#rand organisation

[abovetopsecretxxl]

✌️RAND: Science of Gun Policy Report - Original Document✌️

https://berndpulch.org/2024/07/19/%e2%9c%8c%ef%b8%8frand-science-of-gun-policy-report-original-document%e2%9c%8c%ef%b8%8f/

[metamatar]

$200k seems like quite a reasonable cost for a small sterile lab. It's not a plan to make it at home, it's a plan to make it in your town. As of now, there are so few insulin plants that the economies of scale aren't optimal for distribution (but they are for profits!)

did you miss the part that it was speculative? that it has never been demonstrated? also no, the economies of scale are fine for distribution cold chain distribution it is a solved problem. people aren't struggling to get insulin bc it can't be delivered, they're struggling bc its expensive.

im not sure you understand what economies of scale means, it means when you try to do things at larger scale – you are generally able to deploy productive technologies and innovations in organisation (specialisation) which make things easier to produce (less labour and capital input) on average. things become cheaper to produce. it is cheaper to weave cloth at a factory than in a loom you install in your backyard. that's why open insulin can only hypothetically get a vial down to the price of for profit insulin in the uk. big pharma is able to profit from insulin at 7 dollars a vial, ie it's even cheaper to produce. this is like, adam smith pin example.

the existence of a big factory or doing things at scale doesn't create destructive megaprofits... this is such a bizarre worldview of the world. you have to make a very sophisticated argument to prove this, which imo is immediately debunked by the reality of worker organised cooperatives in factories or even state run industrial production. profit tends to be a function of factors like labour relations + market dynamics like supply, demand and competition. us healthcare sucks bc your workers don't have rights, private insurance colludes with hospitals and competitors and the govt doesn't regulate pharma companies who are providing an inelastic good (medicine.)

also addressing this bc some people are mad at me but the only part of my argument that cites a piece hosted on RAND corp is the extremely high price of US insulin compared to every other country in the world. its like 30x. i don't think that is a fact that's a capitalist conspiracy, the data can be confirmed with other sources too, it just illustrates how dysfunctional US healthcare is. like, when your enemies agree...

[naumin]

2024 retrospective and 2025 goals

this is the censored version of this post. for full images, check out the full free post on subscribestar!

hi :)

i'm really happy with everything i achieved in 2024. it was my first year illustrating full time, meaning no school and no salaried job on the side (believe me i tried to get one) and i'm happy to report i did not die! fuck yes. i even illustrated for 7 (i think) art books, designed merch for 2 and organised my first collab fanbook.

from top left clockwise: michael deforge, anna haifisch, Michel Esselbrügge, CLAMP, saul bass, jon whitcomb, rene gruau, paul rand, molly fairhurst

at the beginning of 2024 i made this moodboard for influences i wanted to incorporate into my work more, they are pretty much the same faves ive had for years but i just wanted to have them in front of me and start deliberately choosing elements to ape.

i'd say i basically want to incorporate more 2D cartoon graphic elements combined with detailed, realistic, delicately rendered characters, more theatric background design and props... features like borders etc. the thing about a moodboard is unless you print it out and put it up by your desk it will sort of slide to the back of your mind which is what i think happened w mine LOL. cuz looking at this now im like well i didnt really hit all these ideas but i did inch closer.

the first pic here is sth i drew immediately after making the board and i like it but it does feel like a slightly clumsy attempt at mashing stuff together... i wouldn't say that it shows i dont understand whats appealing about the work i was referencing (even though thats how it looks), its more like the picture goes in an unexpected direction while making it LOL. but that's part of the fun. whereas in my mind the 2nd pic spiritually embodies the ideas of the ppl i'm trying to copy. even tho visually it's still a ways off. its probably my favourite thing i drew all year? :) though that's hard to say bcus i'm so pleased w so many other pieces especially those u can see on my summary pic!!!

i have a few more artists i wanna add to my board and then i will definitely print it this time so i can look at it every day instead of just twice a year LOL.

another thing im really pleased about is the number of comics i drew in 2024. i have this odd relationship with comics where i do draw them and have for years and im more or less decent at them but i act like drawing them mortally wounds me. like im so dramatic... i do partially believe the only way ill ever be able to complete a longform comic is through abusing stimulants but you know ill also never find out if i keep crawling off to die after inking a page. i see a lot of illustrators suffering when approaching comics from the illustration mindset of making beautiful pictures instead of the comics mindset of making finished pictures, but u know, im extremely slapdash as an illustrator and im also proud enough to believe im a guy that can do both, so its really time i act like it... basically just shut up and draw. i want to apply this especially to perspective drawing/panel backgrounds, which im, like, fine at. honestly fine at. i do think i trip myself up because i want to be the next dostoevsky or beyonce or whatever, i want to be great, but have to remember the most anyone can do is aspire to express something from your inner world. everything else is secondary.

one thing i learned the hard way is how hard it is to have work life balance when you work from your bedroom and 'monestise your hobby'... you know, the thing everyone has been warning each other about for years. turns out its real. its super confusing when so many elements of your work bleed into your social life, physical health, leisure time etc -- like i go online for fun, and also to promote myself. so wheres the distinction? i watch movies for entertainment but also for research... ive definitely felt like ive been working around the clock or my job has consumed my life at points. but i think being stricter with my work hours is the way forward. it truly is shaytan at the wheel when u answer an email at 3AM... no more of this!

and tied into this is being realistic about what i can achieve in a day and not feeling ashamed or that i need to do more... i get stuck in this silly loop that's like... 'i believe everyone should work 4 hours a day, but because other people are stuck working 40 hours a week i should also be making myself do that' and then i work myself into a flare up and wreck my work ethic and enjoyment. u can laugh... i know it doesnt make sense. well i wont do it any more. because i CANT... because i will DIE... some days i work 4 hours. some days i work 6. some days i work half an hour... it doesnt matter as long as stuff gets done.. and it does.

also want to talk about my chronic pain and hypermobility... after a year of lifting weights i am stunned to let u know ive actually improved. unfortunately i dont look anything like the rock and i still cant do a real push up but im stronger and have more stamina and suffer from way less zaps and aches and numbness, which was unthinkable before. i only really noticed after taking a trip and doing different activities (painting walls) that i can physically do a lot more than i usually do at home. but also my house is fucking cold so its hard to do anything for anyone. hoping for warmer days and big muscles to come.

some of my other art goals are to work more on paper whenever i can. i used to have a huge stack of newsprint on my drawing board underneath my ipad and id doodle and test ideas on that paper before drawing it digitally. i wanna do that again. many people find its easier to 'think' on paper and im the same. whenever i have an idea i wanna go 'what would this look like on paper?' and then find out.

i want to be thinking about composition and storytelling more in my illustrations, as in, think cinematic, movie posters, communicating big ideas. even if that idea is only as big as 'this blue looks great with this orange'... i want to make more stuff that looks like promotional material for my stories. of course behind every movie poster is 100,000 thumbnails and sketches and half-finished ideas. i want to remember that and not be hard on myself for drawing girl in profile #997.

i want to draw more autobio comics, just to be drawing more comics and also to look back on and know what i was doing that day. nothing fancy. a lot of people are doing that gentle comics habit this year and i fear my competitive nature may get me into it too.

i have more books i wanna create which ive talked about at length in my last diary entry and for now i think that's enough goals thank you very much. thank you for reading this far and for all your support. happy new year! love you x

[trainsinanime]

I haven’t seen this on my dash yet:

NaNoWriMo officially allows the use of AI for writing novels there, and says being opposed to AI is classist and ableist…

Based on their language it seems that they’re mostly referring to assistant tools. They just happen to be sponsored by one called ProWritingAid.

Now let’s be honest, on some level this means nothing. NaNoWriMo doesn’t read your novels, you can complete the 50k word goal by typing =rand(100,10) in a Microsoft Word document, and that has always been true.

The meaning of this is symbolic: Instead of gently encouraging you to write on your own, like they did last year, they’re now using their weight as an organisation and brand name to normalize the use of AI, and shit on the people who dislike that. In my opinion that’s an objective shitty thing for them to do.

Now, I haven’t done NaNoWriMo in ages, just didn’t have the time, and this is just one of many reasons why I won’t even try this year either. But if you do want, it’s worth pointing out that you don’t need the website and organization, you can just write on your own and track your progress wherever (even here on your Tumblr blog).

[skyholly]

The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

Chapter 3 here!

Chapter 4 here!

Chapter 5 here!

****************

Chapter 6. Guinevere

Guinevere slammed her hands against the floor, clenching them into fists. The coolness of tiles bit into her palms as she struggled to draw air into her lungs. Rand sat on her side, his body and face void of any emotions, whereas she was about to collapse due to the sheer abundance of them. She felt as if she were breathing through a sponge, panic sinking like a rock down her stomach.

“No!” Guinevere cursed herself. “You can’t fall apart now!” She was an Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, she never lost her composure, she never let her emotions take control of her; she was efficient, she was methodical and logical, her mind an atheneum of organised files she could access at any time. Panicking wasn’t in her nature; she couldn’t afford to let it be. Only in her nightmares did she allow such emotion to pay her a visit, when it could harm no one but herself. 

And yet there she was, kneeling beside Rand, desperately pulling on every weave she could think of, trying to break the Amyrlin’s shield off —but remained unsuccessful in doing so. She’d never been in that position before, and it felt like torture. Healing had always come so naturally to her; she instinctively knew which weaves to pull on, whatever the disease, whatever the damage; however, at that moment, she found herself utterly at a loss, flattened under Siuan’s vastly superior power. 

You’re too weak, you’ve always been so. You turned your mother into an overbearing figure because of it; you took your brother’s youth away so he could help take care of you; you, a sister from the Yellow Ajah, couldn’t save your own father from his illness, he died due to your weakness—

Guinevere felt tears start to roll through her cheeks, as she was still panting over Rand’s body, her hands hovering all over his chest, when all of the sudden a man forced him onto his feet, dragging him away from her, leading him out of the room, onto the forbidding hallways of the castle.

“Stop it!” She exclaimed, hurriedly standing up, following the brigade of both women and men that had so seamlessly surrounded the boy without her noticing. “Let go of him!” She screamed, her voice cracking with desperation as she seized the back of one man's tunic, attempting to shove him away. The man turned, his face a mask of emotionless indifference, and with a swift, methodical punch to her face, slammed her into the ground, leaving her gasping for air. She closed her eyes, in an attempt to seek safety, to seek her void, and shove the pain away, but all she received in return was a torrent of memories from the nightmares she had endured the night before.

************

Tel'aran'rhiod 

Guinevere pressed her hands against her ears, eyes closed so tightly they were almost buried under her cheeks. She let herself fall down, knees hitting the floor so forcefully they would most likely break, weren’t she in a dream. The same one that had haunted her most of her life. Three little kids screaming for dear life, their shrieks piercing through her eardrums despite her attempts to block the noise. 

“Mama!” They always screeched in terror, seeking for her, but Guinevere could do nothing to help them. “I’m not your mother,” she thought in despair, “why are you calling for me? Whose dream is this? Who am I here?” 

But she was already used to the nightmare, she had learnt how to deal with it. She always dropped into the ground, while attempting to block all of her senses away, until the floor beneath her eventually broke down, and she fell through the excruciating abyss, causing her to wake up. But that night the abyss never came, no matter how long she waited.

It felt as if hours had passed, when Guinevere finally opened her eyes in bewilderment, finding herself in the all too familiar circular room, red banners hung all around the luminous chamber. She noticed the three kids running towards her, and she instinctively opened her arms, letting all three of them plunge into her body. The children’s whimpers rippled throughout her whole body, their tears staining the skirts of her dress. There were two young boys, hair as dark as the ocean at night, and a little girl, hair as auburn as a winter sunset. 

“Shh,” she tried to console them, brushing on each of their heads, “it’s alright, it’s alright.” The little girl looked up towards her, and Guinevere almost choked at the sight of her eyes. As blue as the midnight sky. She picked the toddler in her arms, as the two boys gripped on her legs. “It’s alright, everything will be fine,” she kept on repeating, but she knew it was a lie. The world around them kept precariously shaking, walls and ceilings falling apart, the floor trembling beneath her feet. 

Suddenly, she heard someone laugh, and she drew her gaze away from the children, eyes following the source of such noise, until they stumbled upon a man, standing in the middle of the room. Guinevere felt her heart drop into her stomach. Rand. Only it wasn’t Rand, but a middle aged man, with dark hair and bronze skin, a smile on his face that had once been as gentle and sweet as a spring breeze, but was now contorted into a maniac grin. The man started to approach them, his mien erratically switching from wild laughter to desperate sobbing, his cheeks wet by tears of both amusement and grief. Guinevere automatically raised what little she could her hands, reaching for the Source, but she couldn’t find it. I can’t channel. Who am I here? The question kept on haunting her. 

“Fight it, Lews, please,” she heard herself beg the man, holding onto her children, hot tears burning down her cheeks, as words she did not recognise started pouring out of her mouth, “please. Not the children.” 

But the man didn’t stop, and each second he was a step closer to her, the children’s shrieks of terror piercing into her brain like needles laced with poison, when suddenly, everything shifted. It felt as if she were being plunged from that dream into another, falling down an endless hole, until eventually she dropped into a bed, her surroundings yet another very familiar room. Ample and dimly lit, with high ceilings; walls decorated in midnight blue wallpapers, a variety of books and trinkets scattered around the room’s multiple desks and chairs. 

This is Moiraine’s room. 

She gazed around in astonishment, until her eyes stumbled across her aunt’s. Guinevere was sitting on her lap, her small back against Moiraine’s bent legs, her little hands grasping onto the woman’s nightgown. She couldn’t be more than five years old at the time. But something seemed off about the dream. The last one had been eerily disturbing, numbness spread throughout her body, her brain foggy; but this new dream in which she had fallen into… everything was so clear, every detail in her aunt’s room, every sound, even the flowery smell emanating from Moiraine’s hair. She tried raising her arm to grab a strand of it, but couldn’t, as a matter of fact, she couldn’t control anything about it. This isn’t a dream, Guinevere abruptly realised, this is a memory. And she was nothing but a spectator to it. 

“And then what?” She heard her little voice ask, eyes wide open in astonishment. 

“Lews Therin Telamon and the Hundred Companions used all of their power to seal the Dark One’s prison, once and for all, keeping the world out of his reach for all time.” Moiraine finished the story, pulling the girl’s little hands against her chest. 

“But what if that seal is broken?” The toddler asked, head tilting in confusion. 

Moiraine’s eyes flickered in concern for one second, before briskly turning her lips into a warm smile, eyes softening at the sight of her scared little face. “That won’t happen.” She assured her. 

“But what if it does?” The toddler insisted, terror taking over her, plunging her body into her aunt’s chest. 

Moiraine placed her hand on her small back, tenderly brushing it, as her other hand softly caressed her cheek. “Then your mother will be here to protect you. Always.” 

************

Guinevere felt her head go numb, as she struggled to get on her feet, feeling her heartbeat drumming on her ears, both of her arms resting scratched against the floor. Guinevere heard Rand’s muffled yelling, his head desperately searching for her, and noticed Moiraine scurrying past her, following the boy, when two strong arms grabbed her by the armpits and lifted her up. The girl stumbled on her feet, still dazed from the punch and haunted by the memory of those strange nightmares. Had she felt troubled, and confused by such dreams, she didn’t let them drill into her mind, she’d have plenty of time to ruminate on them once she was back at home. And so she pushed the thoughts aside, her hand clinically reaching for her cheek, where the man’s blow had hit, and felt tearing on her skin, a thin stream of blood running down her neck. 

“Come with me.” The man that had helped her commanded. She turned around, head hurting so much she thought it was about to burst, stomach feeling queasy, and noticed it was Lan, her aunt’s nerve-racking Warder. “Here,” he added, offering her a white piece of cloth. 

Guinevere nervously took it from his hands, swiftly placing it over her injured cheek. “B-but what about Rand—”

“He’ll be fine,” he explained, gently grasping on her forearm, forcing her to follow his steps, away from the castle, “for now, at least, Moiraine will be with him.”

“But—”

“If you really want to help the boy, then follow me.” Lan insisted, his expression softening the slightest, but still not slowing down on his pace. “I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” She snapped. “You clearly went behind Moiraine’s wishes, you abandoned her side, you forced her against the Amyrlin—”

Lan froze so abruptly on his spot that Guinevere would’ve fallen into the ground, weren’t for his strong —yet incredibly tender— grip on her shoulder. “I’m Moiraine’s Warder.” He asserted, unwavering solemnity showing on his face. “And that I shall be until my last breath. And you are Moiraine’s… I would never hurt you, Guinevere. As I will never let any harm come your way. That, I promise.” He said so honestly, Guinevere couldn’t help but to believe him. 

She had two options in front of her: one, run towards the Amyrlin, inform her there was yet another plan in motion she ought to put a stop to. Two, she followed Lan, towards what he had promised it would be in Rand’s best interest. It wasn’t a very difficult choice to make.

“Then lead the way.” She affirmed, pursing her lips, nodding to herself, hurrying after the man. 

Luckily for her, Lan wasn’t a man of many words, and so that allowed her to put her thoughts in order, all the new information she had come across buzzing in her mind, pieces of an impossibly intricate puzzle trying to tie together. 

Moiraine and the Armyrlin were working together, as she had suspected. Not only that, each of them had very specific tasks to their mission, a mission that had been in motion for years. It seemed as if Lan were the only one aware of such an arrangement, but she couldn’t know for sure. Leane… No, the Amyrlin wouldn’t have asked her to leave the room if she knew. 

Guinevere couldn’t get out of her mind the way Moiraine had addressed the Amyrlin, how naturally the name ‘Siuan’ fit on her lips. And how tragic expressions the two women had shared with each other, the anger and sorrow in their voices after learning they had both been withholding information from each other, the two of them resentfully speaking words that they already knew would hurt the other one the most… No, that’s impossible. The Amyrlin shall have no love of her own. Guinevere shook her head, I am becoming crazy. She had known the two women had been friends since their days as Novices, so it made sense for them to feel betrayed by each other. She was reading into things where there was nothing written.

Guinevere couldn’t help but sigh, she had learned so much from being in the room with the two women, yet she felt as if she had ended up with more questions than answers. How did they know exactly they ought to look for the Dragon Reborn?  That riddle remained her biggest concern. It couldn't have been mere instinct; one doesn’t just embark on a lifelong journey to search for something whose existence isn't assured.

The two of them kept on walking through the city, Lan leading the way and Guinevere lost in her own thoughts, until eventually they reached a big, tall building, its stone walls weathered by time and the elements. Ivy clung to the ancient masonry, creeping up towards its narrow, iron-barred windows. The Sanitarium.

“What are we doing here?” Guinevere asked, confused. 

“We’re here to help Moiraine.” Lan briefly explained, before walking past the heavy wooden doors, towards a hallway. 

“I thought we were here to help Rand.”

“In order to help Rand, we’ll need to help Moiraine first.” The man instructed, as he turned on a corner into a small waiting room, where two people were expecting him. 

A woman stood there, dressed in a deep green gown, beautiful brown curls cascading down her back, her eyes big and alluring. Guinevere knew who she was. 

“Alanna Sedai,” she said, bowing her head. Next to her, in a chair, sat a man, most probably her Warder. One of her warders, she reminded herself. 

The woman looked at her with a cautious expression on her face, her gaze darting in anger between the young girl and the brooding Warder. “It’s fine,” Lan rushed to say, “she knows.” 

Guinevere stood still in her place, silently organising files of information. Alanna knows, her warders as well. Who else knows? Why wasn’t the Tower buzzing with all of this information if so many Aes Sedai were apparently aware? Unless they weren’t, until Lan, or the Amyrlin decided they ought to. That would explain why Moiraine had so abruptly appeared on Cairhien, frantically searching for Rand. Now too many people know about the Dragon Reborn, and all of them are standing on either side of too profound an abyss. But Guinevere knew where she stood, her feet firm on the ground, she had taken her stance, and wouldn’t back out of it. But what if you’re on the wrong side? 

Guinevere was taken out of her stupor by a man’s voice. “Through there,” Alanna’s Warder sighed, pointing towards a tall, blue door. The girl’s eyes widened in recognition. Logain’s chambers. What had Logain to do with any of this? Guinevere felt more perplexed by the second. She followed Lan into an ample room, a lush garden in its centre, a privilege most patients wouldn’t have access to, especially a gentled man that had tried murdering over a dozen Aes Sedai. Guinevere froze on the spot. Moiraine had him brought here, but why?  Her eyes scanned the place, until they landed on the Fake Dragon, sitting by a table, playing a game of stones. The man appeared worse than when she had last seen him: his skin waxy, eyes devoid of any will—a rare sight for a gentled man. It wasn’t his unkempt appearance that shocked her, but the stark reality that he was still alive.

Logain looked at the two of them, and smirked. “I would offer you a match, but stones is a gentleman’s game.” He said, resentfully glaring at Lan. “Tell your master that I’m still waiting for her to keep her promise.” Promise? What promise? And when had Moiraine visited Logain? “Or you can just run me through with your blade now, save her the trouble.” Oh. Death, that’d been her promise, Guinevere guessed. Everyone knew there was no sweeter fate for people that were cut off from the Source. Guinevere shuddered at the thought of Moiraine being haunted by the same thoughts.

Lan slowly approached the man. “I can do better than that,” he said, taking a key from his pouch and leaving it on the table. Guinevere’s eyes broadened in consternation, Logain was a highly dangerous patient, surely he couldn’t be left on his own. She knew she ought to stop Lan, but something within her prevented her from doing so. It was unwise, and egotistical, it went against every oath she’d taken as a healer, but she wanted to know what Lan was after, what he was seeking from the man. What can he possibly get from a gentled man? “You can see male weaves,” Lan suggested, “what do you see when you look at Moiraine?”

Oh. Guinevere’s eyes brightened, wide as plates, hands anxiously gripping on the fabric of her dress, her heartbeat steadily going up, as another piece of the puzzle fell into its place. A male channeler stilled Moiraine. But why would Logain see anything? She was cut off from the Source, nothing remained afterwards. Unless… unless she hadn’t been stilled at all, unless it was something else. That would explain why Guinevere hadn’t realised she couldn’t reach for the One Power the moment she saw her, that would explain why she felt an electric buzz every time she got close to her. Moiraine hadn’t been stilled, something else had been performed on her, something Guinevere couldn’t have noticed because it had been the work of saidin, not saidar. She shivered at the thought of a male channeler who could yield so much power, his name immediately coming to her mind, Ishamael, but she brushed the thought away. She would have to worry about that some other time. Guinevere expectantly glared at Logain, eyes furrowed in anticipation, awaiting for his answer. 

“A desperate, lonely woman, who had given her life to a cause… beyond her understanding.” Logain replied, chuckling. 

Lan took a deep breath, a frown folding his eyebrows. “A half a year in an Asylum, and you’re a madman still.”

“Madness is expecting a straight answer from the man you helped lock away.” He snarled, shakily standing up, measuring up against Lan. The Warder pursed his lips in frustration, as he hastily grabbed the key from the table, turning away. 

Guinevere watched the man start to walk away from the room, knowing he was expecting her to follow him, but instead she did the opposite. She slowly approached Logain, softly grabbing his hands, letting her power flow onto them, warming spreading through his arms. This is what he misses the most. The man eased on her touch, weaves invisible to him twisting around his body, a gentle smile taking over his face. 

“I know what you’re doing to me.” He said, peacefully, a knowing smirk on his face.

“But does it feel bad?” She asked, her lips turning into a soft smile, slowly starting to draw her hands away. 

The man remained quiet, abruptly gripping on her hands for dear life, bringing them closer to him, pushing them against his chest, eager for any kind of touch from the One Power. His gaze reached her eyes, and then the words came flooding in. “There are weaves on her,” he explained, “from a man. Thousands of strands pulled together, held in place, but nothing being channelled into them.”

“How is that possible?” Lan asked, reaching their side once again.

“I don’t know, it’s just like…” Logain started to contort his hands, his legs, his body, resembling a ball of wool. Guinevere’s eyes widened in realisation. I know what’s been done to Moiraine. 

Suddenly, screaming and turmoil could be heard from outside the building, as Alanna entered the gardens, agitated. “There’s a fire,” she explained, “in the Forgate.”

Guinevere searched for Lan’s eyes, unsure on what to do, but he was walking away already. 

“The key,” Logain demanded.

Lan turned around, his body swelling with anger, and he approached Logain. “You think I’ve forgotten what you did to Kerene and Stepin? You will get this key when they take you back to the White Tower. There are two Brown Sisters that are desperate to study a man who can channel.” He sneered, before he sprinted away. 

Guinevere sent a pitiful look towards Logain, and rushed to follow Lan. “Wait!” She screamed, once they’d left the building. Lan turned around, and faced her. “Why did you bring me here?” She asked, a clever grin on her face, arrogance suits me, she thought, amused, but quickly flattened it down, recalling her mother’s teachings. There's no harvest from the seeds of smugness.

“I thought he would be able to tell us what had been done to Moiraine, and how to undone it. And that you could then teach Rand how to do so but... I still don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Lan admitted, defeated. 

Guinevere straightened her posture, and folded her arms over her chest. “I know.” She confessed, raising her chin. “I’ve read about it in old books, I know what has been done to her, and I can guide Rand into undoing it.” 

Lan’s smile spread slowly across his face, tentative yet genuine, as if it were the first time such a gesture had graced his features. “Then come with me,” he grinned, but Guinevere stayed in her place. 

“It was Ishamael who did that to her, wasn’t it?” She muttered. Lan remained eerily quiet. “So Lanfear isn’t the only Forsaken around,” she whispered, mostly to herself. Guinevere stood firmly on her ground, looking at Lan with a fierce look on her face. “I will go with you and help Moiraine under one condition: you tell me everything. And I mean everything. Everything that happened from the second you arrived at the Two Rivers to what happened in the Eye of the World; what your next plan is, what you believe Moiraine’s plan to be. I want every single detail, or else I’ll join the Amyrlin now.”

Lan hesitated, before lowering his head, lips turning into a begrudging smile. “You resemble Moiraine too much for your own good, you know that?” Guinevere grinned. “I’ve been told so.” 

Guinevere followed Lan and Alanna into the Sun Castle’s wide entrance, amidst fire and screaming, the city at the mercy of Lanfear’s rage. She spotted Rand first, next to Moiraine and Verin Sedai, and another man, Verin’s Warder, she supposed. She locked her eyes into Rand’s and the two of them remained still for a second, before the boy ran towards her, embracing her in a tight hug. She flinched at his touch, her mind still plagued by the nightmare he had somehow strangely starred in, but she brushed her fears aside, easing into his embrace. I can breathe again. He took a step back, brushing her injured cheek with his thumb. 

“I apologise for pulling you into this mess—

“Don’t,” Guinevere answered, firmly, nodding, both to herself and to the redheaded boy. 

He placed his hands over her shoulders, biting on his lips, a regretful look on his face, “I’m sorry for accusing you of—

“Don’t,” Guinevere repeated. 

“Blood and ashes!” Rand cursed, biting down a smile, “won’t you just let me apologise to you?” The boy laughed. 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Guinevere confessed, a guilty pout on her lips, “it was wrong of me to use my… Talent to force Egwene to tell me those things, and it’s not your fault I’ve become involved in this. It is my choice to help, to help you, Rand. Whatever comes next.” She affirmed herself, more assured of her choices than ever before, now that she held all the pieces to the puzzle.

Guinevere noticed Moiraine direct a strange look towards her Warder, as Lan stared anxiously at the pair. He turned around, and faced the rest of the group. “Good work,” he addressed them, “we’ll take him from here to the Waygate. Just make sure we’re not followed.” 

“What about the Amyrlin—” Guinevere began to ask, but was interrupted. “She’s been taken care of,” Verin explained, “she’ll be occupied for some time, but you’ll still need to hurry.” 

“You’re not alone in this any longer, sister.” Alanna addressed Moiraine, still panting for air. “But you need to hurry, this city is not safe.” Moiraine nodded, her eyes immediately searching for Lan’s. “I hope you’re worth this, boy.” Alanna sighed, fiercely glaring at Rand. The boy straightened his posture, in an attempt to reassure her. 

“Light be with you,” Verin’s Warder blessed them, as he handed a lightened torch to Lan, who turned around towards her. “You’re the only one who knows where the Waygate is, Guinevere,” he said, staring intensely into the girl’s eyes, “lead the way and we’ll follow.”

Guinevere obediently started running away from the castle, rushing through the city’s narrow streets, before Rand could start to complain about her accompanying them. She heard the group’s steady footsteps following her, until they eventually reached her. 

“You’re not coming with us to Falme.” Rand told her, arriving at her side. 

“Of course I’m not,” Guinevere assured him, already out of breath, “I’m just leading you all to the Waygate. There will be much damage to repair after Lanfear’s little spectacle, I’ll be needed here.” She further explained, heavily breathing without slowing down her pace. 

“How do you even know where it is?” The boy asked her, surprised. 

Guinevere shrugged her shoulders, turning on a corner, avoiding crashing with its wedge by nothing but inches. “My dad and I liked to study maps together, I know this city like the palm of my hand, I grew up here. This is my home.”

Moiraine sent a pitiful look her way, before quickly regaining her composure. She’s been acting so weird ever since the audience with the Amyrlin. She had refused to speak to her when they had left the room after Rand was called upon by the Amyrlin, she wouldn’t even meet her eyes.

Guinevere kept on leading the three of them, until they eventually reached an empty building, surrounded by high brick walls but no ceiling, an enormous stone archway standing imposingly on the back, illuminated under the moon’s glow. “There,” she sighed, bending down on her stomach, trying to catch her breath. 

Moiraine wasted no seconds to get by her side. “You’ll have to channel into it.” She commanded her. “And then you leave this place, and rush towards the Sun Castle, search for Siuan—”

“No,” Lan interrupted her, staring at Moiraine deep into her eyes, “you’re going to open it.” 

Moiraine looked at him with a vicious look on her face, angry at the man’s apparent mockery. “Just do it.” She ordered the young girl, ignoring the Warder. 

But Lan walked towards Rand’s side, the torch on his hand illuminating the young boy’s face, and pointed towards Moiraine. “Look at Moiraine. With the Source—”

“Lan,” Moiraine sighed, turning her face away in embarrassment.

“Not just your eyes,” he kept on explaining, “what do you see?” 

“Don’t,” Moiraine insisted, avoiding everyone’s gaze, as she felt a veil of shame falling upon her. 

Guinevere saw Rand staring at the woman, and she mirrored his actions, but she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t see anything past the lonely, withered down woman, reeking with vulnerability; but she sensed it, something… like a million butterflies fluttering their wings within her. 

“It looks like a knot tied together,” the redhead boy finally said, lips opening in bewilderment. 

“Just like Logain said,” Guinevere mumbled.

“That’s im… It’s impossible.” Moiraine replied, eyebrows frowned in confusion.

“No, it’s not,” Guinevere said, frantically searching for her aunt’s eyes, “there’s a story from the Age of Legends, about the Forsakens’ powers, a skill that’s been lost for thousands of years, to tie off weaves and leave them in place. I- I didn’t even think about it, until Lan took me to see Logain.”

“It never made sense to me, Moiraine.” The Warder confessed, eagerly striding to her side. “What you’re feeling? Ishamael didn’t still you. Not even a Forsaken could do that alone. It is a shield that he’s tied off, which means…”

“It can be removed,” Moiraine whispered, her voice quivering in both anticipation and apprehension. If this doesn’t work out…

“Yes,” Lan nodded. 

Rand immediately searched for Guinevere’s hands. “Please, help her.” 

“I-I can’t,” the girl explained, “only saidin can undo it. But I can help you remove it, if you trust me.”

Rand stared at her for a handful of seconds, until he nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“You don’t have the skills to untie the knots, and it would take me far too long to teach you,” she sighed, “you’ll have to cut through it, I’ll guide you.” She added, staring intensely into his eyes, before drawing her gaze away, towards Moiraine, as he did the same, the young couple silently asking for the woman’s permission. 

“I trust you,” she nodded. Guinevere pursed her lips, and circled Rand, gently gripping on his arms from behind, as if he were a puppet and she the puppeteer. “Go on, search for it.” She indicated. Guinevere sensed Rand’s body tensing up, focusing on pulling on weaves she could not see, but she could feel. His body started to heat up, warmness that spread onto her, his skin buzzing with power, about to ignite. He can’t control it. He could hurt Moiraine if I don’t make the right decisions. Guinevere tightened her grip on the boy’s arms, her palms almost burning at his touch, drawing energy away from him. “Good,” she whispered, leaning closer to him, “now imagine a blade, sharp and precise. You’re going to cut through the threads, not too deep, just enough to sever the weave.” She guided his hands, feeling his muscles twitch as he attempted to follow her instructions.

“Go on,” Moiraine instructed, straightening her posture, making herself ready for whatever the outcome was. 

Rand's breathing grew ragged, and Guinevere could sense his hesitation. She felt Rand struggling to control his power, and so she started to draw as much energy as she could from him, lightening his burden. “Steady,” she said softly, her voice a calm anchor. “Focus on the weave, let the Source guide you… That’s it,” she muttered, as she felt him easing into the Power, his hands moving in almost intuitive motions. “I see it,” Rand finally said, his voice barely more than a breath. “I see the weave.”

Moiraine stood still, her eyes closed, her face a mask of apprehension. The air in the room thickened with tension, each second stretching into an eternity.

“Good,” Guinevere encouraged. “Now, cut it.”

With a final, deep breath, Rand moved. Guinevere felt the surge of power, a hot, searing energy that pulsed through her as Rand severed the invisible threads. For a moment, everything seemed to hang in the balance, the room filled with a tense, expectant silence.

Then, Moiraine gasped, her eyes flying open. She staggered, and Lan was immediately at her side, supporting her. The room seemed to breathe again, the oppressive weight lifting as the weave fell apart.

Moiraine looked around, her eyes bright with a mix of disbelief and relief. “I feel it,” she whispered. “I feel it.”

Guinevere let out a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding, stepping back from Rand. “It worked,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Moiraine approached her side. “Thank you,” she exhaled, reaching for Guinevere’s hand, pressing on it, gratitude all over her face. 

Guinevere felt it, the rush of emotions coming her way, and she felt tears accumulating on her eyes. It must’ve felt like torture. “I’m glad I could be of help.” She gulped. The woman abruptly placed a hand over her cheek, caressing on it with her thumb, overwhelmed by emotions. “You’ve always been so much more than just help, Winnie.” She confessed, smiling at her. She tenderly brushed her thumb against her cheek for one last time, before turning around towards Lan. 

“Thank you,” she said, softly. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to do my duty.” He apologised, solemnly. Moiraine gently chuckled at his comment, as she turned around towards the Waygate, staring to pull on intricate, almost blinding weaves. Guinevere made sure Rand felt alright, before walking beside her, eager to see all of Barthane’s stories come true, and they did not disappoint. She is majestic, Guinevere thought to herself, staring in awe at the brightness her aunt was able to create, golden weaves forcing the invisible gate open, until there was a dangerously alluring black void where the archway once stood. 

The four were standing still in front of it, overwhelmed at the thought of having to go through it, when Guinevere felt something in the air shift. She turned around, as a tangle of weaves shaped like a spiderweb fell onto Rand, pushing him feet away from the archway, his body violently crushing against the floor. 

Guinevere’s eyes immediately searched for the perpetrator, and she freezed on the spot when she saw her. The Amyrlin, she has found us. 

“Stop!” Lan began to say, running towards her, but she swiftly brushed him to his side, a force invisible to him forcing him sideways, and he grunted as he violently hit the brick walls. 

Moiraine stood in shock in the middle of it, eyes flickering between the two men, until they finally settled on the woman before her. 

“Close the Waygate, Moiraine.” Siuan ordered her. “Now!” She added, noticing the woman’s hesitation. “You lied to me about being stilled—”

“No,” Moiraine sighed, hurt evident in her voice, eyes narrowed in disbelief, as she approached the woman in the golden attire, “I cannot. I’ve been more truthful with you than anyone else.”

“We failed, Moiraine,” Siuan complained, “at the Eye of the World you failed!” Moiraine started backing away from her, invisible knives embedding on her chest. “The stakes are too high to fail again. Close the Waygate.” She instructed her. 

Moiraine simply stared back at her, a wearisome expression on her face, and sighed. “No,”

“I don’t want to force you,” the Amyrlin threatened her. “You swore to obey me on the Oath Rod. An unbreakable oath, bound by the One Power.”

“Siuan…” Moiraine whispered, her face shrunk in sorrow, and betrayal.

“Close it!” Siuan demanded, once again, the words slurring out of her mouth. 

“Siuan…”

“Moiraine Damodred…—” The Amyrlin began to instruct, as tears started to accumulate on her eyes. 

“No, if you’ve ever loved me, please don’t do this,” Moiraine begged, tears beginning to streak down her cheeks.

So that’s what Lan kept away from me, Guinevere realised in astonishment. She had been right. There was something else to Moiraine and Siuan’s apparent alliance, or rather had been, since they now seemed to stand on opposite sides to the same cause, a void so wide between the two Guinevere doubted any of them would ever reach the other side. They were lovers. 

“I command you,” Siuan continued, turning a deaf ear to Moiraine’s words, “to close the Waygate.”

Guinevere took a deep breath as the woman spoke her final words, only then realising she had been holding her breath until that moment. She saw silver weaves twisting across Moiraine, forcing her to turn around, as agonising moans started to escape from her lips, her hands reluctantly rising to her chest, golden weaves radiating from them, and the Waygate started to shut close.

Moiraine stared at the brick wall with sadness, hands pressed tightly to her chest, panting in exhaustion. She turned around, and met Siuan’s eyes, taking a step back, as her eyebrows furrowed in disgust, eyes narrowing in betrayal, lips pouting in sorrow. 

Guinevere drew her gaze away from her aunt, and looked at the Amyrlin, who seemed no better than the other woman. Her breathing unsteady, the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, they were looking at each other as if they were strangers. But Guinevere felt it, their hearts beating one same rhythm, mirroring each flutter, all of their misery. 

Guinevere shut her eyes, her mind racing with thoughts, each one crazier than the one before. Maybe I can fix it, maybe, if she got close enough to the Amyrlin, she could sneakily grab on her arm, ease her mind into Moiraine’s plan, make her follow along—

Suddenly, a figure appeared from within the shadows. The woman was gorgeous in a way Guinevere didn’t think it possible; she had black, lush hair that fell in graceful waves down to her waist, her eyes clear as a summer sky, her slender figure dressed in an impeccable silver attire. 

Moiraine abruptly took a few steps back, towards Guinevere, her face furrowing in fear. “Lanfear,” she whispered. 

The woman giggled at the Amyrlin’s fierce attitude, who stood ready to fight her, fully believing herself capable of beating her if it ever came to that. Lanfear simply stared at her, with an amused expression on her face. 

“She’s too strong Siuan,” Moiraine warned her, still getting closer to Guinevere, “don’t.”

But Siuan paid no mind to her words, and swiftly reached for the Source, her body surrounded by golden weaves shaped as spikes pointing to the Forsaken’s heart. And yet, with a simple flicker on her fingers, Lanfear violently shoved her away, and Siuan crashed against the floor, her body gone still. Guinevere gasped, holding her breath, finally letting air leave her lungs after sensing the woman’s heartbeat. She hasn’t killed her. Yet. 

Rand’s shield on him vanished in an instant. Rising swiftly, he positioned himself between Lanfear and Moiraine, a shiver running down his spine as he sensed the woman’s unsettling gaze now fixed on them, recalling the Forsaken’s vicious warnings regarding Moiraine.  “Don’t,” he warned the woman with a defiant expression on his face.

But it wasn’t Moiraine that Lanfear was glaring at with murder in her eyes, Guinevere realised, too late. Before anyone could move, Lanfear flickered her fingers again, and Guinevere flew towards the wall, later smashing onto the floor, savage lacerations tearing her skin open all over her body, as blood slowly started pooling under her, and she knew she was going to die. 

Guinevere heard an agonising wail tear through the sky before everything went black. 

************

Tel'aran'rhiod 

Guinevere stood calm on her feet, as beams of sunshine warmed her skin, a soft breeze whirling the hem of her dress, a flowery scent putting her mind at ease. She was staring at the scene before her with a peaceful expression on her face. 

Moiraine was picking on flowers from her garden back at home, a little girl by her side, who she recognised as herself many, many years ago. The older woman reached for the higher blooms, plucking them at Guinevere’s request, softly placing them on the basket the little girl was holding, sweetly beeping on her nose every time she did so, earning a giggle from the toddler each time, laughter that Moiraine herself couldn’t help but mimic. The little girl sprinted into her arms, her small figure fitting almost too perfectly in Moiraine’s embrace, as if the Wheel itself had decided it shall be that way. 

She thought about all the memories she had been recalling lately. And in each one of them, it had been so plain to the eye. 

How didn’t I realise before?

************

Guinevere’s eyes snapped open, lungs gasping for air, her mind a blur. The last thing she recalled was Lanfear casting an excruciating net of weaves around her, and then nothing but darkness.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Author's note: Hello there! I'm sorry if this chapter turned out a bit messy, I haven't had time to proofread it, and I'm going on a weekly trip tomorrow so either I updated it today or next week, and I'd rather just publish it now, and edit it later if needed. I'll probably do some heavy editing in the whole story once it's finished (there's only three chapters left —that is until season 3 airs, of course). Anyway, let me know what you think! If there are any incoherences or mistakes, I shall edit them once I get back. As always, thanking you so much for reading and commenting! I appreciate it a lot.

Chapter 7 here!

[workingclasshistory]

On this day. 26 May 1936 around 6000 workers at six Remington Rand typewriter factories walked out on strike. Workers at plants in New York state, Middletown, Connecticut and Ohio walked out on strike against a plan to relocate production from Syracuse, NY, to Ilion, NY. They also demanded a 20% pay increase and the rehiring of 17 workers who had recently been fired. The employer implemented aggressive tactics to fight against the workers, which became the lasting legacy of the strike. Remington Rand president, James H Rand Jr, devised the strategy of breaking the strike and the workers' organisation which became known as the "Mohawk Valley formula", named after the region in which the Ilion plant was based. The plan included: labelling union activists as "agitators"; organising business owners into a "Citizen's Committee" to try to break the strike; using violent vigilantes to attack the workers, and using that violence to advocate a police crackdown on the strikers; propagating anti-union propaganda; issuing threats to close plants; and calling for the "right to work" and police protection for strikebreaking replacement workers. Remington Rand fired all of the strikers, and instead hired replacement scab workers, and used security guards armed with bricks and clubs to escort the scabs into plants. They also harassed strikers by sending fake religious missionaries to strikers' homes, and set up a fake company union. Despite all of this the workers held out, and in 1937 the National Labor Relations Board issued a damaging report detailing all the ways Remington Rand had broken federal labour laws, and ordered strikers to be rehired. The strike lasted until April 1937, but was not fully settled until 1940, when the company rehired all of the fired workers, disbanded their company union and recognised the American Federation of Labor-affiliated union. More information, sources and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/7919/remington-rand-strike Pictured: pickets and police during the strike https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=633075795532306&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[kalpalatas]

take me to the sea?

(ask me about my wips!)

this one's bronseele (star rail version), although the title is a reference to bronseele (honkai 3rd version). don't worry about it.

star rail bronseele have. the funniest/bittersweet/heartbreaking final character stories of all time. (i'm exaggerating on account of being the only person alive who still OTPs them in the playerbase but it's objectively true, trust me-)

anyway this is bronya's, set just before her coronation:

"Over-thinking things again?" The woman looking like a butterfly asks, with a teasing smile on her face. She replies with an exasperation grin. "Same as always, you know — I'm nervous beforehand, but can play to my audience once on stage." "Hey, don't screw this up. Those old fossils want to play politics, and they're just waiting for an opportunity for you to slip up." "Haha... Then I'll have to ask you to keep an eye on them for me." "Hey, looks like time is up." The dull sound of gears gnashing and turning echoes in the hall. She cast one last look back at the person beside her — who retreats into the shadows with a nod and a trusting smile. The door creaks open and a beam of warm light shot into the hall, lighting up her face. What follows are deafening applause and cheers. "Let's go, Bronya."

and this is seele's, set during said coronation:

The majestic cry of horns resounds throughout the skies, and the bustling crowd falls silent immediately. A man in a comical outfit rushes to the podium, and shouts in a piercing voice — "Ladies and gentlemen! For the ribbon-cutting part of this ceremony, please welcome to the stage — the Supreme Guardian herself, Madam Bronya Rand!" Deafening cheers erupt from the plaza. Seele quietly pulls the pickpocket out of the crowd during the ruckus, and escorts him to the Silvermane Guards on duty. She turns to look back at the distant stage, and briefly locks eyes with the woman in the white dress. The Supreme Guardian flashes her an ever-so-brief smile, and Seele nods slightly in response. And then, they go their separate ways — one stepping into the light, the other into the shadows. — One day, they will finally meet again.

the clown shit funny part of this is...they're never really separated, because in belobog events in-game, seele seems to be a sort of liason between bronya and wildfire, the previously insurgent organisation she is a leading figure in. sometimes bronya and the capital city too. "one day, they will finally meet again" is hilarious in retrospect. seele's vote is counted into political decisions for belebog's future??

anyway. enough backstory. if i go into the weird museum guide interview i won't ever shut up.

the wip is . actually it's just an outline so no snippets yet. watch this space. the long and short of it is - seele thinks she's swept up in a torrid situationship with the supreme guardian of the land; bronya is on step 5 of her 12 part plan to instate seele to the inaugural position of grand consort of belobog. seele is neck-deep in historical records that keep hammering home the point that the architects select the guardians to be married to her land and her duty while bronya's blackmailing persuading the architects and the ipc to let her define the duties and responsibilities of the trophy wife first spouse of the city-state. i want to sort of. explore the reversal of the characterisation that we see of them, i suppose. seele is the hot-headed jock who thwacks first thinks later, bronya is the calculating strategist who's averse to taking huge risks. but when it comes to each other, they seem to be the opposite - bronya sees seele in her future, despite the political differences of their stations and the weight of her guardianship of belobog; seele plays it hilariously safe, tiptoeing around situations that involve bronya's job and position, canonically abstaining from economic and political decisions bronya herself seeks out her opinion on. the ipc interlude with topaz actually drove it home for me that seele is anxious and skittish about talking about difficult topics that involve overworld politics even where they intersect with the underworld and wildfire, meanwhile bronya is one bad day from cooking numby for dinner.

anyway this won't be a very long fic if i ever find the energy and guts to write it. i can finish it in one sitting if i just. focus. lol. wish me luck.

(anyway the sea comes in because while in hi3 the sea is called azure and compared to seele's eyes, jarilo-iv is frozen over and sea is grey. like bronya's eyes. 👉🏽👉🏽. it's a working title. it will change.)

[dailyanarchistposts]

We proto-insurgents

The last few sections turn to the possibilities we have, in this dark landscape, for “advancing in rebellion”. Or to put it in the language of the RAND corporation: our potential as proto-insurgents.

We found a lot in this text that resonates with and deepens our own thinking. First of all, here’s the most basic thing, to say it again: “legitimacy is key. Losing that legitimacy is what the States of today fear”. And this implies — given that there is no remaining escape route into “wild lands” beyond the reach of leviathans — that our struggle is fundamentally about undermining and cracking that legitimacy. And this is a battle that most basically works on the level of thoughts, feelings, habits, fears and desires. Which is not to say that e.g., acts of material sabotage are not valuable, but that this is above all a war of propaganda of thought and deed, to use the old term. And that means, we think, not thinking and planning as if we are isolated atoms, but considering the potential for our actions and ideas to multiply and spread as they touch other people.

However, there are very different ways to think about the “social” realm of our actions. This leads us to a second key point of RF’s text, with which we also agree entirely: we need to break altogether with the old model of leftist politics. We don’t want “to embark on a campaign to win ’society’ over to ’us’ as a unified opposition”, “to play the State’s game (even as a competitor)”. “Politics” pins struggle into a “separable, classifiable and ultimately avoidable sphere”, the sphere of a game played by experts, politicians, activists, seeking to build up and organise followings in order to take and hold seats of power. The game of politics is a dead end, first of all, because it’s not just avoidable but actively avoided by most people, who can smell the rot a mile off. Secondly, because those who do play it, maybe with the best intentions, are easily co-optable: any intelligent authorities will always offer a few seats at the table to proto-insurgents, turning them into managers who can help ensure things don’t get “out of control”.

Not confining our struggles to the game of politics means making them live in every aspect of “our daily lives”. Domination, exploitation and terror play out in every area of our lives and interactions with others, from the callcentre to the shopping centre to the bedroom, and so must our rebellion. “How can we turn the crises in our own lives into a crisis for the system?” This means individual struggle against our own ingrained submission, conformity and status bullshit. And also finding others to fight alongside, whether close comrades or occasional or fleeting allies, not in the accepted arenas of politics (election, meeting, demo, strike, etc.) but in every kind of encounter.

[fictionkin-am-i-the-asshole]

AITA for dying because my cool ex girlfriend stabbed me?

Okay, so, like. Here's the thing. I (33M) just wanted to visit my beautiful home town and play D&D with my friends, so I organised the whole ordeal and the guy that still lives there (we'll call him Rand because that's his name) was excited for it and the guy that became a fucking lawyer (his name is like Rolan or something) was kind of excited for it, but he also needed to go to his parents' funeral, so, like, he was kind of preoccupied.

Anyway, turns out we were trapped in our town by this weird membrane forcefield thingy, and VERY long story short, our town was becoming a hive for these fucking insect creature thingies and we couldn't be sure who to trust anymore because they were getting kinda good at like, making themselves look like the people they killed (I think the murders are meant to be food for their queen? I don't know. The only Queen I care about is Freddie Mercury.)

So anyway I was all like, if I'm going to die or fight a bunch of bug demons, I should probably get done with what I actually came here for first: catching up with people. D&D never happened btw which is kinda why I think I'm NTA :/ But here's where the important part comes in: my cool goth ex girlfriend from high school, Becky (32F). And like. I dunno dude. She lead me into this forest even though I had this crazy feeling that I should run and like, I kissed her and then she stabbed me in the throat with her bug stinger because Becky was actually one of the insect creature thingies I mentioned.

And my friends are saying this is my fault for not noticing the obvious signs but like, idk, maybe girls just got really good at clicking recently. And maybe she had black scleras because she did that thing where people tattoo their eyes. I don't think I'm in the wrong here.

xo, Kian Stone / JRWI

[eleni-cherie]

among thieves ✨ || bts • pjm

- chapter 1.6

"what even am I to you? your rival, your lover, an obstacle or am I supposed to be your coffin?"

about two thieves who can't live with nor without each other. and a joint past that comes back to threaten them.

© 2023 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, very flirty jimin, friends/rivals/exes to lovers (it's complicated, ok?!) f2l e2l ex2l all members play a role in this story!

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

Casablanca, Morocco

A bored sigh left Jimin and he stuffed his hands deeper in the pockets of his blazer, kicking a pebble out of boredom and watching it jump a few metres away before coming to a halt. Heaving his head then, his brown irises wandered around terminal 3 of Casablanca Port. 

The only thing in sight were big ship containers as far as his eyes reached. A quite dull view compared to the rest of the beautiful architecture around the city.

Being there was risky, obviously, but not being there wouldn't have made much of a difference either. As long as they had these guys looming anywhere in the world they went, they wouldn't be able to rest so he didn't have much of a choice, despite what his friends thought. He did it for them, too, after all.

After awhile, he began growing impatient though. After all he knew he wasn't alone and was probably under observation the moment he'd stepped foot in the port. It was only logical to assume the organisation must already be close by, to make sure he was indeed alone and didn't plan anything. However, half an hour should've been enough for that, they should reveal themselves already.

"What am I even doing here?" he wondered out loud in an innocent manner. Hoping playing it naive would get them out of hiding. "I don't even know why I came to this place.."

And indeed, not too long after, a noise coming from behind a container echoed through the silent port. Something black in the corner of his eye caught his attention then and he spotted two tall men dressed in black had stepped out, making him pause in his tracks. 

There. Finally, he thought. The small smirk on his lips quickly getting replaced by a confused gasp as he pretended being startled when seeing eveb more appearing. Until eventually a familiar looking blond woman appeared among them. Her cold smile evident even from the distance.

"I see you found your way to our invitation."

"Invitation?" he repeated with a chuckle, pretending not knowing what she was talking about. "I don't remember receiving one."

"But you did and now you're here."

Clearing his throat, he let his eyes glide over them with an unimpressed face. He counted six guys. Not impossible for him alone to take down, but surely easier with some help.

"And why did you call me here?"

A look of disappointment spread on Kir's sharp features as she tsked. She took a step forward then, gesturing towards him."You see.. you didn't fulfill our agreement yet. So we wanted to remind you, that's it."

He only snorted, however, dropping the act of ignorance. "'Agreement' is quite a far stretch. I'd rather call it 'duress under the influence of some kind of hypno-drug'."

For a moment she seemed amused by his upsetness, taking a few more steps towards him. Her hands folded behind her back for a moment when she took a small vial out of her back pocket, holding it up between her index finger and thumb.

"Smug as always. Perhaps another dose would help. What do you think?"

However, right when she wanted to order her men to catch him, a shot rand in the air and the vial shattered into tiny pieces right between her fingers and she flinched startled. "What the-" Confusion settled on her harp features and the six men around her, obviously alarmed by the sudden commotion, instantly drew their guns out and looked frantically around to locate the direction the shot came from.

"I'm gonna lie and pretend I'm sorry, but I don't think that's gonna happen today," Jimin said with a faked pout, tilting his head to the side then, "You didn't actually think I'd have come here alone, did you? After all, when it comes down to it there's only one woman in the entire world who has my complete and total trust. And that surely ain't you."

"Tss, it's too late for sweet talk," Arabella's annoyed voice rang through his in-ear transmitter, making him internally chuckle. He knew exactly how flustered she must be in her stash right now, which always highly amused him. But he had to stay focused now as he faced their antagonists with their guns all pointed at him.

"Oh, we knew you'd show up with your little friends. It was predictable and we're professionals after all," Kir said nonchalantly, "We caught you guys arriving together." Her composed demeanor shouldn't surprise him. She seemed quite full of herself. But there was a difference between being full of oneself and being actually skilled.

"Hm, yeah I expected that. Actually, we hoped you'd do," Jimin nodded. And she frowned, not having expected for him to stay so calm despite her traversing his plan. Rather the opposite, he looked quite confident when continuing with a lopsided grin. "You see.. we didn't try being subtle about our arrival here. And since you knew we'd be here, we assumed they would also catch onto this."

"'They'?" she repeated puzzled and looked around, "Who are 'they'?"

Before she could satisfy her curiosity, Jimin started waving at an abandoned looking building further away. Her gaze wandered to its direction, seeing something flashing from its rooftop before one of her men suddenly yelped and fell to the ground. Followed by another one.

Her eyes widened.

"Snipers! Get down!" she quickly yelled and they immediately ran off to shield themselves behind containers and whatever else could work around there right when the thudding of more bullets against their surroundings echoed from all directions.

Taehyung appeared beside Jimin who was scrunching behind acouple of barrels, aiming and hitting a crane's bracket wiith a single shot. The heavy bag it was holding falling right onto several of Kir's men.

Content with his hit, he sat back reloading his magnum with two bullets at a time not to waste any time.

Meanwhile, Yoongi was taking cover behind a container a few metres away. Seemingly unhappy, he exhaled deeply while holding his katana close.

"Looks like I've got to cut useless things again," he mumbled to himself and decided to run along the lined boxes of cargo, using them as a chield by stooping behind them. Following them until the end before jumping out with no fear of possibly getting hit by any flying bullet. Reaching one of Kir's men who was currently crouching behind a container and firing aimlessly bullets at the direction of his friends.

"Hey!"

A chearful gummy grin adorned his lips when surprising the buff man, swinging his sword swiftly before he could even properly react to the swordsman. His gun fell to the ground, shattering in pieces andthe man gulped. Deciding to hold his fists up then instead as a last defence mechanism, taking a fighting position to which Yoongi's grin only widened.

His sword moved smoothly, cutting through the air, and in a blink of a second the man's clothes fell to the ground, landing next to the gun pieces. Leaving him with nothing but underwear. "What the-"

Yoongi's chin motioned behind him then. "Just go."

Hesitating first, the man quickly rushed off. Leaving only Kir and two others who had been successfully dodging any of Jimin and Taehyung's bullets. Their advance didn't last for too long though, as interpol swat officers in black uniforms and helmets began swarming out at the port and making their way through the containers, soon reaching and surrounding them all. And they were forced to put their weapons down and come out with raised hands.

Hearing that, Jimin's lips curled up and he faced Taehyung with a grin. "See? Told you they'd show up." Taehyung only rolled his eyes though, watching him peek out of their cover then before joining him, getting curious himself of what was going on out there. "Took you long enough, pops!" Jimin yelled in the general direction of the officers, pretending being disappointed. "You're getting old!"

The sound of cocking guns behind them making them grow stiff.

"Ya, Jimin, I wouldn't talk big if I was you," Seokjin retorted with a smirk, appearing behind him with a brandished gun. "It looks like I'm saving your ass this time. A bit more appreciation, please."

The thief laughed out at this, raising his hands as he slowly turned around, facing Seokjin with a wide grin when seeing Jungkook was there as well. Standing beside his supervisor with a gun pointing at Taehyung who scoffed and bent to put his magnum down. "I knew it wouldn't be too hard for you guys to track us."

"Figured you did it on purpose," Seokjin nodded, taking out his handcuffs with one hand, "Just couldn't figure out why. Now we do, I guess." He put the metallic braces around the thief's wrists, locking them with an arched brow. "You're still under arrest though."

Jimin sighed dramatically, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Taehyung and Yoongi also received their own pairs of handcuffs by agents Jeon and Blake and the three got escorted to the already waiting vans outside of the terminal. Along with their 'friends' in black, who contrary to them, got taken care of by different interpol agents.

The main purpose of this whole messy party after all. To get rid of those troublemakers, at least for a while, by letting interpol deal with them.

Jimin smiled to himself.

Everything was according to plan so far.

"Huh, haven't seen these two in awhile," Yoongi mumbled under his breath and motioned with his eyes to two agents standing in the background and overseeing the arrest. Taehyung and Jimin's eyes widening when recognising them as well.

It was Namjoon and Hoseok, Seokjin's prior partners in the robbery department who used to chase them along with him.

After putting the anew arrested thieves into the van, Skylar turned to Seokjin who could see the younger one's troubled expression from miles away. The crease between her dark brows deep. "Sir, I still think this was too easy," she quietly said, nt being the first timeshe'd voiced scepticism about them making it so easy to be found after a week of being off the grid.

Although Namjoon and Hoseok had gathered more information on that crime organisation and found out that one of their operation centres was right outside of Casablanca and they'd drown the obvious conclusion there was a connection to why the gang had also showed up there. A lead they couldn't simply ignore.

However, Seokjin still agreed with her that if the gang wanted, they could've chosen a better way to direct interpol's attention to them than showing their real faces around the airport.

"You're right, Blake," he eventually nodded then, seeing Skylar's face light up. "I want you two to be extra cautious. They're definitely cooking up something."

"Might be the reason why Valentine wasn't nowhere to be seen," Jungkook noted. Narrowing his eyes while looking around the area. "After all she was seen with them at the airport."

Skylar nodded quickly, following his gaze to the ships and containers in the distance. "I doubt they parted ways."

"Exactly. That's why you need to keep your eyes open." Seokjin looked at the vans. One was containing Jimin, Yoongi and Taehyung, the other Kir and her entourage. "Kim and Jung will be in van A. We'll go back in van B. I'll be in the front, you two will be in the back with our friends. Don't let your guard down."

Both gave their supervisor a stern nod before getting, spotting a swat officer already sitting there as well to keep an eye on their criminals. Jimin and Taehyung leaning against the van's walls in a laid back manner, looking bored and half-asleep while Yoongi, in contrast, was sitting straight with small eyes fixated at something invisible.

This only rose suspicion between Jungkook and Skylar and they exchanged a look,unlocking their guns in the holsters just in case, before quietly sitting down next to them.

The van soon starting moving, driving off to the direction of the highway. It was a quiet drive. Too quiet. The two agents stayed attentive, carefully observing the captives.

After awhile the van began slowing down, eventually coming to an halt and Skylar became agitated at the onholding situation. So she got her phone out, calling her supervisor in the front.

"Sir, is everything alright? Why aren't we moving?"

"Traffic, Blake. Nothing to worry about, it's rush-hour after all."

She sighed in relief and hung up, only for a metallic clicking to be suddenly heard. Next moment her eyes caught something silver-coloured and shiny, rolling over the floor. Like a small ball.

"What is -"

Gas began pouring out of the ball all of a sudden, clouding the narrow space in seconds and blurring their vision. 

Jungkook drew his gun, attempting to cover his airways with his arm. "Skylar, look out!" he coughed. Not knowing where exactly to aim at as he couldn't see anything but a white wall. Of course they'd try to escape. He should've foreseen it. 

"I'll call ag-" Her voice cut off and Jungkook called out for her, not getting any response. A thud echoed through the mist then and he cursed internally.

"Sky?!"

"Sorry. Your little friend and you have to go to sleep now."

Before he could even realise where the other female voice came from, he felt his head aching. And everything turned black.

Jimin, who had already freed himself from those ridiculously easy to crack handcuffs, pushed the backdoor open then. The white fog getting quickly cleared as it whiffed out into the city, allowing him to take a deep breath of fresh air.

He looked back then, recognising Taehyung and Yoongi's shapes who had also dropped their handcuffs and emerged from the clearing gas. His gaze then fell to the swat officer who was standing there between them. And he couldn't wipe the cheeky smile from his face.

"That uniform suits you quite well, love."

Arabella snorted, ripping off the mask and throwing it to the corner. "I know. I look great in anything," she shrugged, untying her hair and letting it sway over her shoulders.

"Did you get it?"

She rummaged inside the uniform's jacket before revealing the second reason of their plan. Waving Seokjin's interpol ID with a smig grin before handing it to him. "Of course."

Jimin smiled and shoved it into his blazer. "Knew you could do it. Was it hard?" She scoffed, feeling almost offended. "Please, he marely paid attention to me bumping into him. He was too busy in coordinating everything."

"Alright, let's go before traffic moves," Yoongi said then and they nodded, following him out. One by one jumping out of the van with the unconscious agents. Jimin holding a hand out to help her, which she accepted, jumping out as well.

They didn't mind the puzzled and curious looking drivers of the vehicles waiting behind the van. Again, the secret was to act natural and like it was nothing special. So they all kept acting normal by closing the doors and making their way between the vehicles, heading towards the pavement. Much to their dismay, however, Seokjiin caught a glimpse of them in the side-view mirror as he was getting inpatient of the traffic.

"W- hey, stop!"

He immediately got out of the passenger's seat and squeezed himself through the cars. Forcing them to climb up on the vehicles for a shortcut and jumping from one to another, dismissing the honks and upset shouts from drivers. They reached the sidewalk then, exchanging a nod.

The plan for cases like this was to split up and meet again at the previously agreed on location.

"Whoever arrives last pays for dinner!"

»»»

next chapter: 1.7 here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

[abovetopsecretxxl]

✌️Rand: China's growing Risk Tolerance in Space - Original Document✌️

https://berndpulch.org/2024/07/13/%e2%9c%8c%ef%b8%8frand-chinas-growing-risk-tolerance-in-space-original-document%e2%9c%8c%ef%b8%8f/

[justforbooks]

Daniel Ellsberg, who has died aged 92, was the most important whistleblower of our times. His 1971 leaking of what became known as the Pentagon Papers showed conclusively that virtually everything the American public had been told by its leaders about the Vietnam war, from its origins to its current conduct, was false.

The leak itself did not end the war, and Ellsberg regretted not having come forward years earlier. He spent the rest of his life as a peace activist, encouraging others on the inside to reveal government malfeasance, and supporting those who did, including the 2003 GCHQ whistleblower Katharine Gun. But his leaks did result in a landmark decision in favour of freedom of the press, and, ironically, led to the downfall of the US president Richard Nixon. It is not unreasonable to set Ellsberg’s leak alongside President John F Kennedy’s assassination as the ground zero of today’s distrust of politics.

Before working on the Pentagon Papers, officially a study titled A History of Decision-Making in Vietnam 1945-68 commissioned from the Rand Corporation research organisation by the secretary of defense Robert McNamara, Ellsberg had spent two years at the US embassy in Saigon, advising on General Edward Lansdale’s “pacification” programme. As he sifted through the material gathered for the report, including evaluations which deemed the war unwinnable, he realised the enormity of the political fraud.

He began copying the documents, with the help of a former Rand colleague Anthony Russo, and in 1971, as the US extended the war with bombings of Laos and Cambodia, resolved to make them public. The chair of the senate foreign relations committee, William Fulbright, turned him down, as did the Washington Post’s editor Ben Bradlee and owner Katharine Graham; Graham was close to the secretary of state Henry Kissinger, who had known Ellsberg at Harvard; he advised her Ellsberg was “unbalanced and emotionally unstable”. Matthew Rhys played Ellsberg in the 2017 film The Post which loosely covers those events.

Neil Sheehan of the New York Times was a reporter Ellsberg admired in Vietnam; Sheehan convinced the Times to take the papers, the first instalment of which revealed that the Gulf of Tonkin incident, the casus belli which launched full-scale US participation in the conflict, had been bogus.

The Nixon administration obtained an injunction prohibiting further publication; the supreme court’s overturning of that injunction, dismissing the idea of “prior restraint”, remains a cornerstone of US journalistic freedom. But leakers themselves were not protected. Ellsberg was hidden by anti-war activists while Mike Gravel, the US senator from Alaska, entered most of the leaked papers into the congressional record, and the Post played catch-up.

Meanwhile Nixon, furious at the leaks, created the so-called “plumbers” covert special investigation unit, to discover if Ellsberg had further material that might affect him directly, and to discredit him. When the plumbers’ bungled break-in at the Watergate offices revealed an earlier burglary of Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office, the ensuing chain of scandal and cover-up eventually forced Nixon’s resignation to avoid impeachment.

Ellsberg grew up the very definition of a true believer in America. Both his father, Harry, a structural engineer, and mother, Adele (nee Charsky), were the children of Russian Jewish immigrants, but had converted to Christian Science. When Daniel, born in Chicago, was six, his father found work in Detroit, building Ford’s massive Willow Run factory.

Daniel won a scholarship to the elite Cranbrook school in the Detroit suburbs; a talented pianist, he practised for four to six hours a day to fulfil his mother’s dream. But in 1946, rushing to Denver for a family gathering, his father fell asleep while driving and rammed into a bridge. His mother and younger sister, Gloria, both died; Daniel recovered from his severe injuries, but ceased playing the piano.

He won a scholarship to Harvard, where he studied economics, edited the college paper, and finished third in his class. Upon graduation he married a Radcliffe student, Carol Cummings, whose father was a colonel in the Marine Corps, and took up a Wilson fellowship for a year’s study at King’s College, Cambridge. In 1954, accepted as a Harvard junior fellow to pursue his doctorate, he instead joined the Marines, becoming a rare first lieutenant given command of a full company.

He returned to Harvard in 1957. His dissertation, Risk, Ambiguity and Decision, contained what is now known as the Ellsberg paradox, which delineated how the preference for well-defined probabilities, over the uncertainty of ambiguity, influences decision-making, especially as it reinforces preconceived ideas. It became an important part of game theory, and Ellsberg went to work for Rand on the Department of Defense’s Command and Control research, much of which was devoted to spit-balling Fail Safe/Dr Strangelove scenarios, as detailed in his 2017 book The Doomsday Machine: Confessions of a Nuclear War Planner.

In 1964 he went to the Department of Defense, as special assistant for international security to McNamara’s number two, John McNaughton, before moving to the State Department and Vietnam. In 1967 he rejoined Rand to work on McNamara’s project, but was increasingly tormented by Kissinger and Nixon’s Vietnam policy; they believed that if the US opened relations with China and entered into a detente with Russia, those countries would pressure North Vietnam to come to the table while the US bombed incessantly.

Ellsberg began joining anti-war campaigners, including the poet Gary Snyder, and was inspired by Randy Kehler, a draft-resister who spoke of welcoming imprisonment for his belief. Ellsberg left Washington for MIT’s Centre for International Studies a year before leaking the papers. His first marriage had ended in divorce; in 1970 he married Patricia Marx, a peace activist.

In June 1971, he surrendered himself to the US attorney in Boston; asked on the courthouse steps how he felt about going to prison, Ellsberg replied: “Wouldn’t you go to prison to end this war?” He became the first civilian charged with violating the 1917 Espionage Act, and faced a maximum sentence of 115 years. The District Court judge William Byrne ruled irrelevant his public-interest defence, that the documents were “illegally classified”, and so it has been for every whistleblower since. But Byrne eventually dismissed the case because of government malfeasance, including the plumbers’ break-ins, as well as Nixon’s wiretapping of Kissinger’s aide Morton Halperin, and John Ehrlichman’s offering Byrne the directorship of the FBI.

In 1974, Ellsberg’s moving interviews were a major part of the Oscar-winning Vietnam documentary Hearts and Minds. In 1978 he was awarded the Gandhi prize by Promoting Enduring Peace. In the next 40 years he was arrested around 50 times at anti-war protests. He likened the weapons of mass destruction excuse for invading Iraq in 2003 to the Gulf of Tonkin affair, and over the years supported leakers who revealed government deceptions, including Edward Snowden, Chelsea Manning and Reality Winner, who was sentenced to five years in prison for leaking a single page from an in-house National Security Agency magazine showing the NSA had concluded Russia interfered in US elections, while the government was maintaining they had not.

He recognised a practical corollary to the Ellsberg paradox: the more secrets you are able to access, the less able you become to act sensibly with them. In 2021, Ellsberg released government memos from 1958, showing that the joint chiefs of staff had prepared a nuclear first-strike against Chinese bases on Quemoy and Matsu during the Taiwan Strait crisis, with a full nuclear attack planned on China should they respond. His point was that little had changed since the Pentagon Papers.

Ellsberg was played by James Spader in the 2003 film The Pentagon Papers, and was the subject of a 2009 documentary, The Most Dangerous Man in America. His memoir, Secrets, appeared in 2003 and in 2021 Risk Ambiguity and Decision was updated as a book, once again challenging the concept of rational decision.

Ellsberg is survived by his wife and their son, Michael, and his son, Robert, and daughter, Mary, from his first marriage.

Daniel Ellsberg, military analyst and political activist, born 7 April 1931; died 16 June 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[jupitermelichios]

so this is, as far as anyone can tell, not a joke. this is an actual list an alt right dipshit gamerTM made of 'conservative core' games and posted on a 4chan clone, and it's the greatest self own I've seen online in a while. guy is just out here boasting about his own lack of media literacy

I'll put the full list below a cut for anyone who wants it, but i just want to highlight a extra few special entries here first (minor content warning for mention of forced pregnancy, nothing explicit):

Toho Project: it's almost certainly on here because it contains anime waifus, but I've literally never met a toho fan who wasn't trans. technically i guess cis toho fans exist, but they're definitely not the ones keeping the franchise afloat

The 3 different Warhammer 40k games: 40k was created as a critique of reactionary conservatism generally, and margaret thatcher specifically.

Doom: just gonna quote the creator of doom here. "Trans rights are human rights, important rights, critical rights and society needs to do more to make this the case for everyone."

Sniper Elite: this is a game about shooting nazis in the balls. literally, that is the game. there are nazis, you shoot them. usually in the balls. that feels like a pretty firmly anti-nazi stance to me, idk

Persona 4: this game is about how conservative japanese society mistreats teenagers and denies them physical and emotional agency. gonna go out on a limb and guess it's on here because dipshit fancies one of the female characters

Silent Hill 3: silent hill three is about a teenage girl who is impregnated against her will and desperately wants to not be pregnant but a powerful religious organisation tries to force her to carry the baby to term and as a direct result the world nearly ends. in one of the endings, it does end. because of the lack of an abortion. i cannot believe the game about the importance of reproductive rights isn't even the stupidest entry on this list

Fallout 3: it is, granted,one of the less political fallouts. it's still a game about how the U.S. gonvernment destroyed the entire world by declaring war on china and then nuking the planet, and also about how unchecked capitalism and the replacing the social safety net with corporations will inevitably lead to those corporations abusing people, and how that is very bad actually.

Bioshock: literally the first thing that happens in this game is you are told libertarianism is a stupid ideology that will always fail and ayn rand was a moron. and then the game goes on telling you that. at length. in a variety of creative ways. for the next 15 hours.

Metro Last Light: see fallout, this is a game about war-hungry governments who don't give a shit about their people end up nuking the planet and nearly wiping out all life.

and finally, to end on the highest possible note:

Metal Gear Rising Revengence: not only is this an entry in a franchise which is entirely and exclusively about how awful the military industrial complex is, this game specifically is about a soldier who was abused by the military killing the president of the united states because his use of private military corporations to fight wars is morally indefensible. literally. that's the plot. it's entirely possible raiden just says those words in that order out loud in the game because hideo kojima knows writers who use subtext and they're all cowards.

anyway, the alt right are fucking morons and media studies needs to be a compulsory subject in every school on the planet.

full list below the cut:

Toho Project

Warhammer 40k: Darktide

Doom

Zelda: Ocarina of Time

Sniper Elite

Mortal Kombat

Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Persona 4

Rimworld

Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind

Quake

Silent Hill 3

Resident Evil: Parasite Eve

007: Goldeneye

Perfect Dark

Battlefield 4

Dino Crisis

Fallout 3

Counter Strike: Global Offensive

Arma III

Squad (no, I don't know what this one is either, it appears to just be called squad? it looks like a rainbox six knock off)

Ready or Not (disappointingly, this looks like a Call of Duty knockoff and not a game based on the film ready or not, which is about killing the 1% with a machete)

Company of Heroes

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

Devil May Cry 2

Fire Emblem: the Three Houses

Megaman Zero

STALKER: Shadow of Chernobyl

Bioshock

Halo 2

Battlefield 3

Call of Duty: Black Ops

Warhammer 40k: Dawn of War

Ninja Gaiden II

Metro: Last Light

Warhammer 40k: Space Marine (fun fact, at the end of this game your character gets executed for heresy because they saved lives, but i'm sure that's not commentary on anything at all)

Killzone 2

Dead or Alive: X-Treme Beach Volleyball 2

God of War (the original, not the Dad of Boy reboot)

Metal Gear Rising Revengence

[redefinemyworld]

You know, I've been here a while watching the sag-aftra and the writers strike quite aptly as a 19 year old university student who's only other hobby is literally consuming media so this is kind of important to me and I'm not gonna lie it makes me kind of sad.

But not in the way anyone would think. Before we jump to conclusions I am in full support of all the strikes. Don't stop until you get the compensation you deserve.

But it makes me sad because for context I'm South African. I go to university on a financial aid scheme created by the government and lately out government has been getting worse and worse. Showing its stripes worse and worse. And so I'm not shocked that their financial aid scheme is showing funny changed.

So the financial aid scheme is call Nationtional Student Financial Aid Scheme, it became a bursary (scholarship) a few years ago after a bunch of "fee must fall strikes" which were in response to high tertiary school fees. That happened while I was in primary school (around grade 7) and it now funds disadvantaged students whose families earn a household income of less than ZAR350000 per annum ($19520, €17538, £15172).

Okay cool. Nice. But what it doesn't take into account are middle income families earning over that threshold but are still unable to afford school fees, either because there's many mouths to feed in a household or because they are just part of the missing middle but that's not the chat.

As much as I see #treelaw trending I also wanna see NSFAS trending. I want to see tumblr talking about all these things cause they are such a big fucking deal.

Usually how the scheme works is they send money to the university that pays tuition, the university also distributes the accommodation and living allowance to the funded students. Recently, the scheme has changed and they decided to create a bank account that sends students living allowances straight to them and here's where the problem starts.

There was a bid to decide which corporation/banks would be in charge of creating this specific NSFAS student bank account and a bunch of corporations no one has ever heard of outbid the largest banks and organisations in the country. The company is called Noracco, eZaga, Coinvest and Tenet.

Now here's where things get silly goofy.

They are not a registered financial service provider. They barely even have a fucking website. And they are handling people's livelihoods and billions of South African Rands. Only one of the corporations is connected to an authorised financial service provider which is eZaga. (How this was not a requirement I have no idea)

Students are not getting their living allowances. This means no groceries, no transport home, toiletries, nothing. Keep in mind these are disadvantaged students. No one is getting extra money from home to help them with such expenses

They have terrible service. No phone calls, emails nothing is answered.

They have insanely high bank charges. This takes advantage of so many students and uses up what little allowance money they have to live. A student usually receives around R1600 for a month (which is around 89USD)

You can't spend more than a capped amount of money a day, which is incredibly inconvenient when shopping for groceries as one can spend almost R800 (44USD) on groceries plus an extra R50-R100 (3-8 USD) for transportation.

This was started in the middle of the school year (February-November is how the year works here, it started in June/July for universities and TVETs had been introduced to in 2022 and have been striking against it since)

Students are out here SUFFERING and there is no one helping!!! We are being THREATENED to participate in this sham with out living allowances being WITHHELD FROM US.

The financial abuse is soooo real

I know im talking into the void but I'm hoping and praying that this catches someone's attention enough for people to start talking about it.

Here are a bunch of articles calling out this weird, Obviously corrupt organisations that answer anything that doesn't currently have any links connected to it.

The public protector has also recently been assigned to investigate.

https://www.outa.co.za/blog/newsroom-1/post/nsfas-what-are-you-doing-with-student-funds-1233

https://www.da.org.za/2023/07/da-raises-alarm-over-nsfas-direct-payment-system

https://www.unisa.ac.za/sites/myunisa/default/Announcements/Unisa-has-taken-note-of-concerns-raised-by-students-regarding-direct-payment-system

https://www.iol.co.za/weekend-argus/news/fraudulent-withdrawals-from-nsfas-funded-students-accounts-threaten-their-future-a4a47850-bad4-45e9-a30f-9b8b48a08998

https://www.timeslive.co.za/news/south-africa/2023-07-10-tut-students-reject-new-banking-system-for-nsfas-beneficiaries/

On top of this, NSFAS has also been defending thousands of students nationally referring to them as "undeserving". While I understand there are some people who take advantage of them system specifically for underprivileged students the way they went about it is not the best.

Students are actively being thrown out of their residents and accommodations and being de-registered from their institutions. Questions have been put in place as to what is deemed as undeserving but all NSFAS can claim is students who are financially and/or academically ineligible refusing to take into account student circumstances.

At the end of the day, every student uses the scheme the same way. And sure sometimes there's someone with a household with more than R350000 p/a benefiting but personally, I don't see anything wrong with someone having a little extra pocket money. There is no reason anyone, anywhere should be forced to live on a to make ends meet budget.

This was not the best layout. It was probably messy and all over the place, but I have never really written something this long, complex and detailed for tumblr. It's missing so many important details and contexts that I'm hoping anyone who cares to read will find out more about and help give us a voice.

We just want to learn without worrying about where we're going to sleep or what we're going to eat.

Please any attention is good, just to put pressure on the people in charge. Please let's get tree law and fund the defended trending together. ❤️

[councilblr-voting-rights]

No1 Councilblr Weirdo Bracket

7 contestants left, and we are in the home stretch. After a stressful round, I've decided I'm going to leave organising dates until at least tomorrow. But what I will let you know; I myself already broke my vow to leave propaganda off this blog, so let's level the playing field. If you submit propaganda to me, I'll attach it to the next polls. Keep it condensed, keep it appealing and keep it weird! Here are the remaining contestants.

UPDATE: Poll will be posted Mar 10th 12PM AEDT

The highest ranking the nominee: coming from red, it's @colestyle! With 81.8% of the vote, hy got the highest percentage of votes this round! It's only natural.

The most skrunkly of artists and chronic post limit hitter: coming from green, it's @jadejemdoesstuff! A fitting nominee for green if I do say so myself!

Neurodivergent and a major: coming from orange, it's @enby-ralsei! There were some quite funny points of propaganda in the last poll's notes. I think I liked, "I'm making a wallet out of my testosterone packets" best.

Truly the most unexpected of outcomes: coming from purple... It's a tie between @burning-sol and @tragicfaggots! With a massive lead on Sol, it looked like the poll was cut and dry, but little did we know. With propaganda efforts out of this world Team Sol closed the gap within the last 15-20 minutes of the poll. Talk about close cut! With a whopping 292 votes, this has been the THE largest pool of voters this whole bracket!! Can it get bigger? Let's wait and see!

I most recognise xem by their gay Rand pfp: coming from blue, it's @chaos-caverns! A bit of lore, last round Lua and Mantis were heavily supporting each other to have a face off lover to lover. It was so nice to see them both make it, absolutely heart warming!! Anyways, love lost this day.

One of the og navysealers: coming from pink, it's @navysealt4t! The only @ / whatgeese profile haver here, it's nice to see that Gillion and Jay are still having a good time! So glad you could make it!

[shape]

>> Zum Glück hängt die Sicherheit Israels nicht von deutscher Unterstützung ab. Die Sache sieht nämlich so aus: Die Israelis erhalten unseren moralischen Beistand, die anderen unsere finanzielle Zuwendung. Das mag etwas überspitzt sein, aber eben nur etwas.

Es ist nicht ganz einfach, sich einen Überblick über die Hilfsgelder zu verschaffen, die bei den Pal��stinensern landen. Es gibt so viele Förderprogramme und Fördertöpfe, da verliert man schnell die Orientierung.

Die Zahlen, die als gesichert gelten können, sind aber auch so abenteuerlich: 700 Millionen fließen allein aus EU-Mitteln in die Palästinensergebiete. Dazu kommen die Gelder diverser NGOs, die es sich zur Aufgabe gemacht haben, das Leid der Bevölkerung zu lindern. Und dann sind da natürlich die Zuweisungen der Vereinten Nationen, über eine Milliarde Euro im Jahr.

Die UN unterhält sogar ein eigenes Flüchtlingswerk ausschließlich für die Palästinenser. Das ist einzigartig. Es gibt viele Gruppen auf der Welt, die es schwer haben. Aber keine Gruppe hat es so weit gebracht, dass die UN sich mit über 30000 Beschäftigten exklusiv nur um sie kümmert.

Und das Beste daran ist: Man muss nicht einmal selbst Vertriebener sein, um als anspruchsberechtigt zu gelten. Es reicht, dass man Großeltern hatte, die mal vertrieben wurden. So steht es in den Statuten des UNRWA. Als Flüchtlinge zählen alle, die aufgrund des arabisch-israelischen Krieges von 1948 ihre Lebensgrundlage verloren haben, sowie deren Kinder und Kindeskinder und Kindeskindeskinder. Von einer solchen Ewigkeitsgarantie hat Erika Steinbach immer geträumt: Vertriebener bis in die fünfte Generation.

Deutschland spielt als Finanzier eine zentrale Rolle. Die Bundesrepublik ist nicht nur der größte Nettozahler der EU. Ohne deutsche Gelder würde es auch bei den Vereinten Nationen sehr schnell sehr eng werden. Das Humanitäre steht im Auswärtigen Amt hoch im Kurs. Dagegen ist nichts zu sagen, man darf halt nicht so genau hinsehen.

Wer sich als Unkundiger für die Topografie von Gaza interessiert, der lernt zu seiner Überraschung, dass es nicht nur ein, sondern gleich zwei Gaza gibt: 

[...]

Die tschechische Verteidigungsministerin hat angekündigt, dafür eintreten zu wollen, dass Tschechien die Vereinten Nationen verlasse. Eine Organisation, in der Terroristen angefeuert würden, sei kein Platz für ein Land, das sich der Durchsetzung von Menschenrechten verpflichtet fühle. Zu so einem Schritt werden wir in Deutschland in hundert Jahren nicht in der Lage sein. Wir drücken uns lieber an den Rand und geben das dann als klare Linie aus.

Ab November übernimmt übrigens der Iran, also das Regime, das hinter dem Angriff vom 7. Oktober steht, das Frauen schlagen, vergewaltigen, foltern und ermorden lässt, weil sie einfachste Rechte verlangen, das gerade wieder geschworen hat, Israel vom Erdboden zu tilgen, den Vorsitz des „UN Human Rights Council Social Forum“. Hat man in Berlin ein Wort des Protests vernommen, ein Zeichen, dass man die Scharade nicht länger mitmachen will? <<