह (शिक्षाविद्) ने अपने अभिभाषण / उद्बोधन में समाज में बुजुर्गों की दशा पर चिंता व्यक्त की व कहा कि, सर्वप्रथम हेल्प यू एजुकेशनल एंड चैरिटेबल ट्रस्ट का धन्यवाद करना चाहती हूँ कि अपने अनेकों सराहनीय कार्यों में से आज World Elder Abuse Awareness Day पर, मुझे मेरे विचार रखने का मौका दिया है I आज के दिन का मुख्य उद्देश्य दुनियाभर में वृद्धजनों के साथ हो रहे दुर्व्यवहार के प्रति लोगों में जागरूकता फैलाना और उनके अधिकारो को बढ़ावा देना है I बुजुर्गो के लिए एक अच्छा वातावरण सुनिश्चित करना, उनके सम्मान की रक्षा करना और उन्हें उनके अधिकारों से अवगत करवाना हम सभी का दायित्व हैI हमारे संविधान तक में बुजुर्गों के साथ किसी भी रूप में किया गया दुर्व्यवहार अपराध की श्रेणी में आता है।
अगर हम मोटे तौर पर ये समझना चाहे कि बुजुर्गो के साथ किस प्रकार के दुर्व्यवहार किए जा रहे है तो तीन चीजों पर चर्चा कर सकते है -1. शारीरिक दुर्व्यवहार (physical Abuse), 2. मौखिक दुर्व्यवहार (Verbal Abuse), 3. मानसिक दुर्व्यवहार (Emotional Abuse) I क्या हम कभी ये सोंच या समझ पाते है कि हमारे माँ-बाप ने हमारे लिए क्या-क्या किया है? शायद तब तक नही जब तक हम खुद माँ-बाप नहीं बन जाते I अपने बच्चे के लिए हम निःस्वार्थ भावना से हर काम करते है कि उसे दुनिया भर की सारी खुशियाँ मिले पर हम ये भूल जाते है कि हमारे बुजुर्गों ने भी यही सब किया है हमारे लिए। हम सब अपने बड़े बुजुर्गो के द्वारा किए गये कार्यों का कभी भी कर्ज चुका नही पायेंगे पर क्या आज हम ये शपथ नहीं ले सकते कि हम अपने परिवार के बुजुर्गों का और अपने आस पास हर उस बुजुर्ग का उतना ही ख्याल रखेंगे जितना कि हम अपने बुड्ढे होने पर खुद का ख्याल रखा जाना पसंद करेंगे I
कार्यक्रम की संयोजिका स्क्वाड्रन लीडर राखी अग्रवाल ने सभी वक्तागणों का स्वागत किया व कहा कि, “आज के विषय के संदर्भ में शास्त्रों में वर्णित एक श्लोक का उल्लेख बहुत ही सटीक है:
अभिवादनशीलस्य नित्यं वृद्धोंसेविन: ! चत्वारि तस्य वर्धन्ते आयुर्विद्या यशो बलम!!
अर्थात जो सदा नम्र सुशील विद्वान् बुज़ुर्गों और वृद्धों की सेवा करते हैं उनकी आयु, विद्या, यश और बल ये चार चीज़ें सदा बढ़ती रहती हैं ! पर खेद इस बात का है कि यह सभी चीजें सभी को चाहिए लेकिन वृद्ध जनों बुजुर्गों अनुभवी सम्मानित लोगों की सेवा कोई नहीं करना चाहता है । बुजुर्गों की देखभाल करते हुए उनके साथ समय व्यतीत करने का  अवसर आज की पीढ़ी खो रही है। इससे बड़ी दुख की बात है कि हमारे घर परिवार स्कूल समाज से भी इन बातों का धीरे धीरे क्षय होता जा रहा है और कोई भी भावी पीढ़ी को यह बताना नहीं चाहता है कि ये संस्कार उनके जीवन में इतना आवश्यक है ।
“वो तिनका-तिनका जोड़ के, स्वप्न महल बनाएँ, तन मन ज्यों बूढ़े हुए, अपने दें बिसराएँ I
भारत में बुजुर्गों की संख्या दिनों दिन बढ़ती चली जा रही हैI एक अनुमान के अनुसार 2026 में केवल भारतवर्ष में बुजुर्गों की संख्या 17.9 करोड़ हो जाएगी !
भारतीय संस्कृति में माता-पिता का दर्जा तो भगवान से भी ऊंचा होता है उनकी सेवा ही सबसे बड़ी पूजा है। बस एक बार उनके बिना अपनी ज़िंदगी की कल्पना करिए और यक़ीन मानिए आपको एहसास हो जाएगा कि उनका आपकी ज़िंदगी में होना आपके लिए कितना आवश्यक है उनके न होने से आपके जीवन में जो कमी होगी उसे कोई भी किसी भी क़ीमत पर कभी भी नहीं भर पाएगा ।
ध्यान रखें कि आप तभी सुखी और संबद्ध रहेंगे जब आपके माँ बाप खुश रहेंगे तृप्त रहेंगे ।
आज ये इस अवस्था में है कल हम होगें और फिर जो हम आज बोएंगें वही कल काटेगे ।
ढलते जीवन में होती बच्चों से ही आस, अपने अपनों के लिए नहीं दो पल उनके पास I
एक बार स्वामी विवेकानंद जी ने कहा था कि - जिस व्यक्ति ने अपने माता पिता को वृद्धाश्रम में भेज दिया है उसे तो जीवन भर का सूतक लग गया है वह मंदिर जाने लायक और शुभ कार्य करने लायक ही नहीं है । शायद इस बात को समझ कर ही लोग आज से अब से और अभी से अपने माँ बाप के प्रति अपनी ज़िम्मेदारियों को समझें और उन्हें ख़ुश रखने का एक भी पल न गंवाएं । वरिष्ठ जनों को समर्पित इस विशेष दिवस पर यही सबसे अच्छा प्रण हो सकता है। इस अवसर पर हेल्प यू एजुकेशनल एंड चैरिटेबल ट्रस्ट के प्रबंध न्यासी श्री हर्ष वर्धन अग्रवाल, ट्रस्ट के आंतरिक सलाहकार समिति के सदस्य श्री महेंद्र भीष्म तथा ट्रस्ट के स्वयंसेवकों की उपस्थिति रही I
#Weaad2022 #weaad #worldelderabuseawarenessday #AWorld4AllAges #olderpeople #WorldElderAbuseAwarenessDay
#elderabuse #eldercare #nursinghomeabuse #justice #nursinghomeneglect #elderlaw #elderabuseawareness #elderjustice #seniorabuse #seniorjustice #health #nursinghomes #advocacy #eldercareawareness #awareness
#HelpUTrust #HelpUEducationalandCharitableTrust
www.helputrust.org
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aortafoundation · 2 years
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June 15th is celebrated as World Elderly Abuse Awareness Day. This day aims to raise about the plight of elderly people who are abused and harmed. Elder abuse is one of the most neglected problems of our society. Our elders need our time and support, not just materialistic things. They spent their lives to make ours better, so now it’s our turn to help make their old age better and comfortable. .⁣ .⁣ .⁣ For Support: @aortafoundation P/C. : @whitecoataarushi #abuse #agedcare #agingparents #debtfree #dementiacaregiver #domesticviolence #elderabuse #elderlaw #elderlylove #familycaregiver #grandchildren #grandparents #joebiden #lawyer #nursinghome #olderadults #personalinjury #retirementlifestyle #retirementplanning #aortafoundation #support #aorta https://www.instagram.com/p/Ce0FeGrvdWb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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