#bullet points are not policy

[orangerosebush]

The tags on this post going "The date here was me being silly but I added some analyses of what I think might happen if Trump dies within the year :)" have the same tenor as this oft-invoked Tumblr classic

[potofsoup]

i love your fourth of july comics every year but this years feels extremely optimistic about biden’s abilities in the face of him letting roe get overturned and funding a gen*cide at worst or letting it happen at best by taking the bare minimum of regulatory action… i mean can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands? and how do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?

Hihi! Thank you for reading and enjoying my July 4th comics every year! I am in a non-US airport en route to a month-long trip in a place with sketchy internet, so sorry in advance for sloppiness in my response (and potentially going radio silent).

But:

I don't think he "let" Roe get overturned, since that was the Supreme Court's overwhelming conservative majority, which really started with Mitch McConnell refusing to approve Obama's appointee and forcing it into a 2016 election issue. The fact that Trump got to appoint 3 Supreme Court Justices is what got us here.

Re: Biden and the Israel/Hamas war ... on the one hand, there's definitely more that he could have done, but on the other hand, they are a whole other country over there. It's Hamas that initiated the Oct 7 attacks and took the hostages. It's Netanyahu and his right-wing government who decided to retaliate to such extreme extent. Biden can talk about how he would really like Netanyahu to stop fighting and step down, but at the end of the day that's not his call, any more than he can stop the Sudan fighting that is near-genocidal either.

So, to come to your question #1: "Can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands"?

For me, it's a resounding YES. Guyz, he has passed so much good domestic policies. My spouse works in green energy and the passing of the Inflation Reduction Act halved his anxiety and gave him legitimate hope. The tumblr post I linked to in my comic has links to many of the other great things that Biden has done. Tbh I voted for him in 2020 because "a moldy onion is still better than Trump", and I've been pleasantly surprised. Like how he tried to cancel student loans, the Supreme Court overturned it, and then he came back 6 months later with a different way to do it that didn't lead to a court challenge.

Is he perfect? Hell no. There's tons of stuff that I wish he did more about, or he went further on, but also he's just one guy heading one branch of government who is heading into an election year. (Just like FDR promising not joining WWII, while behind the scenes doing all the Lend-Lease Act stuff). And "the people" have lots of demands, many of them conflicting.

I'd also like to push at the unspoken part of your question... "Can he really be trusted to do the right thing..." compared to whom? Because right now the answer is "compared to Trump." And compared to Trump... I don't even trust Trump to respect the results of a legitimate election. Heck, he might just take his favorite state secrets, sell them to the highest bidder (or just show them off to someone for funzies), and then claim Presidential immunity. A decent Democrat who got stuff done vs someone who probably wants to pardon himself and all his friends and do Project 2025 stuff is not even on the same level. (Do I wish that there was a viable Democratic alternative to Biden? Sure! But who?) Heck, at this point -- imagine if it's Kamala Harris vs. Trump. Who would you vote for?

As for your question #2: "How do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?"

We don't. But also what can we do besides showing up to vote?

Actually, I need bullet points for this:

The 2022 midterm elections brought in fewer-than-expected election-deniers into crucial electoral offices at the state level, which means that hopefully most state electoral boards will continue to have integrity

Yes, voting is harder but at least we can still vote. So it's about getting out there and getting your vote counted. For some states, it involves waiting in 8 hour lines. For some states, it involves bringing 2 forms of ID. Document. Track. Make sure it's dropped off in a real ballot box and not a fake one. Don't believe messaging that the voting is happening on a different day or location, etc.

A 50.1% majority is easily challenged. A 55% majority, less so. Which means getting people out to vote.

The more people know about and think about the reality of a second Trump term (versus being disappointed by a Biden term), the more they will be motivated to vote against Trump.

Finally, let's be real here: I'm braced for a 2nd Trump term. That said:

I'm still going to go and vote for Biden, because the only way to prevent a 2nd Trump term is to vote.

A Trump term where either the House or Senate is controlled by the Democrats will be *very* different from a clean Republican sweep.

Even with a clean Republican sweep on the federal level, States have so much more power now, and voting the state level stuff will help shore up Democratic goals for the future. States get to draw voting districts however they want. States get to decide on abortion policies. If you live in a deep Red state, there still might be things to vote for that make it easier to live in now, and turn it purple a few elections down the line.

So at the end of the day, it's "Vote AND". Vote and keep living your best life. Vote and tell others about Project 2025. Vote and have hope. Even if Trump wins, at least you'll have voted against him. Vote and stay to build up a progressive wave for the next election.

[prokopetz]

Eat God playtest draft 0.5.1 is now available

This is a minor update incorporating first-pass reader and playtester feedback for draft 0.5. A full changelog is available here, or under the cut below; all page numbers refer to the PDF version.

Removed an erroneous reference to a currently unreleased subsection of Appendix B from the Table of Contents (p. 2)

Reorganised "What You'll Need" for clarity (p. 6)

Reworded definition of "tagging" under "Trait Effects" (p. 10)

Clarified that "Flowing Form" does not allow changing colour or texture (at least not by itself) (p. 17)

Updated "Fulsome Fluids" to remove an inappropriate assumption that the player character has hands (p. 18)

Reorganised "Hearty Humours" to better distinguish descriptive flavour from narrative permissions (p. 18)

Clarified that "Mobile Members" is limited by one's native capacity to multitask rather than a strict "one member at a time" policy (permitting, e.g., interactions with "Polycephalous"); additionally, elaborated on what coordinating multiple members entails (p. 20)

Slight wording update to "Modal Morphology" to clarify that the character has two shapes in total (p. 21)

Clarified timing of effortful application of "Peculiar Poise" (p. 21)

Clarified that the relative-scale-adjusting effortful application of "Striking Stature" is sustained (p. 23)

Clarified that the secondary effect of the Art of Abundance can be activated multiple times (p. 36)

Rolled back changes to deactivation criteria for the Art of Alteration (this was a copy-and-paste error from a larger potential reworking of this Art which was not included in draft 0.5) (p. 36)

Reorganised bullet points under the Art of Exposition for better text flow (p. 37)

Clarified that a test re-rolled via the Art of Iteration can claim an extra die for being made in conjunction with an Art if it hasn't done so already (p. 38)

Reorganised bullet points under the Art of Making for better text flow (p. 39)

Clarified that the Art of Realisation applies to any artistic depiction, not just drawings (p. 40)

Reorganised "Gathering Dice" to make it more explicit exactly when the five-dice cap for tests is applied, and what happens if you go over it (p. 48)

Dialed back some over-wordiness in the preamble to "Forms and Impact" (p. 81)

Discussion of print-and-play NPC cards now refers readers back to "What You'll Need" rather than repeatedly explaining how to obtian them (pp. 88, 100)

Clarified that starting Gizmos in "The Clockwork City" can be taken even if non-Gizmo starting inventory is chosen rather than rolled (p. 102)

Fixed a bug in the Online Character Generator which was causing the names of randomly selected inventory items to appear as "undefined"

Various typographic and formatting fixes

[vaspider]

Measure 110, or the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

So if y'all aren't local to Oregon, you may not have heard that the Oregon state legislature just voted to -- essentially -- gut Measure 110, the ballot measure which decriminalized all drug possession and use in the state. It turned all drug use into a citation instead, and the citation and fine could be waived by completing a health screening. The entire point of Measure 110 was replacing jail with health care and services to help people instead, and while I could probably write a very long side post on the imperfections of that approach, it was at the very least a move in the right direction after decades of the pathetic failure and absolutely racist mess that is the "War on Drugs."

You may hear this pointed to in coming years as a reason why we have to just throw people into jail for using drugs, because Measure 110 failed. And like... it did fail, kinda. Sorta. It failed in that it did not manage to fix everything immediately, and it created some new issues while also exposing older issues more sharply.

It also saved the state $40 million in court costs prosecuting low-level drug offenses, kept thousands of people whose literal only crime was putting a substance into the body of a consenting adult (themselves) out of jail, put at least one addiction services center in every county in the state, invested $300 million in addiction services, and an awful lot more. See the end of this post for more reading.

But where it failed, it failed because it wasn't supported. Police and advocacy groups both asked for specific tickets for this new class of offenses which had the phone number to call to go through the health screening and the information about how going through that health screening would make the ticket go away printed on it prominently - lawmakers declined to fund this. Governor Kotek budgeted $50K to train officers on how to handle these new citations and how to direct people to the treatment and housing supports, but lawmakers thought that training officers on this new law at all was a waste of money. Money moved extremely slowly out to the supports that were supposed to come into play to help people obtain treatment or get access to harm-reduction strategies. People freaked the fuck out about clean-needle outreach, fentanyl testing strip distribution, Narcan training, and other harm-reduction strategies.

And at the end of the day, Measure 110 gets called a failure because it wasn't a silver bullet. Never mind that thousands of people are not sitting in jail right now for basically no fucking reason. Never mind that people have gotten treatment, harm has been reduced, overdoses have been prevented...

So, yeah. You'll probably start hearing this trotted out as proof that, well, we triiiied decriminalizing drugs, but look what happened in Portland! Well, what happened in Oregon is that we got set up to fail, and still didn't fail, just didn't totally succeed.

Measure 110 highlights, quoted directly from Prison Policy Initiative:

The Oregon Health Authority reported a 298% increase in people seeking screening for substance use disorders.

More than 370,000 naloxone doses have been distributed since 2022, and community organizations report more than 7,500 opioid overdose reversals since 2020.

Although overdose rates have increased around the country as more fentanyl has entered the drug supply, Oregon’s increase in overdoses has been similar to other states’ and actually less than neighboring Washington’s. A peer-reviewed study comparing overdose rates in Oregon with the rest of the country after the law went into effect found no link between Measure 110 and increased overdose rates.

There is no evidence that drug use rates in Oregon have increased. A cross-sectional survey of people who use drugs across eight counties in Oregon found that most had been using drugs for years; only 1.5% reported having started after Measure 110 went into effect.

There has been no increase in 911 calls in Oregon cities after Measure 110.

Measure 110 saves Oregonians millions. Oregon is expected to save $37 million between 2023-2025 if Measure 110 continues. This is because it costs up to $35,217 to arrest, adjudicate, incarcerate, and supervise a person taken into custody for a drug misdemeanor — and upwards of $60,000 for a felony. In contrast, treatment costs an average of $9,000 per person. The money saved by Measure 110 goes directly to state funding for addiction and recovery services.

There is no evidence that Measure 110 was associated with a rise in crime. In fact, crime in Oregon was 14% lower in 2023 than it was in 2020.

Further reading/sources:

[ocean-sunfish-hater]

Straight Out of the Colonial Playbook:

The Myth of Untouched Lands

The Jewish National Fund (JNF) is an organisation with charity status all across the world. Many people know them as the people who use their little blue boxes to collect money to plant trees. They seem to be doing well to reach their goals, having planted over 250 million trees since 1901. All this seems pretty innocuous, perhaps even noble. After all, the idea of planting trees seems quite divorced from violent settler colonialism.

ID: A large slice of watermelon. You can see the Red of the flesh, the black of the seeds, and the white and green of the rind. It is set against a light teal background, a colour that may invoke peace and calm, much like a free Palestine would.

But the two have long, intertwined histories. Just look to the National Parks of the US, used to grab land from Native Americans with the justification that they were "uninhabited". Colonisation of the Arabian peninsula was partially justified with the argument that native Arabs had degraded the environment to the point of desertification,  and colonial rule was the only way they could be saved from themselves [1]. Unsurprisingly, most of the ecological damage in that region had been done by the colonialists themselves in the pursuit of resources.

The JNF isn't just some minor organisation that has unfortunate ties to questionable powers. Though they shroud themselves in the soft words of environmentalism,  they currently stand as one of the primary tools of violence for Zionism.

Established in 1901 by the 5th Zionist Congress in Basel, Switzerland, they have always been an organisation with settler colonial intentions. In 1940, their leader Yosef Weitz, said “There is no way but to transfer the Arabs from [Palestine] to the neighbouring countries, to transfer all of them… not one village must be left… for this goal funds will be found." [2]. You know what happened to him after the first Nakba? He became the head of the JNF's forestry department [3].

According to their own website, they currently stand as the "single largest provider of Zionist programs in the U.S." [4]. They also own about 13% of all state lands in Israel [5]. They have been both a major driver, and unsurprisingly, benefactor from the ongoing Nakba of the Palestinian people.

So how exactly does planting trees feed into settler colonialism? The model works like this:

The Israeli government violently displaces people from their lands in the name of "self-defence".

The land becomes "uninhabited".

The JNF uses funds they have accrued from overseas donations to buy up the land.

They establish a national park in the area and begin to plant trees.

Settlers move into the surrounding regions. The JNF have a policy of not leasing land or accommodation to non-Jewish people [5].

Any remigration of indigenous people back into those lands is framed as "environmental destruction" and those people are forced out once more.

You know what's sneaky? They are using trees as bodies. They don’t have enough people to colonise all the land they've stolen, so they plant trees to occupy the spaces that human bodies cannot. They deliberately use fast growing trees like pines to aid in this pursuit [3]. Each forest acts as an occupying force, just one that uses seeds instead of bullets and trees instead of soldiers.

Most of their efforts are concentrated on Naqab (Negev in Hebrew), a region in the south of Israel mostly consisting of desert. On their website, the JNF boast of their Blueprint Negev initiative, and how it's "transformed Israel’s Negev Desert, making the Southern Israel an attractive place to live and work" [4]. Their mission statement in the Naqab includes the justification that they are providing homes, jobs and opportunities in the "empty" region [6]. One of the slogans have on their website is "Building the Negev, town by town"[6]. This is explicitly a settler colonial project, and all of it can be found on JNF website, in their own words.

And to top it all off, you guessed it, the Naqab is far from uninhabited. It was never empty land. In August 2018, 350 villagers from Umm al-Hiran were displaced to the state-regulated Bedouin township, Hura to accommodate the expansion of the Beit Yatir settlement in the Yatir forest, which was planted by the JNF [5]. In 2010, Nuri-al-Uqbi presented evidence that his ancestors had owned and lived in the lands of al-Araqib since before the Israeli occupation to the courts. In 2010, a Beersheva judge rejected the case, siding with the government's claims that his tribe had no ownership claims on the land [7]. The indigenous peoples of Palestine are constantly disenfranchised, displaced, and have very little means of winning their land back within an Apartheid legal system.

The JNF are using strategies employed by colonial powers in the past to violently seize land from native peoples. Acting under the guise of environmentalism "launders" the colonisation, adding extra steps in between the expulsion of people from their homes and the eventual settlement of that land by colonists, with the added bonus of making the JNF look very good. And you know what? Their reforestation schemes suck. Fast growing, new growth forests in the DESERT are not a substitute for old growth forests, not to mention the enormous amount of water they must be using to keep these forests as, well, forests.

What boils my blood the most is that you can see them honouring their colonial inspirations and sponsors in how they name their parks. Britannia park in the Hebron district obviously takes its name from Britain, a country instrumental in the establishment of the Israeli state and the Nakba that has ensued. Fittingly, it sits upon the ruins of seven Palestinian villages, destroyed by Israel during the first Nakba [8].

And this isn't just stuff that has happened in the past, but is happening right now. JNF UK is currently receiving donations to plant a memorial forest "to commemorate those who were brutally murdered on October 7." For £100, you can plant one tree. For £250, you can contribute to an outdoor seating area for group events. For £36, you can pay for an irrigation system that will provide enough water for one tree for four years [9]. Doesn't it make you angry? 36,000+ Palestinians have been murdered, and the JNF are collecting money to water trees on their graves.

I hate it when scientists stay neutral. We and our work are not divorced from the world around us. Conservation means nothing if it comes at the cost of human lives; it means nothing if it is used to veil the atrocities of colonialism and apartheid. It is our duty as conservationists, and as human beings to hear those whose voices carry cries for help, and answer the call. Do not be won over by the siren song of green colonialism.

Free Palestine. May all empires fall.

Bibliography

[1] Skandrani, Z., Decolonizing ecological research. Journal of Environmental Studies and Sciences, 2018. 8(3): p. 368-370.

[2] Stop the JNF, The JNF, Apartheid and Settler Colonialism. (Spring 2024). https://www.stopthejnf.org/the-jnf-apartheid-and-settler-colonialism-spring-2024/

 [3] Stop the JNF, Tower and Stockades, Forests and Jim Crow Vetting Commitees. https://www.stopthejnf.org/jnfs-sordid-history-tower-and-stockades-forests-and-jim-crow-vetting-committees-by-jonathan-cook/

[4] Jewish National Fund, We are JNF. https://www.jnf.org/menu-3/about-jnf

[5] Amnesty International, ISRAEL: APARTHEID IN ACTION. Amnesty international: submission to the 43rd session of the UPR working group, 9 May 2023.

[6] Jewish National Fund UK, Homepage, https://www.jnf.co.uk/

[7] Jonathan Cook, Bedouins defiant despite Israel eviction plan. https://www.jonathan-cook.net/2014-06-14/bedouins-defiant-despite-israel-eviction-plan/

[8] Palestine Land Society, Britannia Park - Burial and Treachery. https://www.plands.org/en/articles-speeches/articles/2022/britannia-park-burial-and-treachery

[9] Jewish National Fund UK, Green Sunday 2024 – Memorial Forest. https://israelunderattack.jnf.co.uk/projects/green-sunday-2024-memorial-forest/

[thunderbolt-ing]

"I Can't Do It Alone." — 3

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Fem!Reader Summary: Denial is a river in Egypt. In other words, the signs are there, but you dodge them like bullets. Warnings: idk gunshots and distant gunfights, you'll see. reader is in extreme denial. bucky is trying so hard. please tell me if anything in this chapter is triggering, i don't think so bc it's just fluff-ish but please lmk A/N: canon divergence bc i completely messed up the order of events from the movie (I'm writing this in pure memory) but its going to work out anyway so!!!!! NO CHANCE NO WAY I WONT SAY IT NO NO (you swoon, you sigh, why deny it uh oh) that was playing in my head while writing the majority of this part. I've read through this several times but I'm sure there are still mistakes i didn't catch so i do apologize in advance. Word count: ~5.7k words. I hope this keeps you fed while my brain regroups.

Later that Same Evening Long After the Gala

Your flight, much to your mounting irritation, had been cancelled. At this point, it felt like the universe was dead set on keeping you in D.C., a place you didn’t particularly mind, but didn’t want to linger in either. You just wanted to go back to New York, back to your routine, and back to your job. 

Still, you weren’t helpless. Sure, you complained and cursed out every possible godly being, but you had things under control within minutes. You’d already opened three tabs on your phone, scanned for reasonably priced motels near the airport, and mentally mapped out your commute the next morning. 

Then your phone buzzed. 

You stared at the message, blinking. Not only did he predict that you were going to protest, but he was already making his way back to the airport when he had just dropped you off hours ago. You sat down heavily on the nearest bench in the ‘departures’ terminal, trying to make sense of that familiar ache in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. It was little things, things he never pointed out, never made a show of. He just… showed up. It was as if no version of his evening didn’t include making sure you got home safe. 

You tapped your phone screen again, reading his text over. 

No need. On my way. 

You could’ve insisted, you should’ve insisted. You weren’t helpless, you knew how to navigate things alone, you’d been doing it your whole life. But somehow, with Bucky, the line between stubborn independence and reluctant comfort blurred just a little. 

You typed a reply. Paused. Deleted it. 

Then, you tucked your phone into your pocket and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was just Bucky being Bucky. It wasn’t about you. He’d do the same for anyone because that was just the kind of man he was: reliable, responsible, and frustratingly decent.

But then he’d do things that chipped away at that belief. It was gentle, subtle things that left you standing in the ruins of your own logic, questioning everything all over again. 

It was infuriating.

This, or rather he, was not what you were here for. You were hired for a job, a purpose. You were supposed to be focused on policy briefings, constituent emails, scheduling, and outreach. Not your boss’s inconvenient acts of quiet heroism. Your job was to make sure he passed legislation, kept his approval ratings high, and won re-election. He was good at his job because you were excellent at yours. You were a team, impeccably efficient, practically unbeatable, and you couldn’t complicate that. 

So you did what you did best: Deny. Bury. Move on.

The familiar, low roar of a motorcycle engine ripped through your thoughts like a needle scratching across a record. You looked up and there he was, just as he said he would be. 

Bucky was straddling his bike, helmet-clad, and still in the same dress shirt and slacks he wore to the gala. The black tailored jacket that completed the look was gone, leaving his sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. He looked less like a congressman and more like someone who belonged on the cover of a vintage motorcycle ad—windswept, timeless, and entirely unaware of the effect he had. 

You held back a sigh. You really wish he had taken the car instead. 

Bucky pulled up just in front of where you sat, killed the engine, and swung his leg over the bike with practiced ease. He removed his helmet and walked it over, holding it out to you wordlessly like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

You stared at it for a beat too long, then up at him. His expression was neutral, but something about the slight raise of his brow said, ‘Are you really going to argue with me about this?’ You were, you thought about it, but you didn’t this time. 

You took the helmet reluctantly, securing it on your head before tightening the straps of your backpack with practiced movements. Bucky then swung his legs over the motorcycle with ease, settling into the seat and steadying the bike with one foot so you could comfortably hop on. 

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were ready. “Hold tight,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm. Then, with the smallest smirk in his tone, he added, “On my waist, L/N. You know how this works.” “I know, I know,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You hovered your hands awkwardly near his sides, as if proximity alone could meet the safety requirement. 

You heard him sigh, low and amused, before his mechanical hand reached back and gently guided your arms into place, adjusting your grip until your hands were flat and secure against his waist. “There,” he said, his voice softer this time. “Now you won’t fall off.” You scoffed. You hated the way your chest tightened at the casual intimacy of it all and the way he didn’t even seem to realize what moments like this did to you. 

He rolled off into the streets with familiar ease, weaving through traffic as the city lights blurred around you. The cool air stung your cheeks, and your hair whipped wildly in the wind, but you barely noticed. Your gaze was distant and unfocused, caught between reality and thought. This was just second nature to him. Just muscle memory. Nothing more. 

You let a cheek rest lightly on his back, more out of necessity than affection, or so you told yourself. The low, steady roar of the bike filled the silence between you as he sped through the streets, guiding you both toward the safety of his apartment. 

You were fine. This was fine. 

You weren’t going to read into it, you never did. 

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

A little while later, he pulled into a quiet brick building nestled just a few ways away from the Capitol. As the motorcycle came to a stop, you swung your leg over and quickly stepped off, removing the helmet and letting it hang loosely on your side. The neighborhood before you was calm and unassuming, the kind of place where people walked their dogs at dusk and kids left their bikes on the steps. Trees lined the sidewalks, their branches rustling gently in the breeze, and clusters of native flowering bushes bloomed with the kind of effortless charm that only came from being carefully tended to. 

Bucky led you through the front doors of his apartment building and up to his unit, unlocking it with ease. He pushed the door open and stepped aside, letting you go in first.

“Make yourself at home,” he said casually, his voice warm as he hung his keys on a small hook by the door.

You placed your backpack and his helmet on the couch, your eyes examining your surroundings. The apartment, much like himself, was understated but intentional. The space was minimalistic, but not cold. Everything had a purpose, and nothing felt out of place. The furniture was simple and functional, built for the comfort of a single man, yet it still gave the space a quiet charm. The walls were mostly bare, painted in muted, neutral tones. But above the couch hung a vintage map of Brooklyn, the colors faded with age, with corners slightly curled. A nostalgic tribute to the place he still called home in his heart. 

What truly drew your attention, though, was the bookshelf tucked away in the corner of the living room. You found yourself drifting toward the shelf while he headed into the kitchen without a word, the sound of the refrigerator opening faint in the background. The shelf was more than a storage space for novels; it felt like a time capsule. It held a collection of memories and fragments of identity that Bucky let speak for themselves. Dog-eared novels of well-loved paperbacks lined the shelf—Hemingway, Baldwin, Fitzgerald, and Twain. There were newer ones too, titles you recognized instantly because you were the one who had recommended them. You smiled to yourself, feeling a small tug of surprise and warmth in your chest. You never thought he’d actually take your suggestions seriously, much less keep them. And yet, there they were, nestled between the literary giants like they belonged. Some even had worn spines and folded corners, proof that he hadn’t just bought them to be polite, he had read them, really read them.

But it wasn’t just the books that captured you. It was the small trinkets nestled between them that told a different story. 

There were framed photos, some in color, some in black and white. A shot of him and Steve, mid-laugh in front of Coney Island, a frozen echo of simpler days. Another, more recent, with Sam grinning beside him, sunglasses on like he owned the world. And then there was the one that made you pause: a photo of Bucky in his 1940s Sergeant uniform. His expression was proud, boyish, and untouched by the weight of what would come after. You found yourself tracing the edge of the frame with your fingertips, wondering what kind of man he was back then, before HYDRA, before the Winter Soldier. Before the world tried to break him.

Your musings were swiftly interrupted by a soft mrow echoing from the hallway. Your eyes darted toward the sound, then flicked to Bucky, who was still in the kitchen, too preoccupied with ordering food on the phone to notice you snooping around his living room.

Curiously, you padded quietly down the hallway toward the noise. At the end of it, lounging like she owned the place, was a fluffy white cat. She was elegant, clearly a ragdoll, with a silky coat and mismatched blue and yellow eyes that tugged instantly at your heartstrings. Before you could even kneel or say anything, the feline rose and began trotting toward you with confidence, her little bell collar chiming softly with each graceful step. You crouched instinctively, a grin tugging at your lips as she nuzzled against your leg like she’d known you forever. You got hold of her collar and turned it around to see the cat’s name. Alpine.

“No, no, no!” Bucky called from behind you, his voice laced with sudden panic. “She—”

He stopped short as he watched you scoop the cat effortlessly into your arms and cradle her like you had done it a hundred times before.

“—bites,” he finished weakly, blinking in disbelief.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said with a soft laugh, nuzzling her fur as she purred contentedly in your arms. “She’s the sweetest thing. She just walked right up to me.”

Alpine rubbed her head against your chin, purring like a small motor and clearly smitten. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he was short-circuiting. This was definitely not how he expected things to go. He'd anticipated claws, maybe a hiss, possibly even you swearing never to step foot in his apartment again, not you holding Alpine like a baby and kissing her on the head.

“I locked her in my room before I went to get you,” he confessed, still staring at the cat in disbelief. “I don’t know how she got out.”

“What can I say?” you replied smugly, scratching behind Alpine’s ears as she melted into your chest. “Cats love me.”

Bucky let out a small breath of laughter, but the smile that followed was something else entirely. It was soft and unguarded in a way you weren’t used to seeing from him. It wasn’t the polite grin he donned at work; this was warm, and it pulled at something within you despite how hard you tried to pretend it didn’t.

Bucky blinked and cleared his throat, as if snapping himself out of whatever trance he’d slipped into. 

Then, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, cutting through the moment like a blade.

“Pizza’s here,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, almost like he had forgotten how to speak. 

“Yeah, I got it,” you replied quickly, a little too quickly. You gently set Alpine down, earning a small meow in protest, though you barely registered it. Your entire focus was on putting distance between yourself and his warm, disarming gaze that made you feel both seen and exposed. You bolted toward the door like it might save you because staying in that moment for a second longer would’ve cracked something wide open, something that you weren’t entirely ready to admit even existed. 

You returned a few minutes later, heading straight to the kitchen, clutching the box like it was some sacred offering to the gods of casual indifference. Normal. You just needed normal. 

Despite your best efforts to sweep everything under the rug, the universe seemed to have a sick sense of humor. Standing before you was Bucky, his white dress shirt now unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his frame. Beneath it, his white tank top clung to him in a way that made you wish you hadn’t looked at all. To top it off, his hair was tousled too, like he had raked his hand through it one too many times. 

You dropped the box on the counter a little harder than necessary, flipping it open. The two of you wordlessly reached for a slice, your fingers brushing his just briefly, but the contact sent a jolt up your arm like you’d grabbed a live wire. You felt the heat rush to your face. 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You bit into a slice with unnecessary focus, hoping the act of chewing would drown out your incessant thoughts. 

Ever since the gala, your brain had been on a reckless little joyride of stupidity, teasing the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was something there. Something more than the long hours you two spent together, the satisfying banter, and the way he always seemed to notice when you needed something before you even asked. 

But that was completely ridiculous. You blamed it on the proximity, on the caffeine-fueled late nights, on the way his voice sounded at 2 in the morning when both of you were buried in policy drafts and half-eaten takeout. You blamed it on the fact that you hadn’t been with anyone in years, that you were lonely, and maybe your standards had plummeted into dangerous, shark-infested territory.

But none of that mattered because this was your boss. Congressman James Buchanan Barnes. 

He wasn’t supposed to be a possibility, not even a consideration. Not with his title, not with your job, and definitely not with the line you swore you’d never cross. 

Your internal tirade was thankfully derailed when your eyes landed on a small stack of untouched, unopened, and suspiciously pristine dockets sitting nearly on the far end of the counter. Those were the same files you’d handed him last Friday, neatly and painstakingly compiled in preparation for the upcoming congressional hearing on the veteran aid bill the two of you had been pushing for. 

“I gave these to you last Friday,” you called out, placing your half-slice down and crossing the kitchen with growing suspicion. You plucked one of the folders off the pile and flipped it open. “Don’t tell me you’re procrastinating, the hearing’s in like five days.” 

“No, of course not,” Bucky scoffed, replying far too quickly for your liking, and springing into motion as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. He practically lunged for the files, his hand landing just beside yours. “I’m a slow reader. I’m working on it.”

“Sure, I’ll entertain your lies.” 

“I am!” He insisted, pressing his metal hand on his chest as if swearing an oath. “Okay, how about this: let’s read it together. Like the partners that we are.” 

You let out a deep sigh, more dramatically than intended, but you were already gathering the files and opening them to begin reading. 

“Fine,” you said, waving a hand. “Whatever it takes to get this bill passed and to make sure you don’t crash and burn during questioning.”

Bucky grinned, “What would I do without you?” 

“Get expelled from Congress.” You deadpanned.

You didn’t miss the way he stood closer than he needed to be. Or the way his fingers brushed yours again when he handed you a pen. Or how annoyingly aware you were of how warm he looked in that god forsaken tank top. 

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The two of you worked in perfect harmony, like a well-oiled machine that had been running for years—each movement seamless, each glance understood without needed explanation. You highlighted and annotated key sections of the bill, patiently talking him through the language, coaching him on how to sell it with conviction. Your notes were meticulous, filled with cues and conversational maps, anticipating every possible question or objection he might face. You were the strategist, charting the battlefield with deadly precision. He was the warrior, prepared to defend the legislation like it were something sacred. 

With one last slice left in the box and the clock ticking well past midnight, the two of you finally closed the last of the files. Everything was highlighted, annotated, and flagged. For once, you were ahead of schedule and had plenty of time for Bucky to go back through and add his own thoughts. A small victory, but it felt like a triumph.

You exhaled deeply and leaned back with a stretch, arms overhead as your spine cracked in relief. “Finally,” you mumbled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Bucky reached for the last slice without looking up, flipping through the final few pages of the docket as he chewed thoughtfully. “No, it wasn’t bad,” he said, almost offhand, “but that’s only because you’re here.”

You barely had time to react before a dollop of sauce slipped from Bucky’s slice, landing right on the front of his crisp white dress shirt and barely streaking his vibranium forearm. Without thinking, you moved, reaching for a napkin and dabbing at the mess with brisk, practiced motions before it could soak into the fabric, or worse, find its way into the crevices of his mechanical arm. 

He stilled under your touch, his eyes dropping to your hands as they moved carefully and deliberately, as if this wasn’t the first time it happened. 

"You don’t have to look out for me so much, you know?” he said, voice quiet and unguarded. 

You didn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t,” you deflected breezily, “I just didn’t want that shirt to get ruined. It’s a good shirt, looks expensive.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh and leaned back slightly to let you toss the napkin into the trash. Then, without hesitation, he shrugged off the dress shirt entirely, leaving him in the fitted white tank underneath. The fabric clung to his shoulders and chest, and you averted your eyes before your thoughts could spiral again. 

“Oh, but you do,” he said with that infuriating half-smile. His voice was playful, but there was something heavier underneath that lingered.

“At least it didn’t get in the arm. I hate putting this thing in the dishwasher.”

You glanced back at him, “Your arm is dishwasher safe?” You asked, grateful for the shift in tone. You tilted your head, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Wow. Innovation.”

He chuckled, “Wakandan tech.” He said dismissively as if it was the most obvious, most casual thing in the world. Then he moved on to clean the counter, tossing the empty pizza box in the trash. 

“But seriously,” he added, glancing at you again, “I meant what I said. You’ve got this way of looking out for people. For me. I notice it.” 

You tried not to let his words settle. “It’s my job,” you said stiffly, wiping down the counter and moving the dockets to a cleaner surface. 

He only smiled gently, “No, it’s not. Your job is to make sure I don’t screw up legislation on the Senate floor. To prep me for hearings. It’s not staying up past midnight to coach me through policy language I should already know. It’s not sprinting across the kitchen to stop a stain from getting on my arm.”

Then, he paused, eyes softening, “It’s not caring like this.” 

You froze. You didn’t want to look at him, not with everything suddenly cracking wide open like this. You could’ve said something cold and sharp. Something to deflect. But for once, nothing came, and your usual wit failed you. 

Instead, you said quietly, “I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s just easier to take care of other people than deal with my own problems.”

There was a long silence before he responded.

“I do that too,” Bucky said finally, his voice stripped of pretense. “Pretend I’m fine. Push things down until they’re out of reach. I still fight battles in my head every damn day. And sometimes, I look at who I am now and wonder if it’s ever going to be enough to make up for the things I’ve done.”

You looked at him, seeing right through. For the first time, you didn’t see the Congressman, the anti-hero, or even the man you worked beside every day. You saw someone fractured and still healing. Somehow, that made him even more impossible to ignore. 

“I think you’re doing better than you think,” you said softly. “You’re not perfect, Bucky. No one is. But you care about this bill. You care about people. That matters. You matter.”

His jaw tightened like he wasn’t used to hearing that, not from anyone who meant it. He tried to smile, but it faltered under the weight of the moment.

“You really scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he murmured.

You blinked at him. “What…?”

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose, something halfway between affection and disbelief.

“Because I’m smart and capable?” you offered, trying to deflect with humor.

He shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “Because you see me. And… I don’t know what to do with that.”

And just like that, the air between you thickened again. Not with fear, but with understanding. The kind of quiet recognition that neither of you were quite ready to say out loud. For one suspended moment, it was just the two of you, unspoken things hanging heavy in the silence.

Then came the reality check. 

Bucky’s phone buzzed sharply against the countertop, the sound almost jarring. The screen lit up with Unknown Caller in bold letters. You both looked at it like it might explode.

“You going to get that?” you asked, the question more of a lifeline than anything else, a gentle nudge away from the dangerous emotional territory you’d both just wandered into.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, grabbing the phone like it gave him something to do with his hands. He hit the speaker. “This is Barnes.”

There was a moment of static, then a soft voice came through. “Hi. It’s Mel. Valentina’s assistant.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes widening. It worked. The stupid gala and the Mission Impossible-esque stunt you two pulled, it worked. You elbowed Bucky hard in the ribs, silently urging him to say something before the girl got spooked.

“Oh. Hi. Yes—hi, Mel, thank you for calling me. I didn’t—”

“I can’t talk long,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “So I’ll get to the point.”

You stilled and held your breath. Bucky didn’t even blink.

“I want to help,” Mel continued, rushed and panicked. “Val told me to incinerate evidence tonight. Records. Files. People.”

You exchanged another look with Bucky, both of your pulses spiking.

“—People who know too much. She told me to get rid of them, but they escaped somehow, and if you’re fast, you can find them. Get them to testify.” 

“Mel, you don’t know how much this helps us.” Bucky said quickly, leaning forward, “We’ll protect you. My partner is here, she can coordinate witness protection—“

“Thank you, Congressman, but I’m not interested.” Her voice tightened with fear, as if someone was or had already interrupted her. “Have a great night!” 

The call ended. Silence fell once more, sharp and electric.

You stared at Bucky’s phone. “Holy shit.” You muttered, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, “That was it! That was the seed! That was our shot!”

“Barely,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “She didn’t even tell us where they are. We don’t even have a lead.”

“Barnes,” you said, gesturing towards his laptop that sat on a nearby desk, “are you seriously not seeing the solution here?”

He blinked at you. “What solution?” 

“Track her phone.” 

He recoiled like you just suggested something nefarious. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Track. Her. Phone,” you repeated, enunciating every word like he was a particularly dense child. 

“I heard you,” he replied, frustrated. “I just don’t do that anymore.” 

You gave him a pointed look. “Yes, you do! You track me all the time.” 

“That’s different!”

“How is that different?” You threw your hands up. “You literally pinged my location last week because I didn’t answer your call during a Senate session.”

“That’s because you stopped answering me for four hours, and I thought you were dead!”

“I was at a dentist appointment!”

“Well, I didn’t know that at the time!” 

You stared at him for a beat, then gestured towards his laptop again, muttering, “You are so dramatic.”

He exhaled loudly, rubbing his temples. “Look, it’s not that simple. I’d need access to her internal files. It’s a whole thing.”

You tilted your head and gave him the look. The look.

“Don’t you dare give me the look.”

You didn’t blink, your gaze remained unflinching.

“I hate that look.”

Still no blink.

He groaned, defeated. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, getting up to fetch his laptop from the desk. 

“You know,” he added, pulling his laptop over and connecting his phone to it, “you are way too comfortable bossing around a former assassin.”

“Oh, just get to work, Barnes,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you smirked at him. 

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the sound of his fingers flying over his laptop’s keyboard.

Then, more quietly, more sincerely, he said, “I meant what I said earlier.”

You paused. “About what?”

“About you seeing me.” He met your eyes. “It still scares the hell out of me.”

You held his gaze for a long second before saying, gently, “Good. Because that means you’re still human.”

He smiled faintly. “Guess I better start acting like it.” The Next Day Brooklyn City Hall, New York 

You climbed the worn stone steps of Brooklyn’s City Hall, the early morning sun casting long golden shadows across the plaza. The chill of dawn clung to the air, but even after an early flight from D.C., your exhaustion faded and was replaced with anticipation.

Flanking you were a few of the event sponsors who were local business owners, nonprofit reps, and volunteers, each carrying boxes, tote bags, and clipboards as they trailed behind you. A local news van was parked at the curb, the station already broadcasting live segments as reporters flagged down early arrivals to get interviews. 

It had been a long, grueling week filled with late nights, last-minute approvals, a maze of calls and red tape, but somehow, you’d pulled it together. The Veterans Outreach event you’d been organizing was finally happening, and to your astonishment, it looked like everything might actually go according to plan. 

You pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped inside. Then you stopped, momentarily stunned at the sight before you. 

The main lobby of City Hall had been completely transformed. Booths lined the perimeter, draped in patriotic colors and banners offering support and resources for veterans. Each station was already buzzing with activity. Volunteers in matching t-shirts greeted attendees with easy smiles. A local acoustic jazz band played in the far corner, and the aroma of coffee and food truck fare drifted in from the open courtyard doors. 

You let out a long breath, your shoulders finally easing for the first time in days. 

Then, your phone buzzed in your hand, Bucky’s name and photo lighting up the screen. You answered quickly, stepping away from the crows and into a quieter corner of City Hall, tucking a hand over one ear to hear him better. 

“Barnes, this place is packed,” you said, barely containing your excitement. “The booths are full, the sponsors showed up, and even Channel 5’s out front doing coverage.” 

“I figured it would be,” Bucky replied, his voice warm despite the faint roar of wind and engine noise on the other end. “Listen… you’re going to hate me for this, but… I can’t make it.” 

You paused for a beat, then exhaled softly. “I know,” you said gently. “It’s okay. I figured when Mel called you yesterday.” 

There was a beat of silence that followed, filled with the low rumble of Bucky revving his motorcycle. Then—BOOM.

A sudden, deafening crash cracked through the line, followed by screeching tires and the unmistakable crunch of metal. 

“Hold on—” Bucky said abruptly. 

You froze, gripping the phone tightly in your hand. In the background, you heard the sharp click of a shotgun, followed by two loud bangs, then a barrage of gunfire. 

“Bucky?!” you hissed, instinctively glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one could hear you. “Are you out of your mind?! What the hell was that?!”

“Minor inconvenience,” he grunted. More gunshots rang out, his motorcycle revving again. “I’m multitasking.” “Are you being shot at right now?!” 

“No, not me. Hang on, you’re on my comms. Don’t hang up.”

Another crash. A deep, loud, metallic thud followed by the sound of a car door being ripped off its hinges. There was yelling in the distance, then silence, followed by Bucky’s heavy breathing and another round of shots. “Jesus Christ, Barnes,” you muttered, now pacing the quiet hallway like a storm in motion. “Are you seriously calling me mid-fight?” 

“I said I was sorry,” he replied, a bit breathless but still managing to sound maddeningly casual. “I found them. The people Valentina tried to get rid of. Contract workers. Assassins, maybe. Or former ones. Still figuring that part out.” 

“Assassins?! James, what the fuck?” You pinched the bridge of your nose, teetering on the edge of exasperation and just a tiny sliver of admiration. “You’re going to give me gray hairs. I’m going to develop a heart condition by the end—”

“—I’ll make it up to you,” He promised, a low laugh catching in his throat. “I just needed to check in. Make sure you were okay with the outreach and everything.” 

“You’re worried about me when you were just dodging bullets?!” 

“I knew you’d be fine,” he said softly, like a confession. “I think I just… wanted to hear your voice.” 

Your heart squeezed, traitorous and aching. You stood in stunned silence, letting his words settle like dust in a room you hadn’t dared to open. Before you could form a reply, the engine revved again on his end, and another crash thundered through the speaker.  

“I’ll call you back,” he said quickly, his voice clipped with urgency. “Let me just rein in these guys.” 

You sighed, even as the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “Be careful, idiot. And you better call me back.” 

You ended the call and lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen. An uninvited smile tugged at your lips. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how quickly a few words from him could slip beneath the armor you’d spent a long time perfecting. 

Of course he’d call you mid-fight. Of course he’d say something maddeningly sweet while dodging bullets. And of course, you felt your resolve crumbling all over again. It felt as if you were putting Band-Aids on a rapidly cracking dam. 

You had rules. Boundaries. Reasons. 

This was your job. He was your boss. You’d promised yourself this wouldn’t happen, that you wouldn’t entertain the topic of romance while building your career. You were busy and too focused. There wasn’t room for anything else besides work.

And on top of that, he was reckless, complicated, and always halfway out the door.

You knew better.

Yet here you were, standing in the middle of a quiet hallway with a stupid grin and a pulse that hadn’t calmed down since the call ended. 

You tried so hard to draw a line between you and him. You were supposed to be professional, responsible, even detached, but the truth was, you never meant for it to hold. 

“Boyfriend?” came a voice behind you, startling you out of your thoughts. 

You turned to see one of the younger interns, the one in charge of the event’s social media coverage, peering at you with a knowing grin. “Or was that Congressman Barnes? Are you two finally...?”

You narrowed your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Get back to work, please.”

The intern laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender before disappearing back toward the courtyard.

You lingered for a moment longer, letting your fingers toy with the edge of your blazer before finally tucking your phone away. The lobby ahead of you was filled with activity, volunteers guiding people, voices over the PA, distant music, but your thoughts were miles away, wrapped around the sound of his voice. 

You walked back to the main lobby, the weight of the morning pressed gently against your chest, and a curve of a smile still tugging at your lips. 

Damn him and damn the way he made you question whether the walls you’d built were really protecting you anymore. 

Maybe it was just keeping something good from getting in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ TAGLIST (please message me if you want to be added/removed from the list!): @trashbin-nie @cherrypieyourface @seraphine-ann @theendofthematerialgworl @hiraethmae @yiiiikesmish @buckybarnesfic @serumandsteel @cyberjawz @sunday-bug @nameless-ken @maryevm @aiyaiy

if you're silent enough, you can hear me screaming

[zxcvbnmj0]

if you call yourself an anarchist/leftist/punk/anti police/anti government/anything of the sort consider at the very least reading this post to the end & reblogging. honest to god i was going to add a d#nation option but it will never reach us quick enough because of reasons you'll figure out if you do read. just know what's going on.

there is an ongoing rebellion in turkiye due to president erdogan canceling imamoglu's (his so far most successful left wing rival in the presidential race who is favored by young people due to his policies + being the most promising rival who could replace erdogan) university diploma, essentially forcibly removing his one true rival from the race since those without a diploma can't be elected as president. this is an act of dictatorship. there are no valid claims of illegitimacy about imamoglu's diploma. erdogan is known to have used tricks and bribery to stay in power throughout his presidency along with being involved with scandals and claims of his own diploma being illegitimate. he is a conservative, right wing, anti queer, fascist dictator. he violently opposes free speech by banning social media + communication apps like whatsapp, instagram, twitter, tiktok, discord & ordering his police to be outright violent to protestors.

(imamoglu got arrested as i was writing this post due to suspicions of "corruption". it's clear they're giving it their all to make sure he cannot be elected & the protests are sure to escalate from now on.)

groups of mainly high school and uni students between the ages of 17-25 are being pepper sprayed, attacked with tear gas, shot with plastic bullets, beaten, kicked, and arrested for practicing their Legal right to protest his dictatorship. protestors are being tracked & arrested at their homes at night hours after the protests. everyone between these ages are going to the protests as much as possible, to the point of abandoning school or work. they are being treated as terrorists and straight up physically attacked by the police. there are countless students with severe injuries. the police is not simply doing their job, they're attacking violently and enthusiastically. they're enjoying doing this.

antiacid medicine + milk to wash away the effects of pepper spray, industrial masks/gas masks, protective eyewear, food and water all cost a lot to distribute to such a huge group of people. even with these materials protestors face serious injuries like cornea damage, blindness, chemical burns on skin, poisoning, even death in the case of those with existing heart/breathing problems. pepper spray is a chemical weapon and it's being used on students using their right to protest. it can and has caused serious health risks. helping out financially is barely an option at this point because of the laws regarding receiving Anything from abroad but i'd like you to at least spread this and talk about it

some examples of how brutal the protests are & how badly people get injured 1 2 3 4 5 6 (<- what they're spraying on people is pepper spray and tear gas) 7 8 (7 is the police screaming at protestors who took shelter in an hotel lobby to come back out. 8 is an officer pulling another back by the neck and yelling "come back to your senses" because of disproportionate violence. an example of what i was talking about. this is not doing your job. this is cruelty)

some general sources on the situation -> 1 2 3 wikipedia page of erdogan's party that lists their harmful ideologies erdogan's anti queer views <- 2

[dissociacrip]

tw - colonialism, zionism, genocide

just to emphasize how well and truly vile it is for anyone with zionist leanings, anyone who defends the existence of the israeli state, to be present in cripple punk spaces:

How is the practice of maiming manifested? Medical personnel in both Gaza and the West Bank report a notable “shoot to cripple” phenomenon. Dr. Rajai Abukhalil speaks of an increasing shift from “traditional means” such as tear gas and rubber-­coated metal bullets used to "disperse" protests to "firing at protestors' knees, femurs, or aiming for their vital organs." In Gaza, the Israeli Defense Forces used flechette shells. While ­these are not “expressly forbidden ­under international humanitarian law in all circumstances,” nevertheless they are considered inappropriate for densely populated areas ­because they explode upon impact into thousands of tiny steel darts. As a continuity and intensification of the practice of breaking the arms of stone throwers in the first intifada, shoot to cripple attempts to preemptively debilitate the resistant capacities of another intifada, the next intifada.

What is often claimed by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) as a “let live” praxis, understood in liberal terms as less violent than killing (and thus less sensational and more ­under the radar), shoot to cripple appears on the surface to be a humanitarian approach to warfare. Another manifestation of this purported humanitarianism is the example of the “roof knock,” a preliminary assault on structures to warn residents to evacuate, sometimes happening no less than sixty seconds before a full assault. Roof knocks were insufficient, however, when disabled Palestinians with mobility restrictions ­ were unable to escape the bombardment of the Mubaret Philistine Care Home for Orphans and Handicapped in Gaza’s Beit Lahiya district; three disabled residents died. These ­were not mobile residents; the capacity of mobility circumscribes the utility of the roof knock, though the humanitarian intention of a sixty-­second warning—­ a short, stingy temporal frame—is dubious.

[...]

Stating that the injured do not count in the "dry statistics of tragedy,” Reinhart explicates: “The reason for this strategy is clear: Massive numbers of Palestinians killed everyday cannot go unnoticed by even the most cooperative Western media and governments. [Prime Minister Ehud] Barak was explicit about this. ‘The prime minister said that ­were ­there not 140 Palestinian casualties at this point, but rather 400 or 1000, this . . . would perhaps damage Israel a ­great deal.’" Reinhart concludes that the creation of disability is a tactical military move on the part of the IDF; injuring Palestinians has remained Israeli military policy: “Specially trained Israeli units, then, shoot in a calculated manner in order to cripple [sic], while keeping the statistics of Palestinians killed low.”

the entire book of "the right to maim" by jasbir k. puar is overall an extremely important read, particularly for anyone who supports the liberation of palestine and anyone in need of a less western-focused lens on disability

🇵🇸 بدنا نحكي على المكشوف صهيوني ما بدنا نشوف

[sonadowwiki]

Correcting Misinformation and Disinformation

If anyone is trying to say that these lines are official in Sonic Frontiers, know that it is misinformation and that they are lying because these lines were cut and are not in the game officially.

In bullet points:

These lines are cut-lines and they never made it to the final version for any platform

Ian, the writer for Sonic Frontiers, didn't even write these lines to be in the game

Since the lines are in the database of the game (but does not occur in the final version of the game), the lines can be modded into the game to make it seem official or that it's in the final version of the game

"Proofs" showing these lines to be in the game have faults within them, such as not occurring on the correct island or weather condition

There are several factors to consider when acknowledging these lines existence. One of the main factors is that these are cut-lines that never made it to the official and final version of Sonic Frontiers. This goes for both the English and Japanese version of the game. These lines can only be found through datamining the game, which means to look through files deep within the game that don't make it to the surface. So, these lines will never be activated because there is nothing to activate it, therefore it is not official lines.

Another thing to know about is that Ian, the one who wrote the story and dialogue lines for Sonic Frontiers, was not even aware of these lines existing in the game because he never wrote them or had anything similar be made for these lines to exist. Therefore, it wasn't even planned to have these lines in the game whatsoever. Someone else, other than Ian, snuck the lines in and had it go against what the original story was in the first place; they tried to have their own story or vision be put in the game aside from what Ian wrote or how it was originally conceived. This makes the lines even more unofficial and not real. Many already acknowledge that these lines are not official and are cut lines.

One more thing to consider is that even if people show "proof" of it existing in the games, these lines and even text can be easily modded into the game for it to seem like it exists in the final game. But just because it is modified in, doesn't mean that it was there originally.

As it can be seen through this individual who is able to make unused conversations be put into the game in some manner through modification, it is also possible to put unused conversations lines in the game in some manner. These lines towards Amy aren't the only lines that are unused in the game. There are many lines that aren't used and that are still in the database of the game, but that doesn't mean that any of them made it to the final game for people to see through normal means.

Another thing to take note about is that these lines towards Amy (the "Umbrella" and "Making up his mind" lines), are lines that occur on Rhea or Ouranos Island, but the first pictures shown in this thread show that the lines were randomly said on Kronos Island, the first island you go to in the game. That shows that this person modified the lines to be said in the game and that they are not triggered under normal means. Another way to figure out that these lines are modified is that the "Umbrella" line is supposed to only be triggered while it's raining, but the line is said randomly while it is only cloudy in the person's "proof" of it existing in the game.

On a side note, datamining and modifying games tend to be illegal depending on what company the game comes from. For example, Nintendo has policies that say that if you are to play their games, you cannot modify their systems or games that are played on that console. So this practice of modifying and datamining is not encouraged by the majority of game companies and isn't welcomed, therefore it should become a common practice to not to try to do these illegal activity towards any game.

[zvaigzdelasas]

China’s Ministry of Commerce announced Thursday that export controls on antimony would take effect Sept. 15. Antimony is used in bullets, nuclear weapons production and lead-acid batteries. It can also strengthen other metals.

“Three months ago, there’s no way [any] one would have thought they would have done this. It’s quite confrontational in that regard,” Lewis Black, CEO of Canada-based Almonty Industries, said in a phone interview. The company has said it’s spending at least $125 million to reopen a tungsten mine in South Korea later this year.

Tungsten is nearly as hard as a diamond, and used in weapons, semiconductors and industrial cutting machines. Both tungsten and antimony are on the U.S. critical minerals list, and less than 10 elements away from each other on the periodic table.[...]

China accounted for 48% of global antimony mine production in 2023, while the U.S. did not mine any marketable antimony, according to the U.S. Geological Survey’s latest annual report. The U.S. has not commercially mined tungsten since 2015, and China dominates global tungsten supply, the report said.[...]

The U.S. has sought to restrict China’s access to high-end semiconductors, following which Beijing announced export controls on germanium and gallium, two metals used in chipmaking.

While tungsten is also used to make semiconductors, the metal, like antimony, is used in defense production.

“China has a declining tungsten production, but tungsten is absolutely vital, far more than antimony, in military applications,” said Christopher Ecclestone, principal and mining strategist at Hallgarten & Company.

He expects China will put export controls on tungsten by the end of the year, if not in the next month or two.[...]

Starting in 2026, the U.S. REEShore Act prohibits the use of Chinese tungsten in military equipment. That refers to the Restoring Essential Energy and Security Holdings Onshore for Rare Earths Act of 2022.[...]

China is acting more in retaliation “against what it views as an intrusion into its national interests,” Markus Herrmann Chen, co-founder and managing director of China Macro Group, said in an email.

He pointed out that China’s Third Plenum meeting of policymakers in July “put forward a completely new policy goal of better coordinating the entire minerals value chain, likely reflecting the further heightened supply importance of ‘strategic mineral resources’ for both business and geoeconomic interests.”

Stupid games:[X] Prizes [20 Aug 24]

[artbyblastweave]

i only learned recently from a friend's who much more comic literate than I that magneto's backstory as an Auschwitz survivor wasnt planned from the start, which surprised me since it seemed to me a really integral part of his character. anyway, twofold question: how common is it to see capes with backstories tied to very specific historical events, and, as time inevitably passes and real world survivors of those events pass, how do they justify having their characters still alive and kicking? (stay safe on your mountaintop friend)

Depending on how wide you cast the net, this is a pretty big list! There are a lot of comics who's characters cutting-edge ripped-from-the-headlines origin later became a very specific historical event, or at least Of A Specific Moment, in a way the writers had no reason to anticipate the franchise would run long enough to have happen. But to shed pedantry and hone in on some specific ones;

The big one, of course, is Captain America. Superficially Cap's contemporary origin comes with a baked-in means of him making it to the present day- he gets stuck in the ice and then gets unthawed. The fly in the ointment, though, is when he unthaws. When they first brought him back into rotation in 1964, his stint in the ice was only around 20 years; long enough for there to be a significant culture shock, but not long enough that his entire social circle was dead or even culturally sidelined. Nick Fury is still around and kicking ass as a zeitgeist-appropriate 60s superspy. But the further the sliding timeline hauls forward his implicit date of release, the more it changes the tone and tenor of the resulting story. Losing twenty years is different from losing fifty years (as was the case in The Ultimates, where he very explicitly comes back during the Bush years as part of the book's commentary on The War On Terror) and those will both be way different from when we inevitably hit the point where he's lost 100 years and he's the cultural equivalent of a Civil War Vet or something. There's strength to all of those stories but they're undeniably different.

Iron Man's origin was originally explicitly tied to the Vietnam war; he was captured by a detachment of "Red Guerillas" while consulting for the US military and the South Vietnamese government. Unfortunately U.S. foreign policy to this day has prevented this from ever becoming an unresolvable storytelling issue.

The Fantastic Four are a case where their origin was intimately tied to the space race; their untested, cutcorner spaceflight was expressly an attempt to show up the Russians. The extremely specific political context of their test flight is something that sort of gets brushed off; the Ultimate incarnation (written by Warren Ellis) threaded this needle deftly by having the accident be a dimensional expedition instead, circa the early 2000s. I'm not actually sure how the urgency of their test flight is currently contextualized in 616 continuity. Anyone got their finger on that pulse?

The Punisher was also originally a Vietnam vet- but through the jaded cynical lens of the 1980s rather than the straightforwardly peppy and jingoistic lens that defined Iron Man's debut in the 60s. Current continuities I believe have mostly bitten the bullet and updated his origin to the invasion of Afghanistan. However, an interesting decision in the Garth Ennis-spearheaded Punisher MAX continuity of the early 2000s- where Punisher is literally the only costumed vigilante- is that they bit the bullet and posited a version of Frank Castle who really has been killing criminals nonstop since shortly after his return from Vietnam in the 70s, a man well into his 60s who's survivability and efficacy at killing are edging up against the boundaries of magical realism.

Hulk I feel sort of deserves a mention here- he's in a sort of twilight zone on this issue, as there was, uh, a pretty goddamn specific political context in which the Army was having him make them a new kind of bomb, but you can haul that forward in the timeline without complete destruction of suspension of disbelief. Pretty soon it'll be downright topical again.

To circle back around to The X-Men, Claremont introduced a lot of historical specificity with the ANAD lineup. Off the top of my head, Colossus was explicitly a USSR partisan (updated to a gangster forced into crime to survive in the mismanaged chaos of the USSR's collapse in the Ultimate Universe) and Storm was orphaned by a French bombing during the Suez War. More to the point, the timing was such that Magneto, in his upper-middle age, had a pretty strongly defined timeline vis a vis his ideological development vs Xavier; child during the holocaust, Nazi hunter who eventually rifts with Xavier during the mid-to-late 60s, and then the two of them spend their years marshalling their respective resources before coming to blows during the quote-unquote "Age of Heroes," whatever the timeline looked like for that in the 80s. And it was a timeline that held together pretty damn well in the 80s, but it's gotten increasingly awkward as time's gone on. The Fox films completely gave up on having it make sense, near as I can tell. In the comics they've had all sorts of de-aging chicanery occur that very pointedly ignores what an odd timeline that implies for everyone else in the X-books besides Magneto. The Cullen Bunn Magneto standalone from 2014-15 I remember actually leaned into playing up the idea that he's just old as shit and dependent on so many superscience treatments to remain functional that he's basically pickled, which was a take I liked; the comic ended when he died of exertion trying to stop two planets from crashing into each other, right before a brand-wide universal reset. When the MCU was at it's peak and people were wargaming how to integrate the X-Men (lol) you occasionally saw people float "fixes" for the issue, such as making Magneto a survivor of the Bosnian Genocide, or making him black and a survivor of the Rwandan genocide; I remember that this consistently drew a lot of ire from people who (reasonably) thought that his Judaism and connection to the holocaust were deeply important to his character, continuity be damned. But yeah, he's a character dogged by specificity in a way only Cap even slightly approaches. If this is a tractable problem I'm not going to be the one to tract it.

Interestingly, I'm genuinely having a lot of trouble coming up with stuff that's analogous to this at DC comics- almost universally the core roster updates into any given time period much more smoothly. Furthermore, DC stuff has always been much more willing to eschew Marvel's World-Outside-Your-Window philosophy in favor of deliberately obfuscating the time period via the Dark-Deco aesthetic of BTAS's Gotham or the retrofuturism of STAS's Metropolis.

The closest you get to this kind of friction is The Justice Society, who, pre-crisis, were siloed off in a universe where superheroes had existed since the 40s and there was no comic book time, so they were all in their upper-middle-age to old age now, with their kids and grandkids as legacy capes. Post crisis they were (and are) kind of an awkward fit in DC continuity; in the scant few JSA comics from the 90s and early oughts that I read, surviving members of the WW2-era lineup like Alan Scott and Jay Garrick were absolutely written as dependent on their metahuman physiques to have endured up to the present day. I think they're still doing stuff with those guys. I don't know how. I do understand the impulse, though. I also never throw anything out.

[ayeforscotland]

What do you think of the tory idea of bringing back conscription if they win?

Worth saying this is national service which is arguably a type of conscription, rather than the World War version most people think of when they hear it.

Do I think this policy will be implemented well?

No. The Tories are just trying to appeal to the most active voting bloc, old boomers with nostalgia for national service that their parents, rather than themselves, took part in.

The second bullet point isn’t the *worst* idea in the world though although possibly a health and safety nightmare. I still think the reality of the policy would be difficult, but giving kids some form of insight into how organisations like the NHS work would help with a wider appreciation of them.

Except it shouldn’t be on weekends, I did a job experience thing during high school where I was placed for a week. Don’t see why kids in full time education should also have to sacrifice their weekends.

[swaps55]

Twin Souls of the Same Star

Funny, Kaidan thinks as they lie side by side, Shepard’s bare skin illuminated by the fishtank. They’d changed their lives just a few hours ago, assuming Joker actually filled out and filed the paperwork to the hanar and Alliance’s satisfaction.

And yet…everything feels exactly the same.

Shepard strokes Kaidan’s ring figure, then pinches it at the knuckle and examines it closely. “Guess I need to put a ring on this, lest anyone doubt that you are now bound to me by official legal documents. Er, at least as far as hanar law goes. Do we know how binding that little ceremony actually was?”

“Are you questioning the legitimacy of Joker’s ordination within the Enkindler Souls of Stars?” Kaidan asks, tugging his ankle free of the twisted sheet and draping it over Shepard’s leg. “Or are you asking about the return policy?”

Shepard kisses Kaidan’s knuckle and then tugs him until he straddles Shepard’s hips.

“Just try and renege and see what happens to you.”

Kaidan hides his flush behind a chuckle. Shepard pulls him in and traces the shell of Kaidan’s ear with his lips. Bastard. Not even fair to go straight for the ear.

“You’re stuck with me. I just want the entire galaxy to know.” 

No hiding the flush now. “Well, in that case. Don’t need a ring. I know your transponder code. Your baseline biometrics. Your service number. Your mnemonics.”

“Okay, so you know how to take me in a fight, sure.”

Kaidan trails his fingers lightly across Shepard’s belly, smiling in satisfaction when he yelps and nearly shoots out from underneath him.

“I know that.”

Shepard gives him a wary look. “Tickling is just a dirtier kind of warfare than bullets, in my book.”

Kaidan wiggles his fingers in tune with his eyebrows, but pins Shepard firmly in place when he attempts to flee.

“Point is,” Kaidans says between sloppy kisses against Shepard’s neck. “I’m pretty sure I can stake a pretty convincing claim to you without a trinket as proof.”

“Don’t know why I’m worrying. Pretty sure you’re the only one who would put up with me, anyway.”

Kaidan trails kisses down the line of Shepard’s shoulder. “Dunno. Have you seen how pretty you are?”

Shepard preens. “Maybe. But Liara says I’m very vexing.”

“Lucky for you, I like vexing.”

“See? Soulmates. The hanar say so. Joker’s head garment thingy looked very official.”

“If you’re really worried about it we could always hire a hanar to follow us around and tell people.”

Shepard sniggers into Kaidan’s shoulder, then adopts a solemn tone. “This one would like you to know that these two are bound soul stars in the eyes of the Enkindlers.” His eyes widen. “Oh god we cannot tell Javik.”

Kaidan barks a laugh, and Shepard grins.

“Well, we don’t have a hanar on board,” Shepard goes on. “Suppose we could just stick some tentacles on Garrus. No one will know.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“He’ll think it’s funny.”

He probably would.

Kaidan rests his head on Shepard’s chest, sighing softly as Shepard runs fingers through his hair.

“Should I have taken your name or something?” Shepard asks eventually.

Kaidan’s heart does a somersault at the thought. Not something he’s ever thought about. Not something he’s ever even cared about. But the fact Shepard has…

He swallows. Shepard continues stroking his hair and just…lets him feel it for a minute.

“You married me,” Kaidan says after a moment.

“Yeah, I remember. I was there.”

“Other people saw it.”

“Pretty sure they remember, too. Joker’s hanar impression was very memorable.”

“Wow.”

Shepard chuckles. The sound rattles under his sternum, and Kaidan lets the feel of it wash through him. “So? Should I be Sam Alenko?”

Kaidan huffs. “Well, you hate being called Sam.”

Shepard ponders that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess it would be kind of weird if people started calling me Alenko, huh?”

“Yeah, that would be pretty weird. Thought’s pretty romantic, though.”

“I am so full of romantic gestures. Just you wait.”

“Mmmm,” Kaidan says with what he’s sure is a stupid grin. “I could take yours, I guess.”

Shepard makes a face. “Can you imagine you and me in the same room as my mother? No one will have any idea what the fuck to call us.”

“Okay,” Kaidan says with a laugh. “No name changes.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“Definitely.”

They drift off for a few minutes. Shepard’s hand stills, the weight of it on Kaidan’s head warm and comforting. Maybe Kaidan falls asleep. He’s not sure.

“Did you know we get tax benefits for being married?” Shepard asks, startling him awake.

Kaidan raises an eyebrow. “Did you read a manual or something?”

“Well, I can’t suck at this.”

Kaidan stifles a laugh against Shepard’s chest. “You know, Williams even told me once we should get married for the tax breaks.”

“Did she? Do you think she knew?”

“Of course she did.” Kaidan hoists himself up on an elbow to look him in the eye. “Everyone did. Except you. You thought I was into Williams.”

Shepard flashes him a guilty look. “She made you laugh all the time.”

“She was funny!”

“Yeah, but she was funnier than me and I didn’t like it.”

Kaidan raises an eyebrow. “And that didn’t…raise any flags for you.”

The guilty look gets guiltier. “Does it make it any better if I say that when people mistook us for a married couple I’d think to myself, ‘there are a lot worse things than spending the rest of my life with him?’”

“Really? Really?” Kaidan gooses him again, this time with a lot less mercy. Shepard yells indignantly and twists beneath him. They tussle until Shepard manages to trap Kaidan’s back against his chest.

“In my defense.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Hang on, I’m thinking.”

Kaidan laughs. “You realize that this exact line of thinking is what got us in trouble in Vancouver.”

 “Hey, I remember kissing you in the rain in Vancouver, so I think my line of thinking is pretty great, actually.” 

“Yeah,” Kaidan says softly, gripping his hand. “This is pretty great.”

Shepard rests a chin on Kaidan’s shoulder. “You were pretty pissed at me over the Williams thing. I thought I’d really fucked up.”

Kaidan strokes his arm. The memory of Williams still sits like a bruise, but it’s less tender to the touch than it used to be. “Think I was more angry at myself.”

“Why?”

“For being so in love with you and so unable to do anything with it. About it. I don’t know. You were never going to feel the same way and I just…couldn’t even try to get over the way I felt about you.”

“Seems like I wasn’t the only one who was dense,” Shepard murmurs in his ear. “Turns out I was, in fact, very, very into you the whole time.”

Kaidan smiles into the dim room.

“You know I reached out to Beaudoin after that to get his advice?” Shepard asks.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d really fucked up, but I didn’t know why and Beaudoin, you know. Knew how to people a lot better than I do.”

“So you thought you’d fucked up your relationship with me, went to the only person we know with any reasonable insights on dating and romance, for advice, and that still didn’t trigger anything for you?”

“No.”

“You have saved the galaxy twice.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Kaidan snorts. “What did he say?”

“His message was one line and it was zero help. It said, ‘You’ll figure it out, I’ve got money on it.’ I had no fucking idea what he was talking about.”

Kaidan laughs softly into the pillow. “He and Aslany had a bet about us.”

“Wait….he knew too? Aslany knew?”

“Told you. Everyone.”

“Motherfucker.”

Kaidan tugs Shepard’s arm tighter around him, thinking of simpler days and places and times you can’t go back to. “Wish Beaudoin could have been here today.”

Shepard kisses the back of his neck. “Me too. Can you even imagine what he would have said about Joker’s ‘vestment?’”

“He would have loved us getting married by a human ordained through the hanar. And yeah, he would have fucking loved that vestment.”

“He really would have.” 

They lapse back into silence. It feels heavier this time.

Williams. Beaudoin. The Normandy. The ‘Yang. And there’s more to come. Kaidan feels it in his bones.

“We have a lot of history, don’t we?” Kaidan murmurs.

“Yeah, we do,” Shepard agrees. He wraps Kaidan up tight. “I want more. Think we made some today.”

“This one now pronounces you twin souls of the same star,” Kaidan intones.

“I like that part,” Shepard says, nuzzling his neck. “Even better than the vestments.”

Shepard has always shone brighter than any star, but Kaidan has always walked willingly and unflinchingly into that light. There’s never been another path. At least not that he wanted to take.

“Kiss me,” Kaidan says, the sudden need for it overwhelming.

Shepard rolls him over and obliges. It feels no different than it did a few hours ago: beautiful. It always has, with Shepard.

The kiss gets deeper. Shepard’s corona kindles, bright and flickering, a fire without heat that graces Kaidan’s nerves with a soft, sweet hum. Kaidan reaches into the gravity well and lights his own star, their auras blending together into one, solid glow.

We’ve always been this, Kaidan thinks as he falls headlong into Shepard’s embrace.

Now they just have the documents to prove it.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 72: More Academy and Pre-Leaving Gallifrey Stuff Because Why Not

Sorry I'm in too my pain to come up with a better title right now lmaooo. Mostly about the Doctor because they occupy the mind.

As a small child, Theta Sigma had an imaginary friend named Binker. (Audio: The Abandoned)

Later, the Sixth Doctor claimed that while most people had imaginary friends, he had had an imaginary enemy in Mandrake the Lizard King, which was really a dead lizard pinned to old engine parts that he would battle with his deadly stick. This phrasing suggests that the Sixth Doctor does not acknowledge any imaginary friends his childhood self might have had. (Audio: The Widow's Assassin)

The Rani claimed that sentimentality was the reason the Doctor graduated with "just a Double Gamma." (Audio: The Rani Elite)

According to Sardon, the Doctor is no common criminal because by the latter years of his first incarnation was a distinguished member of the High Council and was widely regarded as a potential President. He was difficult and rebellious, however, and went too far when he quarreled with his colleagues over something obscure over principle. He then stole an old Type 40 TARDIS and fled. (Novel: World Game)

The Seventh Doctor claimed that he had always believed evil to be a genuine force. This had given his young self quite a name on Gallifrey as most of his contemporaries considered the ideas of "good" and "evil" to be archaic and out-dated. They thought his preoccupation with that morality was incomprehensible. (Novel: Strange England)

Before leaving Gallifrey, the Doctor had successfully campaigned for the ban of a special chemical. This chemical was a weapon sometimes called a disruptor agent that acts as a catalyst to convert vertebrate blood into acid. The formula for the chemical stuck in his brain well enough that the Second Doctor was able to later recreate it. (Short story: The Ages of Ambition)

The Doctor had made powerful enemies on Gallifrey on account of his controversial views on the non-interference policy. (Audio: The Beginning)

The Doctor was told stories about the Kin when he was a small boy on Gallifrey. The Time Lords imprisoned the Kin in a complex of small rooms out of temporal phase with the rest of the universe. So long as the Time Lords existed, the Kin would be in their prison. When the Kin got out, there was still a Time Lord left in the universe - the Eleventh Doctor. (Short story: Nothing O'Clock)

In his youth, the Doctor feared that Grandfather Paradox was hiding under his bed or underneath the table in the refectory or making noises he could hear outside at night. (Novel: The Gallifrey Chronicles)

As a young man, the Doctor read about an infection on Gallifrey that had happened over one thousand years before his birth. The Spore - which was actually the von Neumann seeding probe - killed several hundred thousand Time Lords before it was dealt with. The Time Lords engineered an inherited immunity into their genes, so they would never be vulnerable again. Everything organic seemed to be necrotic and decaying to a black gunk. (Please skip to next bullet point if you are squeamish about descriptions of bodies.) When the Eighth Doctor investigated an outbreak, he found a body wearing boots, jeans, and a checkered shirt. Inside the clothes was a mess of bones barely held together by a few pieces of remaining flesh. The skull had a few pieces of white hair, but the scalp and other pieces of soft organic matter were gone as black slime ran out of the cuffs. (Short story: Spore)

The Doctor used to sit by the sea a lot in their childhood, watching and listening to it. He used to think that that was where the dead went, that they were all out there in the sea, and that you could hear them whispering in the waves. (Novel: Matrix)

Three students at the Academy who often conducted rebellious and anti-hierarchical activities include: the Master, whose title was earned from his constant bullying of others, a good cosmic theoretician but but not very good in practice; the Doctor, who often carried out silly chemical experiments with a friend called Drax; and the Rani, who "was brilliant at everything, and chemistry in particular." (Short story: The Legacy of Gallifrey)

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[thesiltverses]

Feeding into the parasocial by sharing an article on a theme that made me think of the lack of wording on TSV (not once is capitalism said) and the way we all (me included) end up criticising capitalism without any actual arguments

https://www.infinitescroll.us/p/ugh-capitalism

Thanks!

I mean, I'd be a great deal more generous-minded to you / me / all of us than the article author Jeremiah Johnson, who I note is co-founder of some extremely vague enterprise called the Center for New Liberalism.

I think that complaining as he does that leftists keep conversationally using 'capitalism' as a broad-stroke catch-all term of complaint without drilling down into specific policy problems they want addressed (and that this amounts to poseury) is both craven and obtuse. It seems telling of the author's approach that he understands the concept of 'The Man' straightforwardly as a puerile conspiracy theory / blame-game for losers "taken from blaxpoitation movies", rather than stopping to think about the layers of joke and deadly sincerity for black communities in the US that might have given rise to that slang in the first place.

The very worst excesses of global capital are frequently broad, crude and childish - just as capitalist motivations of endless accumulation are inherently shallow and childish - and their consequences are hanging over us at all times.

It is both an obvious horror and a ludicrous everpresent joke, for example, that the planet is at the very edge of potentially tipping over into unstoppable environmental collapse, and yet short-term profiteering will clearly continue to drive us further towards our own unavoidable devastation, while attempts at regulation within the present political system have been and will continue to be routinely toothless and effortlessly corrupted.

For me there can be no serious issue taken with anyone - whether economists or teenagers - showing their contempt for that reality, or for the many layers of our dire present-day circumstances, by sometimes addressing the broad picture of capitalism in glib or insubstantial terms.

We all deserve better than some preening, pettifogging git turning up to call us trendy faux-socialist poseurs and insisting that we come up with a bullet-pointed list so he can argue back that actually Good Properly-Regulated Capitalism would be OK. What an absolute schmuck.

[labelleizzy]

Update from Democracy Action Network:

Despite his dreams, Trump is not a King. Marisa Kabas may have again broken the news. The Washington Post writes: "The White House budget office on Wednesday rescinded an order freezing federal grants, according to a copy of a new memo obtained by The Washington Post, after the administration’s move to halt spending earlier this week provoked a backlash."

He didn't back down because it was a good idea. It wasn't a change of heart. It wasn't a feint. It was a genuine administrative coup that — for now — has been thwarted.

He backed down because people pushed back — getting media to do their job and alert us to an impending problem, calling Senators who (more or less) found their spines, lawyers challenging the coup, telling the story of the many who would suffer under such an order, joining last-minute DC protests…

We'd like you to pause before your inner cynic speaks up (the one that says "he'll try another version" or "look at all the other things he's destroyed and people suffering").

The point is stunningly important: Trump can lose when we fight. He is not invincible and he is not all powerful.

It doesn't mean we will win every fight. But it does mean that anyone who is telling you it's hopeless is wrong. Folks need to get this message: our feelings are valid, but any conclusion that says it's over is wrong. They, too, will get a chance to join and we hope they do.

To us, the biggest stories not being told are the many, many acts of resistance all over. We wish we had journalists covering this. For example:

Teachers rejecting ICE raids ("we jump in front of bullets for our students")

Folks rejecting President-in-action-but-not-elected Elon Musk's potentially illegally sent and possibly illegal buyout offer to 2 million government workers (comments are fire: "I'll be honest, before that email went out, I was looking for any way to get out of this fresh hell. But now I am fired up to make these goons as frustrated as possible, RTO be damned. Hold the Line!")

National trainings teaching people how to organize and strengthen community when workplace raids happen (we recommend these!) or Teen Vogue's story on ICE Watch Programs Can Protect Immigrants in Your Neighborhood — Here’s What to Know

Lawyers standing up for the rule of law — like 22 state attorneys general sued Trump over birthright order or ACLU suing fast-track deportation policy or Quakers suing to stop ICE out of worship services

The internet spamming the DEI snitch tipline

Greenlanders refusing to give up free healthcare and education and rejecting any US takeover or Colombian President Petro staring down Trump and winning the "dignity" of returnees he asked for (the US media let Trump claim victory — but international press report this very differently, like here or here or read Petro's full statement)

Groups like Civil Service Strong helping government workers sort through their decisions in these trying times and the many people finding their path in these times.

Yes, we know the overwhelm is still there. There's a reason. It's called Shock and Awe. The goal is chaos and constant crisis to push through radical changes. The goal is to push our cognitive limits to overload, so we get paralyzed.

One implication of this: to stay active, many of us will need to limit our attention. Doing so is not a rejection of other issues. It's that in a time of rapid chaos, none of us can do it all. Let's give ourselves that permission. And then let's extend that grace our allies — for not joining the causes most central to us or for picking a strategy that we think isn't most effectual. It's okay to pick your lane and focus on that. In fact, we need you to. (We have this video to help remind people of different paths they may take.)

An overwhelmed teacher asked us what they should be doing to help their students. After an extended conversation that included their basic rights to keep out ICE, it came down to this: "The thing they most fear is an educated population. Teach your students." Do what you do best. We knew there would be a lot of loss in this time, and there is. We'll have to keep planting seeds for a better future.

We want to thank Democracy Forward for its leading lawsuits. Again, thanks to journalists like Marisa Kabas (an independent journalist at The Handbasket) and Anand Giridharadas (who quoted us in The Ink). Please support our independent journalists who did not downplay this administrative coup and raised their voices right away. Thanks Rebecca Solnit who first pulled our attention to this.

Some things we're going to go do: Eat some ice cream, pet a cat, and tap some maple trees with our kid. And then keep fighting the best we can.

Warmly,

- Choose Democracy