#recruitment process safety

[townpostin]

CM Hemant Soren Orders Probe into Jharkhand Constable Recruitment Test Deaths

DGP Anurag Gupta investigates deaths amid excise constable recruitment process in Jharkhand. At least 12 candidates have died during the ongoing excise constable recruitment tests across Jharkhand. RANCHI – Jharkhand’s DGP Anurag Gupta expressed deep sorrow over the deaths of 12 candidates during the excise constable recruitment tests, stressing that Chief Minister Hemant Soren is taking the…

[jcmarchi]

Self-driving taxis are coming to New York City, but will need safety drivers too - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/self-driving-taxis-are-coming-to-new-york-city-but-will-need-safety-drivers-too-technology-org/

Self-driving taxis are coming to New York City, but will need safety drivers too - Technology Org

New York City has unveiled a new plan for permitting companies to trial autonomous taxi vehicles on its streets, mandating the presence of a human safety driver at all times.

Times Square, New York, USA. Image credit: Vidar Nordli-Mathisen via Unsplash, free license

In a bid to proactively address concerns surrounding fully autonomous vehicles, the city has established what it terms as a “stringent permitting program.” This initiative aims to ensure that applicants are sufficiently prepared to test their technology in the complex urban landscape of New York City, prioritizing safety and proficiency.

Mayor Eric Adams emphasized the inevitability of autonomous technology’s integration into the city’s transportation system, emphasizing the need to implement it responsibly.

The criteria for obtaining permits would require prior experience in autonomous vehicle testing, with companies mandated to supply data from previous trials, including incident reports and the frequency of safety driver interventions, commonly referred to as “disengagements.”

A notable stipulation of the new regulations is the exclusion of fully driverless vehicles from testing on public roads within the city limits. Instead, only vehicles equipped with safety drivers will be eligible for testing permits.

Only a few select companies, such as Waymo and Cruise, have introduced driverless vehicles, categorized as Level 4 automation, into the market. However, challenges concerning traffic congestion and safety have hindered their widespread adoption.

In a notable incident last October, a driverless Cruise vehicle in San Francisco dragged a pedestrian for over 20 feet along the street, prompting authorities to suspend the company’s operational permit. Similarly, a few months later, a driverless Waymo vehicle was involved in a minor collision with a bicyclist. Officials in San Francisco criticized both companies for impeding traffic flow and obstructing emergency vehicles and buses.

To preempt such issues, New York City has proposed a mandate requiring companies to maintain safety drivers in their vehicles at all times. Under Mayor Adams’ proposal, companies would still need to secure a permit from the state Department of Motor Vehicles. Moreover, applicants would be obligated to furnish details on the recruitment and training procedures of their safety drivers and commit to adhering to the latest best practices outlined by the Society of Automotive Engineers.

According to a spokesperson, data derived from autonomous vehicle (AV) testing will eventually be accessible through the city’s Open Data portal. As part of the application procedure, the Department of Transportation will assess requests from applicants regarding the confidentiality of specific data that may be withheld from disclosure.

Written by Vytautas Valinskas

[jobstasrecruiting]

In this article, We'll go over some important security advice that recruiters should keep in mind when using job portals. 

[ddejavvu]

wait your new hotch blurb got me thinking what about they got secretly married and everyone knows that hotch is married they just don’t know it’s to bau!reader because he seemed very genuine in the wanting privacy so (after complaining) they respected that, and maybe one of the team members sees hotch and bau!reader kissing in the hallway of a hotel or something and confront him about cheating on his wife

"How could you cheat on your wife?"

Penelope's harsh, degrading accusation hits Aaron directly in the chest, through the layers of stoicism that he's come to forge over the years of working in criminal investigation and straight to his heart.

All Hotch can manage is a, "What?", and Penelope's eyes dim further.

"Don't do that, Hotch. I saw you. I saw you and Y/N kissing in your office. How could you do that to your wife?"

She looks so crestfallen that Aaron's chest actually aches, so unprepared to see the famously bubbly Penelope Garcia close to tears. Close to tears because of him, no less.

Aaron might have chosen his words more carefully if he hadn't been so startled by Penelope's unusual devastation, but his jumbled brain forgoes its job and his mouth takes over, uttering the thoughtless statement, "That's- that's what she's there for."

And in his mind, it's true, if not the complete truth. You are there for him to kiss, you're there to be kissed and loved and appreciated and cherished, but he's momentarily forgotten that Penelope doesn't know that you and his mystery wife are the same person, and his words so easily warp into possessiveness and disregard.

Her face contorts into a mixture of disgust and rage that could take out a serial killer, and he seriously considers recruiting her as Chief Lecturer of the BAU, "Hotch? How- how could you say that? That your wife is just- just some thing to wait on you while you run off with someone else? You- Aaron, I can't believe you, I thought you were better than that!"

She tries storming away, tears budding in her eyes but Aaron catches her elbow, ignoring the way she flails and squirms at his touch.

"Let go of me!" She tearily demands, but he grabs her by the other arm now, holding both of her shoulders.

"No, Penelope, listen-" He tries, reminding himself to send her to Derek later for a self-defense lesson, because the weak shoves that she's pushing at his chest with do very little.

"No! No, I'm tired of listening to men," She shrieks, "You were supposed to be better than that, Aaron! I trusted you, you were supposed to be the kind of man that I could admire, and- but you're not! You're just like the rest of them, you're some egotistical, possessive, heavy-handed, domineering son of a-!"

"Y/N is my wife." Aaron cuts her off, his voice slightly raised, but not harsh. Never harsh, not to the sniffling mess of ruffles and glitter in his arms that handed him her resume on pink stationary all those years ago.

She falls silent, finally, but her lips still tremble. Aaron squeezes her arms tighter, not rough but comforting, "Y/N is my wife. We married privately late last year. We kept it secret for safety reasons, but I'll admit we didn't need to hide it from all of you. I was not cheating on my wife, I would never-" He thinks momentarily of Haley, of the gut-wrenching sound of her cell phone ringing with a call she wasn't brave enough to answer in front of him, "I would never do that to Y/N."

It's a lot of new information to process, and Aaron grants Penelope all the time she needs to work through it. When her red-stained lips part again she breathes, "You married Y/N?"

"I did." Aaron nods, and though it's not the time to smile, he can't help that a ghostly one flits over his features at the mere thought of the day he'd married you, "I'll show you pictures when we're done here. Penelope, you can trust me. I don't blame you for accusing me- in fact, I'm glad that you did. I'm glad that your loyalty isn't blind. But Y/N is my wife, and that's why I kissed her."

A very wobbly, "Oh." Is all that Penelope can manage, and she sniffles again, staring at his tie rather than his face as he holds her steady in the hallway. He's glad that they've both shown up early for the day, but you're due to return with coffee for the three of you any minute now, and he offers her his pocket square to wipe beneath her eyes.

"You said-" She chokes out sheepishly, voice unsteady as she smears the tears off of her cheeks, "You said you have pictures?"

That's how you find them when you return, seated on the couch in his office peering down at his phone. You have to set the tray you'd been carrying down on Aaron's desktop before you can properly greet either of them, but you're immediately alarmed by the tears streaked over Garcia's cheeks when she stands to face you.

"You-" She starts, not giving you a second to speak, "-are a rat! You got married," She gushes, and Aaron chuckles deeply from beside her, standing and pocketing his phone.

"You got married to our boss, and you told me nothing," She hisses, but slumps so easily into your chest for a hug that you're more than willing to give her.

"I'm sorry, Penny," You gush, squeezing her tight, "We just- we were worried about safety. The more people we told, the more dangerous it would become, so we didn't share it with anyone. But- but we should have told the team, I know."

She sniffles and you draw back to pick up her drink from behind you, sugary and pink and topped with a thick layer of whipped cream, "I got you a drink. Forgive me?"

"Reluctantly," She tries scowling, but she's never been very good at it. She takes the drink from you huffily, jamming the straw inside and taking a drag at the thick liquid. It's barely nine in the morning, far too early for the concoction she's sipping, but she nods after she draws back from the straw.

"This is delicious," She decides, "And you two are traitors, and I'm telling everyone about this."

"You should," Aaron laughs, stepping up behind you to press his shoulder to your own. It's comforting just having him there, and you relax against him as Penelope takes her leave.

"I mean it," She warns, wiping another stray tear from her cheek and sipping at her strawberry drink, "I'm telling everyone. I'm- I'm gonna hire some guy to fly a plane over the city, and the banner is gonna say, 'Y//N Y/L/N and Aaron Hotchner got married without me'."

"That's fair," You nod, not bothering to bite back a grin as she lingers in the doorway of Aaron's office.

"And so help me god," She narrows her eyes at you, once more falling just short of intimidating, "If you try to take some extended-sick-leave time, and I find out you're hiding a pregnancy from me? No amount of frappuccinos in the world will make up for it!"

"Noted," You call out as she leaves, and Aaron's hand comes up to press against the near-indiscernible bulge of your belly before the door even clicks shut.

"She's good." Aaron observes, and you reach for your own non-caffeinated drink with a grin that's hard to drink through.

"Let's tell her about the baby at lunch," You propose, "I think she's more than earned a secret to keep."

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the compound part one

words: 2k

warnings: alien apocalypse au!, violence, reader gets injured, hunger/starvation, mentions of death

part one / part two

you take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the pile of supplies. you know it's bait. you know it's purposely set up near the border of the compound to entice thieves, that someone elses eyes are likely on it right now.

but you have no choice. your stomach growls. you can see canned food. it's been so long since you had something from before. you've resorted to killing wild animals and gathering as much edible berries and plants as you can find, but even those are hard to come by. everything is hard to come by.

you look at the fence separating you. it's chain link, easy enough to climb. there's barbed wire placed on the top, fashioned together with zip ties, but plenty of space for you to fit between.

your eyes adjust as darkness falls, glad your hiding spot is shielding you from most of the wind. now that winter is rolling through the north carolina woods, you need to come up with a new plan. whether it's moving south or finding others to survive with that you trust enough to not kill you for using their resources or leaving you behind as alien bait.

a cloud passes over the moon, sending the world into even further darkness. you don't allow yourself time to second guess, shooting forward as fast as your legs can carry you, praying that your speed makes up for the sound as you scurry over the fence.

you groan when in your haste you cut your leg on the barbed wire, but you have no time to stop and see if the gash is deep.

you make it to the stack of supplies seemingly without notice, but the second your hands touch the box of canned food, a floodlight illuminates the yard of the compound.

“shit.” you allow yourself to mutter a curse word, picking up the small box and tucking it under your arm as you head towards the fence, knowing the other side means safety. 

“stop!” someone shouts from behind as you begin to climb, moving slower now that you have less mobility of one arm.

you let out a scream when someone grabs your leg, you try to kick them away, but then your other foot is grabbed, being pulled down by compound men. you struggle the best you can, even dropping your precious cans of much needed food in hope it hits one of them, but your hands can only hang on for so long before you succumb to their pulling, falling backwards with a thump, head hitting the ground and darkness enveloping you.

--

your head pounds as you try to blink your eyes open before realizing that they're covered by a blindfold. 

what a shitty way to go out, you think to yourself. blindfolded and gagged by compound men. at the end of the world, you don't meet your end in an aliens bite but rather from other humans.

it makes you question if along with the apocalypse people lost their humanity, or if they're just finally able to show their true colors without the expectations of society.

you slowly become more aware of your body. your hands are restricted behind your back to some kind of chair. your fingers reach out to touch the rope and then the chair, sighing when it's cold and smooth. wood you could possibly break, but you have no chance with metal.

your feet aren't restricted. you try to feel around for anything, but the floor around you seems clear.

you consider tipping your chair over, but you have a feeling that would only result in more pain for you.

“you awake?” the question is asked. it's a male voice, of course. it's widely known the compound is almost completely male. only a few rare women have ever been seen behind the fence. you're not sure what their recruitment process is, but you've heard whispers that they bring impressive people in. people that try to steal from them and get caught or defend their stash when the compound men leave on their raids.

you thrash in your seat since you're not able to respond. no use delaying the inevitable. if they're going to kill you, you don't want to wait around for it to happen.

“good.” the voice says, and then all of a sudden the blindfold is tugged off your eyes. it takes you a second to adjust before you can properly look around the room, realizing you're up on a stage, auditorium seats in front of you with a few men in them, all heavily armed.

you realize quickly that the military base the compound men took over must have had some sort of stage for speeches, and that you're now center spotlight.

“she did pretty good.” one of the men in the auditorium hums from the seats as the one who took of your blindfold exits down the stairs to join them. “got to the fence. most people don't even get that far.”

you try to tune out their words, eyes sweeping from some sort of escape, or help. you've learned not to rely on human help after the aliens came, but you might not have any choice.

“yeah, but she got caught.” one man huffs out.

“shit, billy, shut up. we need more women around here.” a new man says, his eyes feeling predatory as he looks over your body, making you press your thighs tightly together. you manage to look to the side to realize there's an armed man on either side of the stage, tucked slightly into the wings, but their dark eyes on you.

“we shouldn't even be arguing.” the man who untied your blindfold says. “wait for him.”

him. the infamous leader of the compound. you've never seen him or even heard his name, but he has a reputation from the bit of gossip you've managed to pick up. cruel. not bloodthirsty or barbaric like some of the men under him, but unflinching in his standards. refusing to give out any sort of help or aid even if a mother is on her knees begging at the fence.

you've heard from some that he doesn't care, you've heard from others that it's because his men come first.

you also know every time the compound men leave on a raid, they're looking for more than just food. someone. someone that the leader lost. presumed dead, just like most of the people after the aliens came, but that doesn't stop him from looking.

your heart breaks for him despite his cruelty. you wonder if it's a son. a daughter. a sister, mother or wife.

you refuse to let your mind turn to the ones you lost. you weren't close with your parents when it happened, but your friends… your boyfriend. you shake your head, willing the thoughts to leave. no use getting emotional right at the end.

you hear footsteps, the men scattered around the first few rows moving to situate themselves, sitting a little straighter, making sure their makeshift uniforms are done properly.

the doors at the back of the auditorium open. you wait for the figure to step out of the darkness, the emerge from the shadow from the mezzanine above.

“untie her. now.” the voice rings out, so familiar it hurts as the men from the wings move quickly to undo your gag. you feel the sudden coolness of a blade against your wrist, but it slashes away at the rope.

the man is moving quicker now, your eyes widening when you realize who he is.

“rafe!” you scream, shooting up from the chair. tears are already streaming down your cheeks as you run, sprint as fast as you can across the stage, rafe also breaking into a run as you take the stairs so fast you're worried you'll fall.

“y/n!” rafe yells out as you reach each other. you're lifted into the air behind him, sobs racking your body as you press your face into his neck, legs wrapping around his hips.

“you're alive!” you can hear the disbelief in rafes voice. 

“i-i thought you were dead rafe.” you whimper into his neck, pressing kisses to his skin between the words. “i came to tanneyhill after they arrived and it was-” you can't finish your sentence. partly because the pain of having to describe what happened to tanneyhill, the home you spent so much time at. but mostly you don't finish because rafe sets you down, moving your head out from his neck to press his lips against yours.

you sigh with relief before kissing back, hands fisting in his uniform, just now realizing how bulky his clothing is, various weapons hanging from them.

“i-i love you so much.” you tell rafe, pressing your fingers against his cheeks, the plains of them still as smooth as you remember. you look into his eyes. it's the same rafe, your rafe, but at the same time he's different. clearly hardened by the apocalypse, aged quicker from the stress.

“i love you.” rafe kisses you again. “i never stopped looking for you.”

you. you're the one. not a son or a sister, but the person the compound men were looking for.

“i-i didn't know you were here.” you wish you saw rafe out on a raid, but just like everyone else in the north carolina woods, you scatter when the compound men leave their base, almost as much of a threat as the aliens are.

“otherwise you wouldn't have stole from me, huh?” rafe smirks, making you giggle. he clearly hasn't lost his sense of humor.

he pulls you close to his chest as he looks to his men. “dismissed. i will be in my chambers. no disturbances unless it's an emergency.”

the men instantly scatter. rafe waits until they all leave before turning to look at you, hands skirting down your body to your wrists. he sighs deeply when he sees the marks from the rope, red and bleeding in some places.

“let me get you cleaned up.” rafe says, and you just nod. it feels surreal to finally be back with him, your boyfriend who you could have sworn was dead. you didn't stay long in the outer banks, not with the limited resources of an island, but you looked every day for rafe to see if he somehow survived the aliens before you fled into the woods.

you feel like your eyes are still glazed over as rafe leads you out of the auditorium, promising you a full tour of the compound later as he moves swiftly down the halls, two men walking in front of him and two men behind him.

you should have known rafe would get himself into some sort of leadership position even after the apocalypse. he might not be the most well versed in combat or shooting, but he can lead and throw commands around like he was born for it.

“this is my- our chambers.” rafe pushes the door open, the four men remaining outside as rafe leads you in. it's surprisingly comfortable inside, suddenly feeling like you're in a home rather than a military base.

“i-i think i may have died when i fell off the fence. there's no way this is real.” you genuinely have to run your hands along your arms, pinching yourself to make sure you aren't dreaming.

“it's real, baby.” rafe sighs with relief as he strips off the weapons, placing them at the table near the door before stripping off his fatigues until he's just in a plain white tshirt and shorts, looking just like the boy you knew before the end came.

as he steps closer, arms wrapping around you and allowing you to relax into his hold, reality comes rushing to you. you try to keep your cries quiet, but in no time sobs are racking your body, rafe lowering you both to the ground as you cry, loud sobs, even interlaced with screams from all the horrors you saw surviving without him. you let it all go, finally safe enough to.

rafe doesn't say anything, just holds you until your cries lessen and you pass out, exhaustion pulling you to sleep.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @https-luvvia @aerangi @folklorsweet

[diejager]

I've been reading the Stepfather! Konig fic and I had just an idea. What if to get away and feel at least some safety reader fakes their death and joins the military with many fake names and constantly changes up themself to keep safe and away from König and Horangi?

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, military, recruitment, enlisting, military inaccuracies, tell me if I missed any.

Where was the best place to hide? The last place they would look, right under their nose. You managed - somehow - to keep your papers a secret from them, you were lucky they dealt with things online on encrypted servers, keeping it as hush-hush as possible. Fortunately, there weren’t many requirements for enlisting, all they had asked was your age, level of education and citizenship, some vague papers about you and that was all. You bode your time, leaning on your freedom when you left the house to hit the gym to get a head start in your training, pack a bit of muscle and get into a tight routine to get used to it before you joined; and buying the few things you’d need to build you stage with the few materials and story you made up. 

You were prepared when the time came, just a week before your training and your body thrummed with adrenaline and anxiety, slowly finishing off your plan. And when the time was right, you struck, vanishing with the car that you drove into the lake, you made sure that it was deep enough to be left untouched until you had at least finished your training. It was a stroke of luck, sheer luck that you made it to the base, flashing your papers and given a permit to meet the major of the base to receive your identification once you passed the examinations and interview. 

“Welcome to hell, cadet!” Were the first words you heard in the mass, dressed in the black and white uniform of the navy you stood ramrod with others beside you. 

They separated men and women in the early stages of training, once the selections were done, they’d mix both sex and leave them to train and learn together. It was a gruelling process, the physical and mental exhaustion of it all almost made you crash more than once, mind on the brink of frustration and muscles worn into painful bruises. You’d seen friends - made through nights of venting and moaning about life - and acquaintances quit early or halfway through the training and education. They were weeding out the weaker ones, the less competent and determined from the rest. You feared being picked of quitting, but you powered through it, all your blood, sweat and tears culminated to your graduation nearly eleven weeks later. 

You could stand with pride in yourself, head held high as you received your praises from the major, his rough voice echoing through the room in congratulations. You took your oaths and were given a white uniform and a hat, the black cap and gold encrusted hat that gleamed under the sun. You were proud; you were happy; you felt accomplished and free. You thought of flying, to be and feel as free as the birds that soar the skies, perhaps you’d join the aviation branch of the Navy. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea, to be moved and passed around wherever you were needed, never staying in one place made finding you much harder if König and Horangi found your bluff. 

But you’d gone so far, done so much to take things back or be taken back. You’d accomplished something with what little you had and you knew- You knew that your mother would be so proud of you for persevering. 

“I miss you, mom,” you kissed the sole picture of your mother, the only thing you thought worth keeping, “I’m sorry, I miss you.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[rbbrbikerthorp]

A Tribute To Helmets

I grew up during the Apollo space missions, and whilst I didn't show a particular interest in NASA's exploits, I received a kid's space suit and helmet as a present. I vividly recall how different things sounded when I put the helmet over my head. I think that was the point when my kinky fascination for helmets began.

From my childhood, I remember watching an episode of the early Flash Gordon series (in monochrome) where Ming places a helmet on the head of one of his dissenting subordinates. Once the helmet was strapped on, the man became compliant, passive and drone-like.

At that moment I realised that something designed for safety and protection could also have very nefarious uses. Combined with visual and audio stimulation, the helmet could also contain electronic circuitry that can disrupt the natural processes in the brain. Helmets could also contain syringes, which can deliver chemicals and other substances directly into the head to suppress and indivual's throughts.

So here is my AI tribute to the Helmet, and how, when placed on the head it can strip away emotion, knowledge, purpose and individuality.

This man in his early twenties was just starting out in life. He had dreams of being successful, having the perfect suburban life - wife, kids and the kind of home people dream of. He had just agreed to join a multinational conglomerate, and as part of his induction he was required to take a medical. So on the appropriate day at the specifed time he turns up for what he thought would be a routine appointment.

On arrival, he was taken into a private room. He was asked to disrobe and was given a set of leathers and boots to wear, which, despite all his reservations he put on.

Once the leathers were zipped up and boots were on his feet, he was escorted to a room where a lab assistant placed a full-face helmet onto his head. He was then taken into a room filled with tech and video screens. The technician typed some commands into a computer and the helmet activated.

Isolated wearing the helmet, he was subjected to audio and visual stimulation; stripping away his own throughts and identity. Replacing it with a predetermined 'template', which the company would deploy as necessary. Thoughts of family, kids and friends replaced with absolute loyalty to the company.

'Physical' completed, the company has deployed him 'into the field'. Now a biker, his primary objective is to ride around and recruit candidates to join the company.

Meanwhile...

Some scientists are about to record the disruptive effects of their advanced helmets on three 'volunteers'. Once the helmets are fitted the volunteers will follow instructions and head to drone processing.

Elsewhere, two cyclists have been given new 'aerodynamic' helmets for a week to try.

Affixed to their heads, they will have no desire to ever remove their helmets - ever.

Sticking with a sport theme, the new coach has provided the team with revolutionary and technologically advanced helmets. These not only offer superior protection to the head, but also allow the coach a direct interface into the players' minds. It's going to be a successful season for this team.

There are worried faced amongst this army platoon - and they should be worried.

They will follow the General's orders to place the helmet on their heads. When they do their individual thoughts will become suppressed as they turn into droned soldiers. No more briefings, no reliance on old technology like radio transmissions, which can be hacked into by the enemy. The helmet will ensure all orders issued by the commanders are transmitted directly into their brains.

There are changes afoot in civilian life too. A new force for law and order is being created. One by one members of the police force are invited to undergo a routine medical.

Soon they will all be fitted with helmets; permanently connecting them directly to the company network, with orders transmitted directly into their brains.

There is to be a zero tolerance of crime - even minor misdemeanors. So they begin to 'clean up the streets'.

Chavs and scallies are rounded up and each one is fitted with a helmet...

Once the work of the helmet is done, a new 'drone' is sent out onto the streets as a 'recruiter' for the company.

They're also recruiting in colleges and universities...

And back in the boardroom, the executives are monitoring progress of the company's plan.

Each member of the so-called 'C-suite' has been given a helmet to allow speedier decision making and negate the need for laptops, smartphones and video screens. Directly connected to the company's network through their helmet, they follow the instructions fed directly into their brains - following them to the letter. After all each helmet ensures they are exemplary servants of the company.

Hope you enjoyed my AI tribute to the helmet. Depending on the feedback I might do a second helmet blog.

Oh, in case you were wondering which is my favourite helmet, it's my Arai Corser, pictured below.

[iww-gnv]

A Mississippi chicken slaughterhouse put a child into a 'preventable, dangerous situation', the Labor Department has concluded - after the death of a 16-year-old sucked into a chicken deboning plant. Duvan Perez had been cleaning equipment at the Hattiesburg plant of Mar-Jac Poultry on July 14, 2023, when he was pulled into the rotating shaft of a machine and sustained fatal injuries. Perez, originally from Guatemala, had been hired to work at the slaughterhouse by a recruitment firm - despite it being illegal for under 18s to work at a meat processing plant. His death caused widespread outrage, and on Wednesday the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) - a division of the Department of Labor - issued their report, finding a litany of errors and recommending $212,646 in penalties. They also highlighted two previous deaths at the company's facilities since 2020, and accused the company of complacency and recklessness.

[biolumien]

Hello :)

It says your requests are open, and I wanted to know if maybe you could possibly write something for Reno from Kaiju#8. Maybe something really sweet and fluffy?? If not, that's totally fine, I just really like your writing style and would love some more of him 😊

notes: as per usual my writing took on a life of its own... i hope its still what you were looking for!

target practice

reno ichikawa x gn!reader description of just general gun anxiety. word count: 1018

you were never big on the competitive streak that all the other recruits seemed to have when it came to standard practice training. you watched on as iharu and reno fussed over their times down to the millisecond, alongside kaguragi and haruichi, before kikoru would obliterate all of their times anyway. there was also kafka, who was still struggling to maintain a sub-five-minute time on the training course, but he seemed good-natured about it all, despite his 1% compatibility rate with his suit.

to tell the truth, you were quite honestly terrified of wielding guns in general. you had decent compatibility with guns and decent compatibility with blades, too–nothing incredible, but not so bad that you’d fall behind. it’s just that your accuracy was completely off no matter what. firing blank was fine–anyone could do that. you were often even praised for how steady your hand was–but as soon as the ammo was loaded into the gun, it was like your mind would go blank, and you were reduced to a quivering, shaking mess unable to line up your reticle with the target, not to mention how badly you reacted to the recoil.

if kafka stayed at a steady five to six minute clear time for his training, you were at a solid seven to eight minutes–up to ten, depending on how badly you couldn’t recover from raising your gun. 

you look down at the rifle splayed across your lap.

you wanted to become stronger. reno, iharu, and the rest of them only kept getting stronger. you didn’t want to be left behind in the dust.

“you’re up,” hoshina says to you from his lofty perch above you all. “whenever you’re ready.”

you stand up, aware of everyone’s eyes on you. you swallow, your hands shaking as you raise your rifle to shoulder level. your heart pounds in your throat, and your fingers fumble as you load an ammo catrtridge into the gun, pulling the safety. you grit your teeth, trying to get the shaking to stop, but you almost drop the gun in the process, and you fly back, your limbs feeling weak.

“your vitals are showing an elevated heart rate,” hoshina says. “you can sit out of this today if you don’t want to–”

“no,” you protest. “i have to. i have to do this!”

“not if you pass out,” hoshina says, his voice sympathetic. “i get it, you know–i–”

“no, this is just–this is something wrong with me!” you protest. “i just–i keep–” you lower your gun, hating the way you already feel more relieved now that the gun has been lowered. “i can’t… i need to do this. i–” you raise a hand to your eyes, squeezing tightly. why couldn’t you just pull the fucking trigger?

“here. like this.”

you startle as reno walks up to you. behind him, iharu’s eyes are wide as haruichi and kaguragi are still arguing over something. kafka’s eyes are curiously staring at reno, too, but reno seems confident enough as he strolls over.

“i can help,” reno says. “if you’ll let me.”

“i… sure,” you say. 

reno’s hand crosses the distance and presses against yours, guiding your grip over the gun. your heart pounds in your chest again, but for a much different reason other than terror this time. reno was–just really warm. 

“don’t pull,” reno says softly, his violet eyes meeting yours. “squeeze. press the gun close to your chest, tight, like this.” he shifts his other hand, letting the gun press firmly into your elbow. your face flushes a bit as he maneuvers your body with deft hands. “it’ll help with the recoil. i notice you never brace yourself like this. so it’ll help. you’ve seen the training course many times already. don’t move your arms so much, that’s how you’ll tire yourself out. lead with your shoulder.”

as you raise the gun this time, you swallow, finding that your heart is already beginning to pound less.

“thank you, reno,” you say, smiling at him. 

reno’s face goes pink, and he raises his hand to his mouth, a short laugh leaving his lips.

“i… you don’t need to–” “alright, lovebirds, pack that up,” hoshina calls. “if you’re ready to start, then head to the start of the course.” 

reno stumbles backwards a bit out of surprise, and you stare up at where hoshina’s looking down at you all. his gaze is unreadable as usual, a small smile on his lips.

this time, your score is closer to kafka’s. you still startle when you pull the trigger, but this time you’re able to calm down, line up your sight with the targets, and hit them with decent accuracy. you think feel reno’s subtle grip against your hands, guiding your gun–but that was just a fleeting, silly thought.

“you did it!” reno says, standing up as you make your way back. “i knew you could do it.” he seemed to want to step forward in a move to hug you, or something–anything, but instead his hands dangled awkwardly in mid-air for a moment. 

“thanks to you,” you say sheepishly, feeling your face heat up again. you step forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, slotting yourself neatly against his body. “really. thank you so much, reno.”

reno stammers for a second, his hands shifting to settle around your waist.

“you don’t need to–thank me,” reno says. “i… you’re amazing.”

that seemed to bear a little more sincerity than any of his other words, and you laugh, feeling warm. 

“thanks,” you say. reno seemed to hold you a little tighter after that, bringing you closer.

“hey, you two.”

you immediately fly back from reno as iharu spoke up.

“the two of you are fucking gross!” he shouts.

reno sputters.

“hey–fuck you, actually!” reno exclaims. “we were having a moment!”

“what the fuck did you just say to me?” iharu shouts. “have your moment somewhere else! don’t just do it out here! you’re so fucking cringe–!”

“oh, like you’re one to talk–”

you watch fondly on as reno and iharu start arguing, a curling warmth in your chest.

[swp2023]

SWP Account

TW: transphobia, transmisogyny, SA, gaslighting/manipulation, general trotskyist bullshit

I first joined the SWP as a minor during the Honor Oak demos. When I attended one of the protests for the first time in May 2023, I knew fairly little about the British left and its intricacies. I joined at a time when I was incredibly vulnerable - I was an isolated trans teenager with a poor home and school life and few friends. I initially joined SUTR but was soon syphoned into the SWP and became a formal member around 1.5 months in. After four months I was lucky enough to meet people outside of the party, find my own systems of support, and start drifting away from them. At the beginning of October I formally left the party and rescinded my membership. I essentially speedran the process. I know that I am not the first to come forward about their experiences in the SWP, and that my account won’t be as horrific or traumatic as others’. But the more I sit with the memories of spending time in the SWP, the more frustrated and angry I become with how poorly I was treated, especially as a trans teenager. A while ago, I compiled a list of everything I could recall about being in the party and its impact on me, and I’m hoping sharing it will draw more awareness to the extent that the Socialist Workers Party hasn’t changed and actively poses a threat to young activists. 

Structural/Functional Problems

Most people are aware of the SWP’s overt focus on recruitment, but within the party it’s even worse than it looks from the outside. Recruitment processes target those new to activism, especially young women and queer people. On multiple occasions, SWP leaflets were purposefully plastered outside my secondary school and other schools in the area. Once you’re involved with the party in any capacity, there’s a lot of pressure to ensure you formally join - if you’re not a member, within a month you’ll have membership papers being shoved in your face constantly. The worst instance of this was when I attended Marxism over the summer while I was in quite a bad place. I ended up having a breakdown in a corner of SOAS, and someone walked up to me when I was visibly upset and somehow tried to use it as a recruitment opportunity. Although far from the worst of their faults, the recruitment means the party is incredibly stagnant and frankly, boring. The same meetings repeat over and over, the same discussions are held, conferences are repetitive and demos are attended only for the purposes of recruiting or selling papers. 

The general attitude towards other, non-SWP activists is extremely condescending and patronising, especially in both formal and informal discussions of anarchism and grassroots organising. I consistently heard anarchists being reduced to a violent, ineffective group of rag tag young un’s who don’t know what they’re doing. I think it must have been in their handbook to describe anarchism as “grabbing 15 of your mates and beating up fascists”, because I heard that exact phrasing used at least twice. The belief that the SWP’s unwritten values and structures are the only correct ones runs deeply, and since I was a teenager my age was often used to dismiss my actions as immature or naive. I was told I was being pretentious for wearing a mask at demos - I’d been doxxed before and was looking out for my safety but apparently this made me appear “hostile and unwelcoming”. 

I can’t emphasise enough how much everyone in the SWP is treated as disposable unless you work for them. They don’t care about arrestee support, accountability, or building safe environments. I was a trans teenager so I looked good for their party, but ultimately they couldn’t care less what I had to say and I was often shut down or told my ideas weren’t appropriate. The SWP consistently seizes the politics of individuals’ marginalised identities to create a more appealing facade, while also discarding the same individuals as soon as they are no longer politically convenient. 

Lack of Accountability

From the beginning, it was clear that there were zero helpful routes for complaints or conflict resolution. I asked multiple times at meetings what their explicit process was for dealing with internal issues, and at best I got an off-hand mention to the central committee. Mostly I was shut down right away and told it wasn’t the right time to ask - a better time never became apparent. There is zero transparency and it didn’t take me too long to realise that I had no faith in anyone in the party to protect me or listen to me if something went south. You’ll hear them talk about their “disputes committee”, which was established as a response to the Comrade Delta coverup, but despite all the time I spent in the party I still have no idea who’s in this committee, how to access it, or whether it’s ever successfully resolved a dispute. 

No one talks about the coverup. This isn’t too surprising but every time I tried to ask about it, I was met with the same awkward dismissal. It’s creepy how everyone who’s been in the party for a while feeds you the same “that was a long time ago and we’ve changed and learned from it” schtick. Even a month in the party would be enough to show you that this isn’t true. The process of covering up the reputational damage from Comrade Delta is very much still active and the more time you spend around them, the more subtly intrinsic it becomes to everything you do. I was walking with a paid member of the SWP and watched him slap an SWP “trans rights now” sticker over one that read “the SWP protects rapists in their party”. No organisation that’s suitably addressed its failures should feel so threatened by the reminder of them. 

More widely, there are never any internal criticisms of the party. When I was in, I was in deep. I went to their weekly meetings, their organising meetings, their conferences - I went to fucking marxism. Not once did I hear a natural critique arise, there’s a complete lack of self awareness. It isn’t an environment where you’d feel comfortable expressing criticisms, and this has led to an echo chamber of sorts in which many members are incapable of conceiving themselves or the party as imperfect. It’s a dangerous amount of self-assuredness and this attitude allows for a culture of racism and bigotry to underlie the party’s supposedly anti-racist fronts - microaggressions don’t get called out, racism gets excused especially in the predominantly white spaces. There aren’t any attempts to actually foster anti-racist mindsets or incorporate it into how they organise, it’s largely just for external presentation and again, recruitment. 

Any issues that do get brought up are met with absurd amounts of gaslighting and guilt tripping. The party runs on guilt and censorship. If you ask too many questions people start acting cold or frame your comment as needlessly confrontational. Even now, I still struggle to process a lot of what happened because I was constantly told it was normal, that I was overreacting, that because I was relatively new to activism I didn’t know what I was talking about. 

Transphobia and Transmisogyny

As I’ve mentioned, my main involvement in the party was based around my identity as a trans youth, but there was very little regard for my safety as it pertained to this. For instance, without any warning a parcel was sent to my house with my chosen name on it. This put me in a bad situation because my parents hated the thought of me going by another name, I had to lie and endure my home life temporarily getting much worse. When I brought it up with someone I trusted in the SWP, it was dismissed without so much as an apology for putting me in a dangerous situation. I spoke to another trans ex-member about this and they told me about going through the exact same thing a few years back - the SWP doesn’t learn or change. 

There is consistent, blatant transphobia in the party. There were too many occurrences to list out here, but it’s so profoundly endemic to the party that I spent a considerable amount of time feeling uncomfortable and objectified. I had someone tell me they wouldn’t use they/them pronouns because “it’s too hard”. I was constantly misgendered, and although it was sometimes a careless mistake it was often very clearly intentionally weaponised. Almost every time it happened there was someone in the room who knew me well enough to know what my pronouns were and correct the mistake, but that never happened. No one stood up for me. 

There’s explicit transmisogyny. In addition to being generally misgendered and sexualised, trans women are often referred to with they/them pronouns and as a “person”. There was a trans woman quite deeply involved with the party who I spoke with a few times, she often got dismissed when she contributed at conferences and one time, a cis dude fully stood up and started talking over her while the chair of the meeting allowed it to happen. 

Contrary to what the SWP would have you believe, there just aren’t many trans people in the party. Certainly not a proportionate amount when compared to the wider left, which isn’t surprising once you’ve experienced being trans in there - there aren’t any attempts to make you feel any less isolated, ostracised, or used. There are, however, plenty of cis people who think that just because they’ve attended a trans demo or two they know more about the experiences of trans people than we do. 

I want to note that all the transphobia I experienced and witnessed took place while London branches of the SWP were spending their time at HO trans rights demos, handing out their placards, using it for recruitment, and taking credit for the work that was mainly being done by grassroots activists. Transphobia is just one example of how hollow their ideals are. 

Non-Existent Consent Culture

When I was sitting in a conference at SOAS, a man I didn’t know sat next to me and ran his hand down my back while we were talking, and then repeatedly tried to scoot closer to me when I moved away. 

A different time, someone tried to get me to sit close enough to them so that our legs were touching. 

Both of these incidents were extremely creepy and uncomfortable, and just to be clear: I was visibly/openly a minor during both. 

In general, physical contact is heavily normalised and sort of expected. There was always an expectation that you’d hug people, that you were okay with being patted on the back or having an arm around your shoulders or whatever. I always felt uncomfortable with this and although some people were fine with it and people’s intentions weren’t always harmful, there’s just generally zero consent culture and most times I wouldn’t have felt comfortable saying no. 

When I was in a transition phase of technically still being in the SWP but trying to spend as little time around them as possible, one of them came up to me at a demo (where, for the record, I’d just been through quite a traumatic incident - not that it should have to matter) and tried to pull me in for a hug without asking. When I flinched away without saying anything other than “hi”, she later commented to a comrade that I was being rude. The persistent entitlement to my body and my consent was disgusting. 

Exit Process

When I started spending less time with the SWP and more time with anarchists and antifascists, they were semi-aware of it so I got lots of calls and messages purporting to be “checking in”, but the undertone was very much “why aren’t you standing with us at demos anymore”. No one ever checked in on me when I was properly in the party. One of the calls was particularly lengthy and pretty much summed up to “we feel like you’re drifting away, we really miss you and you’re our comrade” - more guilt tripping. The feeling that I was trapped because I was constantly being contacted and approached at demos was bad enough to make me actively suicidal. 

The final breaking point for me was a conversation that happened in the South London SWP group chat that had reached an intolerable level of censorship. Someone, very politely, complained about how the branch had made a commitment to doing hybrid meetings but consistently struggled to actually have working tech/mics/etc. They also suggested a possible solution. They got shut down with a curt “our main focus has to be in the room rather than on our phones”, a comment that rightfully got called out as being explicitly ableist, especially since the following messages implied that attending online was insufficient or lazy. This conversation was concerning enough, but the original person then got told they “sounded harsh” (they didn’t - I’ve seen more lively conversations in my extended family’s whatsapp group), and was explicitly told to delete their message. I finally had a good answer to what happens when you criticise anything the SWP does, and this was a fairly mild criticism too. 

Then, a comrade I know very gently expressed their support for the original person - literally just said that they agreed with them and didn’t think they were being harsh. This comrade (also a teen) got two separate DMs telling them that they “misunderstood” what was happening and to delete their message as well. The hierarchies and power structures within the SWP are so obviously corrupt, and this whole incident just made that much more clear to me. 

I sent a final message on this chat, calling out the patterns of behaviour I’d noticed and advising people to do what I had - take a step back and look at who actually gets listened to in the party, at the corruption that’s so deeply rooted in it. Then I left that chat. The next day I was removed from every SWP-related chat I was in - fine by me, I was done. I did get sent one DM telling me that I had misread the situation, was overreacting, etc. It was incredibly infantilizing and blamed the fact that I’d been associating with other people as the reason I’d formed these opinions - clearly the SWP was reliant on my isolation. 

I was out of the chats but I did get the aforementioned comrade to update me on the aftermath, which was mostly damage control. The upcoming conference got plugged, people talked shit about me for being immature and overreacting. I’ve got screenshots of this incident in particular but I honestly don’t think they’re too worth sharing. I firmly believe that painting the bigger picture of the party and how and why it operates like this is much more important. 

I’d say I made it very clear that I wanted nothing more to do with the SWP and its members, but to this day I still have issues with them at demos. I’ve had people come up to me and try to touch me in various ways - hugs, back pats, etc - that I’ve expressed I’m uncomfortable with. There’s someone who winks at me. The general attitude towards me seems to be either glaring me down when I walk by (I don’t mind this honestly), or being overly nice as if I hadn’t been groomed into their cult (this is considerably worse).

I think this summarises it pretty well. It’s not everything - some stuff is hard to talk about, some would involve revealing info about me that I need to be private, and honestly my brain has defensively blocked out a lot of the time I spent around the SWP, so I’m still remembering stuff out of the blue. But please listen to me, listen to everyone else who’s been through their pipeline and made it out the other end. They aren’t just an annoyance with boring placards, they hurt people. They prey on young queers and women and don’t actually give a shit about anyone. Kick them out of your demos, kick them out of your circles, and also - try to get people out! I owe my life to the anarchists who were like “hey, we see you’re in there and you probably don’t want to be - you can hang out with us”. Most of the people the SWP recruits are sucked in before they have a chance to form other networks, and it’s hard as fuck to leave a party when all your activism takes place within it and you’ve got nowhere else to go. The Socialist Workers Party is broken beyond repair and needs to be dissolved, and I would encourage its current membership to resign. Thanks for reading. 

[townpostin]

Excise Constable Recruitment: 5 Candidates Die During Physical Test

Opposition slams Hemant Soren govt over deaths, demands judicial inquiry Tragic deaths during the physical endurance test for excise constable recruitment spark controversy in Jharkhand. RANCHI – Five candidates died during the physical endurance test for excise constable recruitment in Jharkhand, prompting criticism of the state government. BJP state president Babulal Marandi lambasted the…

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

for the 2k event:

congrats on all the followers!!!!!

Levi and reader are childhood best friends to lover to eventually a married couple. Maybe following their journey through all the seasons and even in no regrets?

Congrats again!!

hello! :3 i'm not sure how to fit this into a drabble, so i did headcanons about how Levi would have reacted to you being pregnant or having a child during these various points in time!

Dadvi Canonverse Headcanons | 2K Follower Event

ACWNR:

➼ Once it turns out that you're pregnant with his child, Levi hauls ass to get the two of you out of the Underground. He picks up shady jobs for the extra money (assassin!levi au anyone?) in the hopes that he can make enough to get you surface residency as soon as possible. ➼ With how uncleanly the Underground was, Levi would be very wary of where you were going. While he was never a fan of dirt and grime and it bugs him to no end to have it around, he was much more concerned about you potentially getting sick and putting further strain on your body that was already hosting a baby. ➼ With him picking up shadier jobs, things got more chaotic and he became more and more worried that he'd take a job he couldn't come back from. As a result, he'd spend every night with you in his arms, his hand over your belly, with him chatting to your unborn child, wanting to savor every moment that he could steal with you. ➼ If he was unfortunate and couldn't make enough money, he'd begin to have to plan on how to raise your kid in a hostile environment in a way that best avoided the type of childhood that the two of you had. ➼ Your pregnancy is one of the reasons why he jumped up so quickly at the opportunity to earn surface residency when he's recruited to assassinate Erwin. He knew he didn't have much of a choice when it came to taking the job, but having you and your unborn child as an extra incentive made him that much more motivated.

Season 1:

➼ Especially with how dangerous expeditions were, he would always go out of his way to visit you and your child regularly after expeditions. He'd be home whenever he could be, just because tomorrow was never guaranteed. ➼ If you're a Scout, he'll try to work with you to get you put on duties that you'd be able to do while pregnant that wouldn't put you or the unborn baby in too much danger. Unfortunately, that meant you weren't going outside the Walls with him anymore. ➼ When he hears that the Wall had been breached, he internally panics. He had promised to keep you in the Walls to keep you safe, yet even the safety of the Walls was compromised. The first thing he does after clearing out the Titans in Trost was to search for you and your child. ➼ Levi's a complete mess when he comes home to you after the Female Titan incident. His entire squad and a significant amount of the Scouts had died on this mission. Being around you and being able to hear you and your child's voice made it just a tad bit more bearable. You were the safe space that he needed to be able to process everything that had happened.

Season 2:

➼ As if to make up for lost time, Levi was able to spend much more time with you because of his leg injury. He hated not being able to do anything to help out with the Survey Corps, but he was also glad to be able to spend time with you and your kid without having to feel pressed for time. ➼ This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, but Levi's the perfect house husband. He's great in caring for you while you were pregnant, especially since he had to be home due to his injury anyway. He's even better with caring for your newborn baby so you could occasionally rest. ➼ When he heard about the Wall getting breached again, he seriously began considering if he could fenagle a way to move you to the Interior. Of course, the idea of hiding didn't sit right with you, but you bet he's annoyed as fuck when you provided resistance. All he wanted to do was to keep you and your child safe, and things looked like they were falling apart left and right.

Season 3:

➼ Levi is writing you letters the entire time when he's on the run from the Interior Police. He couldn't visit you, and even sending you letters was risky. If you were pregnant, he would make sure that there was someone to help you out so you weren't just suddenly left on your own. ➼ Once Historia is crowned as Queen and he's able to return, he immediately goes back home to you, spending much time needed with you and your child since he's been gone for a while. If you were pregnant when he left and gave birth while he was gone, he'd be super harsh on himself about it even though there wasn't anything he could've done with the way that events played out. He'd overcompensate with the acts of service to try to make up for what he missed. ➼ He immediately falls into your arms after he returns from Shiganshina. If your kid was there to see him, he'd pull them in too. He didn't bother hiding it because you both believed in being honest with your kids about emotions and vulnerability. ➼ Once the Titans have been cleared, he takes you and your kid outside the Walls to visit the beach, trying to answer questions as best as he could as your child bombarded him with questions about humanity existing outside the Walls.

Season 4:

➼ After his initial trip to Liberio, he'd take you and your kid to visit, just to explore the wonders of civilization outside the Walls. It was nice to come here as an actual vacation instead of under the pretense of war. ➼ It absolutely breaks his heart when he sees the pained look in your eyes after he tells you that he was to leave you for a while to go into the forest to watch over Zeke. This was the last time you saw him until after the war was over. ➼ Since you're separated, he starts writing you letters again, sometimes sending back a flower or piece of nature that reminded him of you. He took immense comfort in the letters that you'd write back, bringing that subtle hint of your scent. He could almost hear you say the words and it helps him throughout his long days waiting for news that would never come. ➼ When the letters suddenly stop, and the Rumbling began shortly after, you began to panic. If it wasn't for your kid, you'd drop everything to find him, especially with the assumption that he must have died if Zeke was able to escape. ➼ When you see him again at the end of the War, you were both horrified and relieved. You were relieved because he was alive after everyone kept telling you that he was dead, but also horrified when you saw everything that he had gone through.

Post-War:

➼ If you get pregnant post-war, Levi does everything he can to find a good place to live with easy access to care to make sure everything goes smoothly. ➼ He's a little frustrated with himself at first, since he can't help you with the baby or kid in the same capacity that he would have been able to prior to his injuries, but the two of you adjust, and he figures out alternative ways to help. (brb currently crying over imagining Levi bottle feeding your baby from his wheelchair) ➼ Levi really likes going around town with you pushing him in his wheelchair as he's holding onto your toddler. It was good quality time, chatting with you as you walked him, and playing with your toddler that was essentially the split image of him. ➼ You bet that your child is absolutely fascinated with Levi's scars and is constantly asking for stories about the war. Levi was like a hero to them and they were completely enthralled by the fact that he was such an important participant in the war. ➼ He'd occasionally take you and your kid to Paradis Island just to visit and maybe show your kid memorable areas, like where the two of you got married or ran into each other for the first time.

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO:

Odoardo Focherini 

Odoardo Focherini was an Italian journalist and devout Catholic who rescued 105 Jews between 1942 and 1944 by obtaining false identity  papers for them and transporting them to safety in Switzerland. He was posthumously beatified by Pope Benedict XVI.

Odoardo, known as “Odo,” was born in Modena, Italy in 1907 to a devout Catholic family. At a vacation in Trento in 1925, he met Maria Marchesi, and they fell in love and soon became engaged. Odo was 18 and Maria was 16, so they waited until 1930 to get married. They had seven children.

Odo worked as an insurance agent, but in 1933 he followed his passion and started a new career as a journalist. He became managing director of L’Avvenire d’Italia, a daily newspaper affiliated with the Catholic Church that is still being published today. Odo was such an exceptional journalist that he came to the attention of the highest levels of the Catholic Church, and Pope Pius XI awarded him the Order of Saint Sylvester in 1937.

The situation in Europe grew increasingly darker for the Jews and in 1942, Hitler enacted the genocidal “Final Solution.” Cardinal Pietro Boetta, the archbishop of Genoa, asked the editor-in-chief of L’Avvenire d’Italia, Raimondo Manzini, to help a group of Polish Jews escape from fascist-ruled Italy to safety in Switzerland. Manzini immediately recruited Odo, known for his strong moral compass and devotion to justice, to carry out this lifesaving mission. Odo created a secret network of Catholics who wanted to help persecuted Jews as the Nazi death machine took over Europe. Using contacts he’d met during his work as a journalist, Odo procured a large number of false documents and personally accompanied many Jews over the border to Switzerland. Odo saved the lives of 105 Jews between 1942 and 1944.

Unfortunately, the Nazis found out what Odo was doing when they intercepted a letter in which he wrote that he was helping Jews “not for profit but out of pure Christian charity.” He was arrested by the Gestapo on March 11, 1944 and imprisoned in Bologna. That August Odo was transferred to a work camp in Germany. During his imprisonment Odo sent 166 letters to his beloved wife Maria. Later that year Odo was sent to a concentration camp in Hersbruck, Germany. He developed a leg infection which wasn’t treated and became gangrenous. On December 27, 1944, Odo died from the raging infection. His last words were, “I declare that I die in the purest Roman Catholic faith and in full submission to the will of God.”

Odo was posthumously awarded the title of Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem in 1969. In 1996, Pope John Paul II declared Odo a “Servant of God,” because he was murdered for saving Jews. This began the lengthy beatification process, and in 2012, the decree attesting to Focherini’s martyrdom was finally signed by Pope Benedict XVI. Odoardo Focherini was the first Righteous Gentile to be beatified. Odo’s letters to his family were published as a book in 1994. The Memorial Museum in Carpi displays a large banner with a quotation from Odo that he said to his brother-in-law who visited him in prison: “If you had seen, as I have seen in this prison, how Jews are treated here, your only regrets would be not to have saved more of them.”

For saving 105 Jews, at the cost of his own life, we honor Odoardo Focherini as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[kattvez]

Heil Trump! 100 years on repeat.

This might make you pause and think, "No way—that could NEVER happen again!" But let’s look more closely, because the similarities are alarmingly real. Germany didn’t turn into Nazi Germany overnight; it was a slow descent, almost imperceptible at first. You may have heard the analogy of a frog in a pot of water, where the temperature rises so gradually that the frog doesn’t realize it’s being boiled alive until it’s too late. That’s what happened in Nazi Germany—and it’s what we risk today in the United States if we don’t pay attention to the warning signs.

In the early 1930s, many Germans, including Jewish citizens, dismissed Hitler as a passing phenomenon. They thought he was just a fringe figure—a "spook" who would fade away. They believed his extremist views wouldn’t gain traction. But Hitler’s appeal grew as he presented himself as a charismatic leader promising to restore Germany’s glory. His message was simple: make Germany great again. Sound familiar?

With the world reeling from the Great Depression, Hitler gained widespread support through his protectionist economic policies, offering a vision of economic relief and national revival. Many Germans, desperate for stability, ignored the darker, insidious rhetoric that came with his promises. Today, millions of Americans, feeling left behind by globalization and the rise of the tech economy, similarly turn to promises of economic revival and national pride. Like in 1930s Germany, the allure of quick fixes to complex problems can make people overlook the dangerous ideologies lurking beneath the surface.

One of Hitler’s key strategies was to undermine core democratic institutions, eroding public trust in Germany’s legal and political framework. We’re seeing echoes of this in Donald Trump’s actions. As both a candidate and a former president, Trump has repeatedly undermined the credibility of institutions when they don’t align with his interests—the courts, the electoral process, even the certification of an election. His rhetoric suggests that any institution not serving his goals is suspect, creating a divide in the public’s trust in these democratic systems.

A hallmark of Trump’s approach has been his relentless attack on the media, branding it as “fake news” whenever it criticizes him or his policies. The Nazis used a similar tactic, calling independent journalists the “Lügenpresse,” or "lying press." In both cases, this tactic seeks to sow doubt about any information that challenges the leader’s narrative. By discrediting the media, both Hitler and Trump attempt to shape reality to fit their own agendas, isolating their followers from independent sources of truth.

Scapegoating minorities has also been a disturbing common thread. Hitler blamed Jewish people for Germany's economic problems, stirring up public resentment against them as the "internal enemies" of the nation. Trump has similarly focused on specific groups, notably undocumented immigrants, portraying them as the root of America's economic and social issues. He has created a crisis around illegal immigration, expanding the role of ICE to target this group, often painting them as threats to safety, jobs, and stability. Today, similar tactics are being used against transgender individuals, who represent a tiny fraction of the population but have become a focal point of political and social resentment. Trump's rhetoric fuels these hostilities, using marginalized communities as scapegoats to rally support and divert attention from more complex issues.

Furthermore, Hitler relied on affiliated militias like the SA and SS to intimidate opponents and enforce Nazi ideology. Trump, while not formally organizing militias, has encouraged self-recruiting groups and militias, famously asking them to “stand by” during moments of tension, as seen during the January 6th Capitol riot. His cozy relationships with authoritarian leaders, like Putin, echo the alliances between Hitler and Mussolini, reinforcing the dangerous allure of authoritarianism.

The situation today may even be more dangerous because of technology. In the past, hateful rhetoric and propaganda required physical presence at rallies or the reading of pamphlets. Now, hateful content—whether anti-Semitic, anti-trans, or racist—finds its way to people’s screens, reaching millions in an instant. Algorithms amplify divisive content, pushing more extreme narratives into the mainstream, often without individuals even seeking it out.

It’s easy to believe that “it could never happen here,” but history shows that democracy is fragile, and small shifts in public sentiment, unchecked power, and targeted scapegoating can lead to devastating consequences. The parallels between Germany’s descent into Nazism and aspects of today’s political culture are a reminder of the importance of vigilance, empathy, and a commitment to protecting democratic values before it’s too late.

[saltysatellite804]

Woke up and started going into character analysis mode while drinking my coffee. This is about Aizen of course.

Thinking about how much of a loose canon (and lowkey suicidal/fate-tempting) Aizen actually is. He plays it all cool, but he isn't actually always as meticulous as he comes across.

-fused himself with Hogyoku without knowing for sure it was a wish granting jewel (he just suspected). Even disregarding that, he went into battle before it even "understood" him. He had no guarantee it would actually keep him alive. He also had zero guarantee it would bring him back to life after a fatal injury. These were all just hypothetical.

-allowed White to give its powers to a Quincy because he wanted to know what would happen. Total fluke, but he went with it. Presumably, he knows that a Quincy is unlikely to survive this process.

-recruited Kaname knowing he could never control him with Hypnosis.

-risked Gin being by his side knowing he was planning his death because he wanted to "see how he would do it". He even told him how to neutralize his power. He was just like "okay kid, I like you, freebie shot at killing me," !!!. Like omg.

-risked empowering the Vasto Lordes, not knowing if they would become stronger than himself or not (they did not). He even said he suspected they would.

-decided to help Ichigo become stronger, not knowing what would happen

-risked Orihime finding someway to use her power against him (okay this has become more of a headcanon. I like to think he was curious to see if she would actually try to erase Hogyoku).

-furthermore he pits Ichigo against his Espada, not knowing who the victor will be, made 0 effort to keep Ichigo alive.

-completely went power mad and off guard after evolving. He arguably had to have some of those qualities before fusing.

-fought Yhwach with 0 guarantee of success. Put himself in extreme mortal peril to defeat him. Sure it was becoming a very "do or die" situation but it doesnt feel out of character

(Notice how None of his risks went wrong until Ichigo)

There's probably some more things I'm not thinking of.

I was thinking about how Aizen comes across very "a man with nothing to lose". It really matches up with who he is. He has mastered all his powers and there's nothing left because he feels no connection to those around him, no sense of purpose or love or comraderie. It must drive him insane, and make him lose some regard for his own safety, in some sense. So he decides he will keep reaching higher because what else is there. If he cannot be like anyone else, he must go above them. He thinks the current system is fuckin BS but he can't tell anyone because it's illegal to even question the status quo lol. It's almost like fate to him.

But deep down he still wants to fall, wants to fit in like Stark did, wants his own hubris to knock him down like Icarus reaching for the sun. He wants one of these gambles to catch up with him deep down. It's like a fantasy. And he knows it.

[bookworm-center]

Kaz Brekker x gender neutral!Reader (oneshot)

Coat Buddies

In which Kaz and Y/n go back and forth sharing a coat and little messages. (Fluff)

Author's Note: yes, I'm well aware there are plenty of these, but I figured I'd try my hand at it. It's also a hold over until I work on "Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender". Enjoy! 🧡 Not related to DatB at all, just a little oneshot I wanted to write. I've also decided that all oneshot author's notes will now be in orange, just because I think it looks cool.

Kaz Brekker has an incredibly nice coat. Warm wool lining, pockets galore, even a secret section where a dagger could perfectly fit. So, naturally, like the thief they are, Y/n decided to steal it. They planned on returning it, of course, so one could consider it merely borrowing. It's not as though they did a job with it on and got his coat torn to bits in the process. There were only a few scratches and maybe one or two tears, if you were really looking.

The next time Kaz wears his coat, (noting how it looked worse for wear right away) he'd found a little crumpled note in his pocket. The words were written in slanted, hurried cursive, ink smudged along the parchment. "Your coat is nice. Unlike you." His lips quirk at the message. It's not untrue, and it's phrased as more of a random observation than an insult. After all, who really expects the bastard of the Barrel to be nice?

Y/n slips on the coat, fingers fumbling over the buttons. Black stitches close the damaged parts of the coat, nearly invisible in the soft cloth. The bloodstains have been washed, like the coat had never been worn in the first place. They shove their hands into their pockets, winding their way through the crowds in the streets. Snow comes down in sheets, the ground two steps away covered with white. Their gloved fingers close over a square of paper. Y/n pulls it out, squinting at the note. It's not their own; the paper is too smooth, the handwriting too neat. "Oh? I'm not the one stealing coats."

"I can't help it. For someone called Dirtyhands, you keep your coat surprisingly clean," reads the next note, tucked between a small tin of jurda and a bar of dark chocolate.

The next note is written on the paper wrapping of a new chocolate bar. "I keep it clean so I can find things. Unlike you, who keeps shoving things into my pockets."

"What can I say? I'm a talented lockpick and thief. I need somewhere to put my stuff. If you don't want me to steal from pigeons, you should have never recruit me to the Dregs." A little smile is scrawled next to the words. Kaz can't help but grin as he carefully pens out his response.

Y/n finds the next note in the special knife pocket, beside the double edged dagger they'd stashed there earlier. "I don't care if you steal things, love. Maybe your next target should be someone with a nice coat, hm?"

"Well that's no fun. After all, these exchanges are the best part of my day."

The back and forth exchange goes on for months. The snowy months give way, melting over the cobblestones, the days becoming as sunny as possible in Ketterdam. This time, when Y/n goes to pull Kaz's coat off the hook, eagerly awaiting a note, it's not there. Kaz is, hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Hey boss." Y/n sheepishly waves. They have no real reason to be nervous. It's not like Kaz knows their the one taking his coat.

"You've been taking my coat." Kaz says with a deadpan expression. Of course he knew.

"Is there a problem with that?" They cross their arms. It's always dangerous to stand up to Kaz Brekker, but Y/n's never been one to stay on safety's side. Kaz shrugs, pulling out a package from behind his desk. It's wrapped in black paper, tied with silver ribbon. "What's this?"

Kaz doesn't respond, only tossing the package to Y/n, who catches it after fumbling. They rip into it with a bit of effort. In the midst of the torn paper, folded and still new, rests a coat. It's identical to Kaz's, only in their size, and orange thread on the cuffs of the sleeves the bright color of jurda. "So you don't keep stealing my coat."

"Thanks." Both teens stand in the silent. Even though both of them are deadly, both broken and torn, they're at peace. Y/n turns to leave when Kaz calls after them.

"Y/n. If you wanted to keep borrowing my coat, I wouldn't be against it." Y/n grins, before nodding and leaving Kaz's office.