#mako replies

(also answering people in the notes of the original post: @theinconvenientlifestyle @crimsonphaquer)

Sure, it’s ok, thank you for paying attention to what’s happening. It’s making me hope to see so many people sharing what we’re suffering through. The more people know, the less my government can afford to fuck up. The reason why it’s confusing, it’s because the protests started against a law and are now against a wildly different thing that is linked a lot more to French society and protesting against the violences we endure every week. Also, keep in mind I’m just one person, and I’m constantly switching between two languages when I write those posts because the vocabulary I’m familiar with during protests doesn’t always translate well. Might I also add that there are some protesters who don’t follow the general reasons why people are protesting, but what I’m explaining here goes for the vast majority.

So, when it started, the yellow jacket movement was a response to a law the government wanted to pass, which would increase the price of car gas through a tax that is originally for the environement. Which, great, I’m all for it. The problem is, that instead of taxing, let’s say, oil companies, that tax was reflected directly in the price everyone pays when they’re filling their tank. Now that ties into French society in a special way. Because of History, France is a very unbalanced country. I’m not going into details because that’s an entire essay in and of itself, but Paris is nothing like the rest of France, and most people don’t view parisiens as French, and parisiens don’t view the rest of France as being the same as them. That also translates into the fact that most jobs are centralized so the average French has to take the car an insane amount every day, and that tax was so ridiculously high when you take into account just how much people drive, that most people would pay more in gas than rent every month. That made a lot of people angry, especially because as the government was talking about being eco-friendly and taxing polluting gas and blablabla, it was also signing nuclear agreements and making a bunch of extremely eco-unfriendly deals all over the place.

You must have heard somewhere that we like our strikes. We do. So when the tax was announced, the yellow jacket movement was created, and we striked. The protests were pretty mild, they were kept within the boundaries of “a few hours each saturday” for the first few weeks. But then Macron announced that he would cancel the wealthy tax (the one that makes millionaires pay an amount of tax that makes sense considering how much they make each year). That really pissed people off. So now they were protesting for the gas, and the fact that Macron was appealing to the rich by removing the tax. But the thing you gotta understand, is that this had been brewing for a long time. Two years ago, there was a nationwide movement against a law that was eventually passed through a measure called 49:3 which is a dictatorial measure that allows the government to pass any law that congress disapproves of if they say it’s important enough (spoiler alert: it wasn’t, it was a law to fuck over people who work jobs on the side, the youth joining the work force, etc.). Then last year there was the student protest that I covered here, which ended in so much violence that people my age were sent to the hospital and high-schoolers and middle-schoolers were protesting with us (uni students) and facing the police. You can’t even imagine how many times I’ve heard from my parents, my family, my family’s friends, my teachers, even my doctor, that “it’s going to break someday. You’ll see, one day, it’s going to explode.” 

I’ve been hearing that for at least five years. Five years of adults oblivious to the way they were grooming my generation to be angry, to be weary, to be suspicious of everything the government was doing, until we started it all two years ago, and now here we are.

But you may think, how did it go from protesting two taxes to the blood bath that it is now? Police violence, is how it happened. Or, to go back even further, it’s a story of how the government fucked up. They thought that sending the CRS (security police) would calm the protests and they would eventually die down. What happened was police officers fucking up repeatedly, until the government was forced to recognize what was happening and apologize, but by then there had been too many injured, too much fucking up from the gov not owning up to their mistake and the police saying they never hurt anyone (when we had freaking video evidence). And as the weeks went by, it shifted from the gas tax (that Macron cancelled in hopes of calming things down, but too late) to protesting against police violence, against the unfairness of how we’re treated, against the laws the police itself is breaking multiple times a month. And now, it’s not even about why we’re fighting, it’s about fighting period. That’s why I said in the post that this is a civil war. Because the reason we fight now, is to defend ourselves. Because if we stop going into the street, we’re dead. They’ll pass laws to silence us, laws to forbid us from protesting, laws that protect the police when they do things like drag me and my friends by the hair and order minors to kneel in rows, hands behind their heads, while pointing guns at them like we’re in fucking Nazi Germany.

don’t worry, i don’t mind. i’m not sure what you mean by targeted? the police didn’t specifically single out my friend group or me, but since we were protesting in the crowd, we got hit like everyone else. some people had it way worse than us though, but here are the things we did experience (in bold what i got, otherwise it was friends of mine): tear gas, choking gas, hit to the face*, crowd grenades**, thrown to the ground, dragged by the hair from the street to the sidewalk, pushed against a wall***. compared to the stuff some protestors got, we had it easy. i only bled once and mostly got bruises or breathing issues from the gas, but at least i always escaped the plastic balls that broke ribs and tore that guy’s cheek open. so, you know. i try to put it in perspective. but the reality is, even if we had it easy, now we jump in fear everything we hear something bang, like firecrackers or fireworks (there’s the women world cup right now, so lots of loud noises) and we never go out alone because if the fascist groups in the area caught your face on camera, you’re already in their facebook groups and they’ll target you in the streets and beat you up. that happened to our friend group and people we know from uni, so now we hide our faces during protests and we don’t walk alone when we leave the protests to go home.

if you want a taste of how bad it’s getting, a teacher was arrested last week-end for hiding her face to protect her breathing from the gas, and she’s facing ban from teaching and they’re not letting her go.

*the policeman didn’t hit me with his fist or anything, but one of them threw a beer bottle out of their way and it hit me on the brow bone and i got a cut that bled a bit and bruised. nothing big at all, i didn’t need stitches or anything, i was just stunned for a second

**don’t know the english name (wikipedia calls it sting grenade or hornet’s nest), it’s a type of grenade they throw on the ground and it explodes into shrapnel-like pieces that cut deeply around the foot/ankle area. it’s supposed to break appart a crowd but it just injures people badly. literally, it’s forbidden in every european country except for france, cause our police force are just assholes like that. some also have pepper gas or tear gas on top of the shrapnel. i’m going to quote wikipedia on that one: in february 2019, a protester had his hand ripped off after picking up a crowd grenade which then exploded in his palm. that shit is nasty and it shouldn’t be allowed

***same, not a policeman who directly pushed me against the wall, but when they charged as a whole, i was thrown against it

so, hum, yeah. not fun times. because the bastards are using the tear gas and the crowd grenades in streets that aren’t cleared, where there are pedestrians not part of the protests just trying to get away, and i’ve seen toddlers choking on the gas and a lady crashing on the ground after a crowd grenade exploded right next to her foot, bleeding. and they try to justify it. yeah, right.

“Tali? Taliiii!” Shepard feels deeply, profoundly stupid. She’s carrying the largest military backpack she owns, a gigantic thing of canvas and leather. Inside is every item in her posession, straight from the Normandy’s cabin, the ship grounded for heavy repairs since the end of the war, almost a year ago. She just got out of the hospital with strict orders to walk but not too much, so that the muscles in her thigh don’t suffer from her new prosthetic. And of course, the first thing she does once she’s out is to hike the mountains of Rannoch in search for her girlfriend. At least her prosthethic arm, bolted to her shoulderblade, isn’t suffering from the climbing.

She keeps calling Tali’s name, but only the echo answers, the wide, empty hills of Rannoch staring back at her. Shepard can’t help but feel like they’re judging her. Exhausted, she finally has to sit down, trying to catch her breath while she massages the painfully red flesh above her prosthetic leg. Then, a whirling sound rises behind her, sending a cold shiver down her spine. She only has her Carniflex and her omnitool, and that’s not going to cut it against brainwashed Geths. “Shepard!” The delighted voice is enough to have Shepard jump on her feet, turning around quickly despite the flash of pain in her leg.

She’s suddenly self-conscious, all-too aware of the hair they had to shave for her brain surgery following her taking control of the Reapers and ordering them to self-destruct on the post. She knows what she looks like, too thin, emaciated face and multiple burn scars on her cheeks, nose and chin, with her two prosthetic limbs gleaming in Rannoch’s setting sun. Facing her is Tali, resplendent in her deep purple clothes, enviro-mask firmly in place. Next to her is Seekar, a Geth she befriended when she left the Flotilla to coordinate the Quarians’ arrival on the planet. Then Shepard has to drop her bag, because her arms are full of Tali’s warm body and she burries her nose in the folds of fabric, enjoying the scent of lavender and home.

I’ve never written for Shep/Tali before!!! This was absolutely lovely, thank you anon. I’m not a big fluff writer, I do much better with angst (as my followers can attest) so I hope this felt good to read ♥

hey there, I replied to the first here and for the second:

• share my post, any post you find on this, on social media

• tag celebrities, tag people you know, youtubers, anyone you can reach that has any kind of influence and ask them to talk about it

• contact your local news anchor, local newspaper, hell even your school’s newspaper and ask them to write a story on this

• tweet about this, ask why no one is talking about this, write your own posts to tell your followers it’s happening. if you live in a country where English isn’t the national language, it would be even better if you could make your own post, maybe translate a few lines from mine and add a couple of photos or videos (blanket permission is given, btw, as long as you don’t alter the message of my post and turn it into something shitty or helping alt-right agendas)

• why all this? because the more people know this is happening, the less Macron and his dogs can do. If the entire world is looking at him, he won’t be able to keep sending lethal bullets on his own people

• donate or say thank you to the red cross because they’re sending street medics into most protests and a lot of people are alive right now thanks to them, people who were hurt by the police (the nine-year-old, anyone?). The police even SHOT red cross medics during some protests, as you can see in the videos I shared on the first post

• talk to us. if you know any French person, ask them how they’re doing. ask if they need to vent. be interested in what’s happening. because let me tell you. we’re alone. outside of protests, no one talks about this, because the media has done such a great job, it’s becoming taboo. I can’t talk about this to my own family except the days I come back from protests with a physical sign of abuse. we’re so, so alone, and telling the internet about this is taxing. this is just my exemple, but if most of what I’ve received since I made the post has been overwhelmingly positive, there were some ugly people too. and just talking about this, looking for the videos of places i’ve been, having to watch the footage of my people getting the shit beaten out of them is so hard. so yeah. if you want to help me, personally, you can just send a cool message from time to time, just to see how i’m doing, if there’s anything new, or simply telling me i’m not alone, that people are interested in what we’re enduring. any French who is living through this would appreciate it right now

ohhhh good ol’ zosan, one of the OG otps héhéhé. tu sais parler aux écrivains, toi

Sanji can’t help but look, look for so long he’s staring and he doesn’t care a bit because this is a moment he’ll treasure until his last breath. He’s leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, a cold cigarette hanging from his dried lips, forgotten in the drawn out minutes of the scene unfolding in front of him. He’s holding his breath, his eyes darting everywhere, trying to catch every detail he can.

It’s like Zoro can’t even see him, sitting in the galley in front of a plate Sanji has spent the entire day on, with a recipe he hasn’t dared cook for anyone since the Vinsmoke’s cook died. She had been a pillar of strength and kindness, patience and tolerance, who taught him how to love food and gave him the yearning he still has now for a meal well done, cultivated for years after by Zeff. The plate of oeufs en meurette is steaming, Zoro’s fork hovering above a potato covered in sauce au vin.