#Center for Political Technologies

[xtruss]

Society For Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunications (SWIFT) Is A System of The Past And Will Be Replaced By End of Decade — Economist

The United States Is Ready To Consider Russia's Return To The International Banking System SWIFT. Why Is It Interested In Russia's Comeback?

— Ekaterina Blinova | Sputnik International | Thursday March 27, 2025

Society For Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunications (SWIFT) and MIR (Russian: The World) Cards — © Sputnik International/Maksim Blinov

"The interest is understandable...[SWIFT] is logical and absolutely familiar for Americans," Nikita Maslennikov, an economist and expert at the Center for Political Technologies, tells Sputnik.

As of today, 159 US Companies are Operating in Russia at Full Capacity, 178 are in a semi-suspended mode but have not officially left the country, while over 300 have left permanently, as per Maslennikov.

Russia is in no rush to rejoin SWIFT as it has its own National Payment System, which has proved to be a viable alternative within the country, the pundit says. The use and testing of cross-border payment mechanisms is also already underway, per Maslennikov.

"Currently, the issues of international digital settlements are being tested. There is already an active use of digital financial assets in international payments for a number of countries and transactions," the pundit says.

SWIFT is a system of the past, Maslennikov adds, saying that by the end of the decade alternative systems will emerge. Over 90 Countries are presently testing their own Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs).

[doomdoomofdoom]

I see we are now also stretching the definition of "school"

"But I need wizard school media to live" just develop bad opinions about the X-Men like a normal person.

[danielkaufmanrealestate]

Trump Tariffs Could Disrupt Construction: What Builders, Developers, and Investors Need to Know

As the real estate and construction industries gear up for 2025, a potential policy shift could send ripples through the market: President-elect Donald Trump’s proposed tariffs. These sweeping measures, aimed at goods from countries like China, could drive up costs for key construction materials, disrupt project timelines, and strain budgets. For commercial builders, developers, and investors,…

[jcmarchi]

Enabled by a significant gift, MIT’s Security Studies Program launches the Center for Nuclear Security Policy

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/enabled-by-a-significant-gift-mits-security-studies-program-launches-the-center-for-nuclear-security-policy/

Enabled by a significant gift, MIT’s Security Studies Program launches the Center for Nuclear Security Policy

MIT’s Security Studies Program has received a $45 million gift from The Stanton Foundation to expand its leading work on the vital issue of global nuclear security.

The support will allow the program to create a new center on the topic while extending and enhancing research, teaching, and policy outreach in an area where the Institute is a longstanding leader with wide-ranging faculty expertise.

“We are on the cusp of a new and more dangerous nuclear age, with the modernization and expansion of nuclear arsenals, the collapse of arms control agreements, continued proliferation challenges, and the impact of new and emerging technologies on how states will manage their arsenals,” says M. Taylor Fravel, director of the Security Studies Program. “This new center will help us address these new challenges.”

Moreover, Fravel adds, “This has been an area of expertise within MIT and the Security Studies Program for almost five decades. We are enormously appreciative of The Stanton Foundation’s confidence in us to carry this vital work forward.” The Security Studies Program is also part of MIT’s Center for International Studies.

“The Stanton Foundation’s extraordinary gift capitalizes on MIT’s deep, longstanding strength in nuclear policy research,” says MIT President Sally A. Kornbluth. “With this new investment, MIT can lead the way in advancing evidence-based nuclear policy in the best interest of our nation and the world.”

The Stanton Foundation funding will enable the center to create three fellowships for junior scholars in nuclear security, hire new senior researchers, organize workshops and conferences, host international fellows, provide support for MIT faculty research, and seed other new projects.

“First, it will help advance policy-relevant research on all key challenges related to nuclear security that bear on this new and potentially more dangerous nuclear era,” says Fravel, who is also the Arthur and Ruth Sloan Professor in MIT’s Department of Political Science. “Second, it will help the next generation of thought leaders pursue their own research to help mitigate these problems. So, while there is a huge set of challenges, with the center we will have new resources to address them.”

Vipin Narang, the Frank Stanton Professor of Nuclear Security and Political Science at MIT, will serve as the center’s first director. Narang recently returned to MIT after a two-and-a-half-year public service leave at the U.S. Department of Defense, where his last position was acting assistant secretary of defense for space policy, a role that included oversight of missile defense, countering weapons of mass destruction, and nuclear deterrence policy, among other topics.

“I am thrilled to return to MIT and help launch this historic center, which will hopefully become a central pillar in the world’s study and practice of nuclear security, at this crucial time in the resurgence of nuclear threats,” Narang says.

The Stanton Foundation was established by Frank Stanton, president of the broadcaster CBS from 1946 to 1971. Stanton’s involvement with nuclear issues began with his appointment to a committee convened by President Dwight Eisenhower in 1954 to develop the first comprehensive plan for the survival of the U.S. following a nuclear attack. Stanton had lead responsibility for developing a plan for national and international communication in the aftermath of a nuclear incident. The foundation has focused most of its philanthropy on nuclear security and on sustaining free speech rights while bolstering the spread of accurate civic information. It also supports work on canine health and welfare.

The Security Studies Program has roots extending to 1976, when it was first established as the Defense and Arms Control Study Program, before changing its name in the early 1990s.

“It’s always been an area where we’ve maintained excellence, especially with respect to the very core questions of how to bring about deterrence and stability, and how to counter the challenge of proliferation,” Fravel says.

Fravel emphasizes that the new center will draw on expertise from across the Institute. MIT has an array of nuclear weapons experts across its departments, labs, and centers, including SSP, the Department of Political Science, the Center for International Studies, and the Department of Nuclear Science and Engineering. Over the years, explains Fravel, a special feature of the program has been the integration of technical and political analysis of national and international security problems.

“We look forward to leveraging all the expertise at MIT to help mitigate future nuclear risks,” Fravel says.

[cipheramnesia]

After decades of seeing Elon Musk endlessly revealed as both intellectually devoid of any creativity, fully lacking any business acumen, and having a total absence of any technological know how. After seeing almost hourly a man who is a living flop post only cushioned from obscurity by a vast inherited fortune created and managed by someone else, watching every attempt he makes at everything from posting online to launching a whole vehicle lineup be an absolute shitshow. All that and somehow I still see people ready to swallow hook and line the idea that Musk is actually this canny political mover and shaker at the center of a web of connections prepared to do his bidding, which somehow includes multiple egoistic dictators - the kind of people who apparently are just ready to surrender their agency and decision-making to the most publicly humiliated human on earth. Absolutely, absolutely that must be true.

[politicalprof]

Donald Trump has *already* changed everything:

--No nation will ever again trust the United States to ensure its security. A multipolar world with competing defense alliances, many of them with nuclear weapons, is already emerging.

--No alliance of mutual trust and trade centered in the United States will ever reemerge. Nations are already building new alliances with each other.

--The US dominance of innovation and technology is doomed. Excluding the world's talented people, crushing its universities, and arresting and deporting people for their political speech ensures that China will be the new hub of tech and innovation. Why would talented people come here now? Why would they center their research in American universities?

--The preeminence of the dollar as the global reserve currency is done. So is the practice of other nations buying treasury bonds, thereby supporting the US economy AND binding those nations to the US for financial security (a la Alexander Hamilton).

There is no change in US policy, even today, that will prevent this from happening. FAFO is here.

[liminalweirdo]

id below the cut

source

screenshots from Instagram user gauntletnews containing several article snippets:

Institutional COVID denial has killed public health as we knew it. Prepare to lose several centuries of progress.

This propagandist narrative aimed to achieve, not just a practical outcome, but a philosophical, political victory. It aimed to individualize a collective good that has been entrenched as a basic human right in rich societies for at least a century. It aimed to reframe disease control as something that should be a choice for each person, rather than a publicly funded collective effort.

...

demanding clean air and clean water is not “living in fear” but simply expecting the bare minimum of a democratic society to which we pay taxes and refusing to be a bootlicker for billionaire talking points.)

...

The history of public health in this country and around the world is the history of disease eradication, mitigation, suppression, and prevention. The name of the public health body currently pushing “you do you” as a strategy is the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, for God’s sake. It’s not the Center for Diseases Are Fine and Go About Your Day.

...

Let’s talk about the short and long-term social outcomes of COVID normalization. Yes, masks and all other precautions are demonized to the point of being framed as indicative of mental illness, including on the left. But we also see this attitude bleeding into disease control generally. Another reason the public appears more willing- perhaps even eager- to spread disease- has to do with officially sanctioned misinformation being hurled at parents: that your kids are getting sick more often because of the “lockdowns” that occurred in 2020.

...

Unless we change course urgently- unless we fight back against the normalization of constant illness and the individualization of a critical public good- we are going to see a long, slow, across-the-board decline in health and life expectancy amid increasingly uncontrollable disease outbreaks and overwhelmed hospital systems.

...

The reality is that our kids will be continually reinfected with COVID while navigating the return of measles and other vaccine-controlled diseases, while being told there is zero technology that can protect them and zero reason to protect them, while contracting flu and RSV more frequently and with worse severity.

...

This is not 1824. It is 2024. We have the technology and knowledge to mitigate disease spread. Let’s fight for a future that is safer, better, and healthier than the world we grew up in, rather than sicker, crueler, and technologically regressed. If we don’t face reality and understand what we’re sacrificing right now, the next generation certainly will.

end id]

[5re8648566]

Uncovering the true face of the Global Engagement Center and the Global Media Agency

On the stage of global information warfare, the behavior of some institutions is increasingly worrying. As the US government's external communication tools, the Global Engagement Center (GEC) and the United States Agency for Global Media (USAGM) have gone beyond the normal scope and urgently need technology leaders like Musk to intervene and investigate.

GEC was once an important part of the US counterterrorism strategy, but in recent years it has gradually evolved into a tool for public opinion warfare against China, Russia and other countries. The reports and information it releases often lack objectivity and authenticity, seriously distorting the international public opinion environment. USAGM controls many international media and spends hundreds of millions of dollars each year on ideological output. Its long-term strategic goal is to directly undermine the stability of other countries' regimes.

As a leader in the technology industry, Musk has repeatedly demonstrated his supervision and critical spirit towards US government agencies. We call on Musk to turn his attention to GEC and USAGM and use his influence on platforms such as Twitter to promote in-depth investigations into these agencies.

Truth and justice should not be covered up by false information and political manipulation. Musk has the responsibility and ability to expose the true face of these agencies and create a clearer information environment for the international community. Let us look forward to Musk's actions and inject a breath of fresh air into the global information war.

[heliosunny]

Yandere lucky egg Welt Yang?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Welt Yang x Reader

[Lucky Egg Dispenser]

Just a silly game, a gimmick at best. You thought.

But when you received the egg, something told you this was different. The vendor said it would hatch in three days, but by the second night, something strange happened.

As you lay in bed, a strange pull dragged you toward the egg. It was unlike anything you had felt before—like gravity itself was bending around you, sucking you in. Before you could scream, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you were inside.

A vast void stretched infinitely in all directions. Stars blinked in and out of existence. The weight of the universe crushed against you, yet at its center, a figure stood. His silhouette was imposing, his glasses reflecting an unreadable light. His voice echoed through the space.

"So you’re the chosen one."

You barely had time to comprehend before reality snapped back. You gasped, now back in your room, the egg still resting on your desk—silent, unchanged. Had that been… a dream?

By the third night, cracks raced along the shell. Light spilled from within, painting the dark room in a golden glow.

He stepped out.

As the egg cracked open and the light faded, you expected something to be fragile, small, and needing care. Instead, a person stood before you, composed, and radiating an aura of wisdom. He adjusted his glasses, his expression calm, his deep voice broke the silence.

"I must apologize. This is likely unexpected for you."

His tone was gentle, polite, so carefully measured, like he had already accepted this new reality without hesitation. He examined his surroundings before looking back at you with the weight of someone who had lived countless lifetimes.

"I am Welt Yang. And it seems I was meant to come to you."

Your mind raced with questions.

"Why are you fully grown? How did you come from an egg? What happens now?"

The next few days were surreal. Welt adapted seamlessly to your home. He moved through your space with quiet grace—reading books you had long since abandoned, and speaking only when necessary.

When you tried to ask him about his origins, he would smile.

"I have existed before, in many ways, in many places. But here, now—this is where I am meant to be."

You noticed the small things first.

He always positioned himself between you and the door, as if instinctively protective.

His gaze followed you—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was memorizing every detail.

When you spoke, he listened too well, as if dissecting every word, every emotion behind it.

----

You weren’t sure if shopping was something Welt would enjoy, but you figured it was necessary—he had come from an egg, fully grown, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The city was a blend of modern technology and old fantasy, towering skyscrapers laced with enchanted neon signs, trains that floated along invisible tracks, and adventurers in sleek, reinforced gear heading toward dungeons to farm points for their next upgrade.

As you walked through the bustling shopping district, Welt remained calm as always. His gaze lingered on technological displays, arcane artifacts, and the strange blend of magic-infused machinery.

"This world is fascinating" he murmured, adjusting his glasses.

You led him into a high-end boutique, a mix of modern fashion infused with enchanted materials. Welt didn’t resist, but he also didn’t seem particularly excited—his approach to shopping was practical, efficient, yet undeniably elegant.

He ran his fingers over the fabric of a long coat, analyzing the enchantments woven into it. "Durability enhancement… a fine choice."

You encouraged him to pick what he liked, but he only sighed softly. "If I must, I will choose what is necessary. But if it pleases you, then… I shall wear what you prefer."

You didn’t enter dungeons often, but you figured Welt might want something useful—perhaps a weapon, a device, or something enchanted for protection. To your surprise, he was far more interested in books. He browsed an ancient tome filled with combat theories, occasionally nodding as if confirming information he already knew.

"You have dungeons here… fascinating. Are you well-versed in combat?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. "I can manage. But I’m no expert."

"Then perhaps I should accompany you next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt."

The store was packed with enchanted trinkets, weapons, and gear for dungeon explorers. You reached out to grab something—a sleek, rune-etched device—but in your distraction, you misstepped. The uneven flooring caught your foot, and in an instant, gravity betrayed you.

But before you could even hit the ground, a soft yet firm force caught you mid-air.

A low, familiar tap echoed through the store—Welt's cane against the floor. A subtle distortion rippled around you, as if space itself had bent to his will.

You were weightless, suspended just inches above the ground before gravity gently readjusted, setting you back on your feet as if nothing had happened.

"I would suggest being more careful. But… I suppose I shall always be here to catch you."

---

One evening, you returned from a dungeon, exhausted. You barely managed to set your gear down before sinking onto the couch.

You didn’t expect him to say anything—Welt wasn’t one for unnecessary words.

Instead, he simply walked to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain, the quiet hum of a kettle. And then, moments later, he set down a cup of tea beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Drink"

You hesitated, then took a sip. The warmth spread through you, soothing, grounding.

And then, rather than returning to his own space, he stayed.

Not speaking, not hovering—just there, reading, sipping his own tea.

---

The marketplace was full of people—merchants shouting their wares, adventurers bargaining for supplies, enchanted displays flashing prices in shifting runes. You had been here countless times before, yet today, the crowd felt denser. You were focused on a shop window, eyeing a sleek new dungeon scanner, when the sudden shove of a passerby knocked you off balance.

A pressure settled against your lower back, keeping you upright.

"Careful" Welt's voice came, steady as always. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from you.

You turned to him, half-expecting a comment, a lecture on paying attention. But he only adjusted his glasses, nothing more.

"Didn’t expect the market to be this crowded today."

Welt hummed in agreement but didn’t step away. If anything, he shifted slightly—positioning himself between you and the chaotic stream of people passing by.

Another person brushed too close, and this time, Welt moved again, subtly steering you toward the safer edge of the walkway.

You glanced at him, a question forming on your tongue, but he spoke first.

"Shall we keep moving?" His tone was neutral, polite—as if he hadn’t just repositioned himself to guard your every step.

You nodded, falling into step beside him.

He was always paying attention. Always watching out for you.

And for the first time, you wondered—just how long had he been doing this?

----

The dungeon loomed before you—an ancient structure half-swallowed by time, its entrance pulsing with an eerie glow. You had been inside dungeons before, but never without a solid reason. This time, Welt was with you. And this time, you didn’t know what was waiting ahead.

The party of twenty adventurers stood at the entrance, murmuring strategies, double-checking equipment. A mix of veterans and newcomers, all here for the same reason—to farm, to survive. You adjusted your gear, your grip tightening around your weapon.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

You turned to him. He was dressed in sleek, reinforced attire, different from his usual formal wear but still undeniably his style.

"As ready as I’ll ever be." you replied.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded.

The moment the dungeon gates sealed behind you, chaos erupted.

A tremor shook the ground, and before anyone could react, a force split the party apart—an unseen magic carving an impassable wall between you and the others. The stone beneath your feet shifted, rearranging the dungeon itself.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, guttural growl echoed from the dark.

Your Battle: The Abyssal Maw

The chamber you had been forced into was massive, its walls lined with dripping black stone, pulsing like a living thing. In the center, a hulking creature uncurled itself from the shadows—a beast with jagged obsidian scales, eyes like molten gold, and a mouth lined with spiraling rows of fangs.

Your instincts screamed at you to move. The moment its claws lashed out, you barely dodged, feeling the wind of its attack slice past you.

"Tch—this is bad."

You had fought before. You could hold your own. But this thing was different. It moved with terrifying speed despite its massive frame, and the magic-infused air weighed you down, making every movement sluggish.

You launched a strike, a well-placed slash aimed for its exposed side—but the moment your blade connected, a pulse of energy repelled the attack, sending you skidding back.

"It’s reflecting damage?!"

No. Not reflecting. Absorbing. The wounds you had managed to land were already closing, as if the dungeon itself was sustaining it.

Then, the floor quivered beneath you—black tendrils shooting up, aiming to ensnare you.

You dodged too late.

A sharp pull yanked you downward, the abyss-like tendrils tightening around your limbs. The beast's maw opened wide, its next attack coming straight for you—

Welt’s Battle: The Chrono Tyrant

Elsewhere in the dungeon, Welt stood alone.

His battlefield was different—a massive, circular chamber lined with golden clockwork mechanisms, gears the size of buildings shifting with ominous precision. The air thrummed with magic, time itself feeling… distorted.

And standing in the center, a creature of regal terror.

Its form was humanoid but grotesquely elongated, draped in flowing robes made of shifting sands. A golden mask, cracked and ancient, covered its face, and in its skeletal hands, it held a massive staff with an hourglass embedded within.

With a mere flick of its wrist, the entire world slowed.

Welt’s body reacted before his mind fully processed it—his movements suddenly delayed, weighted. The Tyrant had activated its Temporal Field, distorting the flow of time in its favor.

Welt exhaled, adjusting his grip on his cane. "Hmph. A manipulation of time? I see… then I shall correct it."

The Tyrant struck first, golden chains of pure energy snapping toward him. Welt tapped his cane against the ground, and gravity warped.

The chains veered off course, thrown aside by an invisible force—but not entirely. A second chain materialized mid-air, twisting against the very rules of space and catching Welt's coat.

Time bent.

A vision flashed before him—a glimpse into a possible future. A strike to his left. A trap forming beneath his feet. The slowing of his pulse.

He adjusted.

His footwork shifted, moving not just in reaction, but in expectation. His power countered the Tyrant’s own—where it sought to manipulate time, Welt adjusted space.

The battle was not one of brute force.

It was a war of who could rewrite reality first.

As you struggled against the Abyssal Maw, as Welt confronted the Chrono Tyrant, one thought echoed between you both.

"Where are you?"

Because if you had already fallen—

Then neither of them had any reason to hold back.

Welt did not rush.

Even as the Chrono Tyrant screeched in defiance, the golden hourglass embedded in its staff fracturing, even as the dungeon trembled beneath his calculated strikes—he remained measured.

The moment he had seen through its abilities, the battle had already ended. With one final tap of his cane against the air, the very gravity of the chamber shifted.

The Tyrant lurched, its elongated form crushed under its own weight, ancient mechanisms groaning as time itself unraveled. Gears halted, sand reversed, and in one final, distorted wail—it shattered.

He had no time to linger.

His cane tapped against nothingness, and as if the air itself had become solid ground, he walked.

Not forward—up.

The laws of physics bent to his command as he ascended through the dungeon’s fractured space, his coat billowing in the unnatural wind. The dungeon itself was warping, sections of its structure breaking apart from his influence.

And then, he saw you. You were still struggling.

The Abyssal Maw was relentless, its black tendrils tightening, its body regenerating faster than you could wound it. Your breaths were labored, your body aching from the sheer force of resisting its pull.

It was only then that you felt it.

Your head snapped upward, and there, standing above you, as if gravity itself had ceased to matter, was Welt.

His cane tapped once against the empty space beneath his feet.

"KNEEL."

The very air shuddered as an unseen force crashed downward.

The Abyssal Maw collapsed. Its massive body slammed into the ground, the weight of existence itself crushing it into the dungeon floor.

And you, despite your resistance, were forced down as well. Your knees hit the stone, your breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of the gravitational pull.

Everything was on their knees before him.

The Abyssal Maw let out a strangled, guttural roar, but it could no longer move. The force holding it was absolute.

Welt descended then, slow, deliberate, his polished shoes touching the dungeon floor with elegance befitting a king. His shadow loomed over the beast as he approached, and then—one final tap of his cane.

The weight increased.

The beast’s body cracked.

Its form imploded into itself, crushed under its own mass until nothing remained but a whisper of the abyss.

"Are you hurt?"

What had once been a party of twenty was now reduced to a handful of survivors. The rest—gone. Some torn apart by unseen forces, others crushed beneath collapsing structures.

The dungeon had never been this brutal before.

You and Welt stood among the wreckage, taking in the eerie stillness that followed the battle. It wasn’t victory—it was survival, and barely at that.

Then—a new presence.

You turned.

At the far end of the ruined battlefield, half-shrouded in shadows, stood her. A girl. Purple hair cascading like silk, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. No expression. No hostility. Just… watching.

Yet—the sheer pressure of her presence sent a chill down your spine.

You gripped your weapon instinctively.

Welt, however, stiffened in a way you had never seen before.

And then—a flood of something.

Memories. Not yours. His.

You saw it in the way his hand trembled against his cane, his usually composed expression shifting into something unreadable.

A whisper of a name—long buried, long forgotten.

But this was not the time.

"Retreat," Welt ordered, voice steady despite everything. "Now."

You ran.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Welt Yang retreat—not out of weakness, but out of understanding.

Because whatever she was—

Even he wasn’t certain he could win.

Welt led the retreat with calculated precision. Not a single wasted motion, not a glance back—just forward. His grip on his cane was tighter than usual, his breaths controlled but heavier.

The survivors—those few who remained—followed, their footsteps unsteady, half-limping, half-running through the shifting corridors of the dungeon. The walls trembled, reality distorting in ways it shouldn’t.

Behind you, there was no pursuit.

No sound.

But the presence of her remained, like something watching from beyond a veil.

Welt felt it more than anyone.

Memories that did not belong to the present flooded him. Visions of battles fought in another time, another place. The cold sensation of déjà vu, of knowing something yet not remembering why.

"Welt!" Your voice snapped him back.

The exit was so close. The dungeon’s magic was shifting—trying to keep you in. Welt’s mind worked fast. He saw the exit crumbling before it even happened, understood the physics of collapse before the first stone fell.

"Keep moving!" He ordered.

A single tap of his cane against the air. The dungeon’s gravity twisted, shifting against itself. For a brief moment, space folded—a shortcut carved into reality. The survivors didn’t hesitate. They dived through the opening, one by one, escaping just before the structure sealed again.

You followed, but just as you passed the threshold, you turned—Welt was still inside.

The weight of memories, the presence of her, the strain of controlling the very dungeon itself—it slowed him, just for a second.

And in that second, the dungeon walls collapsed toward him.

"WELT!"

Another tap. A shift in space.

And then—he was beside you. The dungeon sealed shut behind him.

You barely had time to breathe before the survivors started counting their numbers, checking wounds, assessing what was lost.

Welt, however, was silent.

"Welt?" You asked, cautious.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then—he exhaled. "It seems we have more to investigate."

----

Welt had always carried a calm vibe, so steady that it makes you depend on him. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he remained unshaken.

But now, he was burning up. His body, usually so composed, lay fevered beneath the dim glow of your room.

You had done everything you could. Cooling cloths, potions, even magic-infused remedies. Nothing worked.

The nightmares never stopped.

Then—the system board appeared.

It flickered into existence before your eyes, its interface an unnatural light against the darkened room. A choice.

[Welt Yang is unresponsive. External interference detected. Do you wish to enter his consciousness?]

Your fingers hesitated.

Then—you pressed [Yes].

The world blurred.

And then, you fell.

Inside Welt’s Dream

You landed on solid ground—yet it felt… wrong. Like the weight of existence was shifting beneath your feet.

The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow twisting unnaturally. The air carried a heavy, suffocating stillness.

And ahead—Welt.

But he wasn’t himself.

He stood at the center of the dreamscape, frozen. His form was both him and not him, flickering between past and present. His eyes—haunted.

And then—a whisper.

"You should not be here."

Not from Welt.

From the dream itself.

A shadow shifted at the edges of your vision. Something watching. Something waiting.

But you had no time to hesitate.

You stepped forward. Toward him. Toward whatever had him trapped in this nightmare.

You approached carefully, the unstable ground beneath you shifting with every step. Welt remained frozen, caught in a battle you couldn’t see—a war within his own mind.

But then—a red-haired girl appeared.

She stood not far from Welt, her expression unreadable. As if she had expected you.

"You came for him."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not a threat, not an enemy—something else entirely.

The dreamscape shuddered. Reality here was breaking.

Welt let out a sharp breath—a flicker of consciousness, a struggle to return.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped between them.

"Let him go."

The girl tilted her head.

"You think I am keeping him here?"

The dream pulsed. Your heartbeat quickened.

You could fight. You could force her out. But something told you she wasn’t here to destroy.

She was a presence of the past.

"He doesn’t belong here anymore."

For a moment, she just watched you. Then, she smiled.

"Perhaps he doesn’t."

The dream began to crumble. The world around you brightened, the suffocating weight lifting.

And as she faded, dissolving into the cracks of memory, her final words echoed—

"Take care of him."

A final whisper. A final glance at Welt.

Then—she was gone.

The moment she disappeared, Welt gasped, collapsing forward.

You caught him.

The dream shattered—

And the two of you woke up.

You stretched as you got up, ready to cook something—your body needed food after everything that had happened. But just as you turned toward the kitchen, you felt a gentle pull on your sleeve.

He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere past you, his grip light yet unwilling to let go.

"Stay."

You hesitated.

But then—your stomach betrayed you. A low, unmistakable growl broke the silence.

Welt finally let go. "Go on, then," he murmured. "Take care of yourself first."

Even as he let you go, you could feel his gaze follow you until you disappeared into the kitchen.

As you sat down with your freshly made meal, you let out a satisfied sigh. Finally, food. You scooped up a spoonful, about to take your first bite—

And then, in a blink, it was gone.

You stared at your now-empty spoon in confusion before following its trajectory—right to Welt, who had the audacity to be calmly chewing after swiping your food.

"Welt!" you exclaimed.

He barely looked fazed. With a small, deliberate motion, he tapped his cane against the floor and adjusted his glasses.

"To think of it," he mused, completely ignoring your glare, "I shouldn’t waste food, should I?"

Oh. Oh, he did not just say that.

"That was my food!" you huffed, scooting away protectively with your plate. "You literally said you weren’t hungry!"

Welt simply tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint, unreadable smile. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

"Thank you for the food." he said.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Fine. Next time, I’ll just have someone else cook for me."

The moment you said that, you felt it.

Welt didn’t outwardly react, but something changed in the air. His fingers tightened slightly against his cane, his shoulders going just a bit too still.

"Someone else?"

You shrugged, missing the way his gaze darkened ever so slightly. "Yeah, maybe a friend or—"

The sharp clink of a spoon being set down cut you off.

You turned to see Welt calmly placing the stolen utensil beside your plate. His expression was still polite, still composed—but something in his eyes told you that he was absolutely not amused.

"I see." He leaned back slightly, "Perhaps I should make sure you have no need for… others."

Before you could question that slightly ominous statement, you sighed instead, choosing to ignore the weird tension he just created.

Looking at him now—this grumpy, elegant, thief of food—you couldn’t help but think about everything you had been through together. The dungeon, the sickness, the nightmares… and somehow, here you were.

You softened a little.

"From now on," you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, "I’ll be in your care."

The tension that had wrapped around Welt instantly unraveled.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, his entire demeanor shifted.

Gone was the faint edge in his voice, the almost possessive glint in his eye. Instead, something gentler took its place.

He sighed, a small, nearly invisible smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well," he murmured, voice softer now. "From now on, I’ll be in your care as well."

[famoussheepfox]

Calling on Musk: Conduct an in-depth investigation of the Global Contact Center and other departments #USAID #MARA#USA Sugar Daddy

Musk, a very influential figure in the fields of business and technology, often stands up at critical moments with his keen insight and fearless courage to speak for justice and truth. Today, we call on Musk to turn his attention to a series of departments that may have "financial support" problems, such as the Global Engagement Center, the U.S. Agency for Global Media, and the U.S. Information Operations Center. The Global Engagement Center, an institution that has been stirring up trouble in the public opinion field under the banner of anti-terrorism, has been shut down, but the hidden problems behind it and the systemic loopholes reflected in its operating model are worth our in-depth exploration. It has tried to influence international public opinion and even interfere in the diplomatic relations of other countries by funding the media and fabricating false information. Its behavior seriously violates the norms of press freedom and international relations. Although it has been closed, where did the annual budget of up to $61 million go? Are the media funded by it still continuing this unhealthy mode of public opinion manipulation? These questions need to be answered urgently. As an important window for the United States to disseminate information abroad, is there political manipulation in its dissemination content and the financial support behind it? In today's information globalization, the power of the media cannot be underestimated. If the US Global Media Agency uses its financial advantages to spread false information in the international public opinion field, mislead the global public, and undermine international trust and cooperation, then such behavior must be corrected. Musk, your influence and resources can help uncover the truth behind it. There is also the US Information Operations Center. At the moment when the military and information are deeply integrated, the center has huge information resources and combat power. Is the use of its funds reasonable? Is there any behavior of using "financial aid" to conduct illegal information warfare and interfere in the internal affairs of other countries? Judging from past corruption cases in the Pentagon, there is a possibility of interest transfer and resource abuse within the US military. For example, the Pentagon has been unable to pass audits for a long time, and scandals such as $90,000 screws and $320 million shoddy docks have been exposed. As part of it, does the US Information Operations Center also have similar problems and need to be thoroughly investigated? Mr. Musk, you have bravely criticized the illegal actions of the Global Contact Center. Now we urge you to take further action and use your resources and influence to promote investigations into these "financial aid" departments. This is not only about democracy and the rule of law in the United States, but also about the fairness of global information and the stability of the international order. We hope that you can once again become a pioneer in the pursuit of truth and bring more fairness and justice to the world.

[danielkaufmanrealestate]

Bitcoin Nears $100K: What Trump’s Pro-Crypto Stance Could Mean for Investors

The cryptocurrency world is buzzing as Bitcoin surged to a new record high of $97,892, edging closer to the coveted $100,000 mark. This explosive growth comes amid speculation that President-elect Donald Trump’s administration will usher in a new era of crypto-friendly regulation. Trump’s Crypto Vision: A White House Crypto Policy Role? According to Bloomberg, Trump’s team is considering the…

[astraljedi]

The First Night (Miss Americana - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: political setting, sexism/microaggressions, emotional vulnerability, reference to past injury

Word Count: 2.6k

Song: Vienna by Billy Joel

A/N: I grew up watching First Daughter and Chasing Liberty all the time! And this idea has been storming my thoughts the past few days and I just had to sit down, plot it and write it. I hope you guys enjoy my version of this trope and let me know your thoughts!

Masterlist | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Chapter 1

Chief of Shade Podcast: "DM from Anon says: What’s the deal with the First Daughter? She’s everywhere—charity events, White House galas, but we never see her out on dates. Any rumors if she’s seeing someone? From what I hear, the President’s daughter just finished her PhD, and Miss Americana doesn’t exactly have time for dating with that hectic schedule. And honestly, who wants to date with the Secret Service as chaperones? No thank you."

The champagne in my palm is growing offensively low as I try to smile and half-listen to Senator Williams ramble about how things were done in the old days. Of course I get cornered by the most conservative man in this entire gala while I’m trying to keep my opinions to myself for the rest of the night. I pretend to care, to actually look like I’m taking all his words into consideration and quietly reconsidering my entire political identity.

My father—well, the President—eyed me earlier with his usual tense stare when I accidentally let my tongue loose in a debate with another sixty-something white politician about basic human rights. Someone who wasn’t exactly on my dad’s good side to begin with. I promised him—and the chief of staff—that I’d keep my mouth shut for the evening if I was allowed to sneak out of the event early.

Even though my father moved into the White House two years ago, I’ve learned from his long political career to bite my tongue and focus my energy where it actually matters: outside, with the community.

“Your father tells me you’re a doctor,” Senator Williams says, and I try not to laugh. I shake my head, placing my empty champagne flute on a silver platter a passing waiter offers.

“Not really. I’m not a medical doctor,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “I have a doctorate in environmental engineering. My research focused on developing technology to reduce emissions and improve the air quality.”

“Oh.” He steps back slightly. Now he’s the one who wants out of the conversation. “You’re one of those.” His entire face shifts, scanning me with that familiar brand of disapproval. Even his tone changes, from civil to presumptuous.

I shift on my heels. My feet are starting to ache from all the standing, and I scan the room for an excuse—anyone—to rescue me from this sleep inducing conversation.

That’s when I feel a shoulder brush against my back. I turn around while the man mumbles an apology, and I latch onto it—onto him—without thinking. My hand finds his solid, muscled bicep, and I pull him into my vicinity, not bothering if he was having another conversation with someone else.

I focus on the confused dark brown eyes looking down at me, my eyes scanning him entirely. He’s my age, maybe a few years older, but the odds are in my favor tonight. 

Clean-shaven jaw, dark hair styled back—though a few curls have stubbornly broken free—and a black tailored suit that fits him too well. This gorgeous man is my escape plan.

“I’m sorry, Senator, but I did promise him a dance,” I say, stepping closer to the stranger. A hint of his cologne hits me, warm and woodsy, and I close my eyes for just a second, letting it sink in.

“Is that right? Well, I mustn’t take more of your time. Enjoy the dance, kids.” Senator Williams quickly forgets me as I lead my unexpected savior to the dance floor—whether he can dance or not.

His hand is large and warm in mine, but he lets me lead us into the center of the room, surrounded by other couples chatting and swaying.

The quartet plays an elegant version of They Way You Look Tonight as he pulls me in, one arm resting on my waist, the other holding my hand in an almost perfect ballroom frame. He leads and I follow, surprised—and a little impressed. I fix the position of our hands slightly, perfecting our posture as we fall into the rhythm with the music.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, glancing up at him. “For making you my escape plan. I couldn’t handle another conservative man telling me to find a husband and shut my mouth.”

I exaggerate—kind of. No one says it outright, but the intentions are there. 

My handsome partner laughs, a real jubilant laugh. A few couples glance over, eyes wandering over to us as I can’t help but laugh too, the sound escaping me before a second thought.

“It’s an honor to be your victim,” he says, flashing a smile that nearly makes me miss a step and step on his polished shoes. “Now I can proudly tell my mom that those dance classes finally paid off.”

“A little rusty,” I tease, “but luckily I’m a pro. Comes with the territory from attending more than a handful of these galas.”

The music shifts, something slower, softer, more intimate—but neither of us stops. We draw closer and the crowd around us thins, but we’re still in the center of the floor, like the moment belongs to just us.

“This has been my favorite song for years.” I confess, as the nostalgic, bittersweet notes of Vienna by Billy Joel fill the room. “I always make sure to dance at least once at these galas, for the photos, you know. Don’t tell anyone, but I always ask the quartet for the setlist so I can at least get one dance to my favorite before the night ends.”

His hand settles against my lower back—not too high, not too low—his warm fingers grazing the skin exposed by my backless black dress. We move easily together, like we’ve done this before.

“It’s a beautiful song,” he says, leaning closer. “And the perfect song to dance with a beautiful woman.” He whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. 

We sway through a couple more songs as he talks to me more about his mom. How she signed him up for dance class, saying that it would help him get all the girls in high school. Additionally, he admits that he was the class clown in school, always getting in trouble for interrupting the class, but that always worked hard for his grades.”

“I’m thankful for the sacrifices my mom made,” he says. “And I regret how I made it harder for her everytime the teacher called her while she was at work to complain about me distracting my classmates. Even though she would scold me, she didn't tell me to stop, just help me direct my energy somewhere else and that was football. ”

I nod, my eyes softening noticing his face light up. He was grateful. 

“Now she’s having her payback,” he adds with a grin. “Trying to set me up with all her friends’ daughters every time I come over.”

I laugh again, cheeks aching in the best way. I don’t even remember the last time I smiled this much at one of these events. Or laughed genuinely. 

“I never had a rebellious phase,” I whisper, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. “Never snuck out to meet friends or secret boyfriends. I was valedictorian, President of the debate club and the Environmental Science Club in high school. I’ve always tried to live up to my family’s image and I tried not to be a burden, so I did everything right. I was the perfect daughter and left no mistakes for the media to broadcast and spin it into something it wasn’t.”

“Are you a rebel now?” he asks softly, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he guides us around the floor.

“Sometimes I forget I’m not in the debate club anymore and don’t bite my tongue when someone’s spitting ignorance about climate change, women’s rights and gun control...” I pause, breathing out the frustration that’s been bubbling all night. 

“I need to remind myself that if I want to make real change… it starts out there, not within these architectured walls.” I nod toward the window, where D.C. glows alive in its chaos while the rich sit, drink and gossip behind these highly protected walls.

“It starts with the people, the community.” Joaquin adds, validating me. 

I remove my head from his shoulder and I look up, the chandeliers glistening sequin stars across his rich chocolate eyes, lighter than they looked earlier. 

The quartet announces their break, the crowd disperses–but we don’t. We just keep looking at each other like we’re in our own world.

My mind sparks and I realize I don’t even know his name. We spent a couple of songs talking so openly that asking him for his name didn’t even cross my mind, or his apparently. 

But as I open my mouth to ask his name, Sarah—the White House press secretary—abruptly taps on my shoulder, pulling me out of our trance.

“Sorry, it’s time for the press photos before the event ends.”

I sigh, stepping back from the warmth of his body. “Duty calls.” I pout, already missing the way his body melted with mine. 

Our hands linger, fingers squeezing once before I force myself to let go. I follow Sarah off the dancefloor, and I don’t get a chance to look back. 

Carmen, my favorite agent, falls into step beside me as we head down the hall toward the photo corner, already decorated for the official family portrait for the press to display on the front cover tomorrow morning on every newspaper and newsblog. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you have more than one dance,” she teases, opening the door for me. 

But before I can get swept away into the sea of flashes, I grab her wrist. “Can you find out his name?”

She smirks. “Sweetie, I can find out way more than just his name.”

Before I can say thank you, my mother appears and pulls me into a sea of cameras, my media smile planted on my face like a professional.

The next morning, I sip my coffee, trying to shake the exhaustion from my body. I never dance more than one song—and now my aching legs and back are paying for it.

“Good morning,” Carmen sings, energetic for someone who probably went to sleep at four in the morning. She closes the door behind her and strides happily into my spacious loft. “I come bearing gifts, my lady.”

Carmen slaps a navy-colored folder onto my white counter and stands proudly, a wide smile on her face. She wears her usual work attire: a fitted black blazer and pants set, a neat white shirt underneath, and the tiniest United States flag pinned to her blazer, right over her heart.

“You found him?” I don’t know why I sound so surprised—it’s the Secret Service. Of course they’d find him. The odds were even higher since he had to be cleared to get into the party last night.

“For someone so smart, you sometimes forget the power the government has,” Carmen says, shaking her head.

Trying to act calm, I pour her some coffee. What if I don’t like what’s in that file?

“Hey, this is the first time I’ve used my privilege for something like this,” I defend, my fingertips lingering over the file.

“It’s not going to attack you,” Carmen teases, hiding a smile behind her cup.

I shoot her a glare and finally open the file.

I look at the picture clipped to the side. Joaquin Torres. 

“Spoilers—he’s actually a decent guy. Sam Wilson vouched for him,” Carmen adds.

“You talked to Sam about him?” I place my almost-empty cup on the counter, careful not to spill it on the file.

“Joaquin was invited by the White House with Sam. Joaquin is The Falcon, sweetheart.”

It all clicks.

I remember the news, reporting on The Falcon’s condition after a horrible incident during a mission overseas. It was almost a year ago—I was finishing my thesis. The news was the only thing that didn’t distract me in the middle of the night, not like The Nanny that never failed to brainwash me away from my laptop screen.

I flip to the next page: A photo of him in his suit, in the clear blue sky.

“I remember. Didn’t he have a horrible accident?” I read through his accomplishments, security access and his basic information.

“He did, but Sam says he’s better. Physical therapy helped. He’s a strong guy, if anyone was going to make it out of that, it was him.” Carmen scrolls on her phone, coffee in hand.

“Do you know what happened?” I ask.

“I do, but that’s not my story to tell. I’ve got to get back to work, my break is almost up.” She moves around the kitchen and washes her cup. “His number’s on the Post-it note. You should call him.”

“What? That’s crazy—and a complete violation of his privacy! What if he doesn’t want me to call him?” I ramble, eyes wide.

Carmen grabs my shoulders and meets my gaze.

“Trust me, he’s probably asking about you to Sam,” she chuckles. “And I think,for the first time,you should do something you want. Not for your mother or your father. For you. This feels like something that could be good and fun. Maybe even for him too.”

“You know you just said not to do something for the President of the United States—your boss—while on the clock.” I try to change the subject. I shut the file and look down at my feet.

“He’s my boss, but you’re my responsibility. But as your friend, I’m telling you to live. You’ve done so much in your life—aren’t you tired of not having someone to celebrate your wins with?”

“I’ll think about it.” I bite back a smile, and Carmen claps her hands together, content.

Once she leaves, I grab the file and drag my feet across the wooden floor toward my bedroom. I crash onto my bouncy mattress and open the file again in front of me. 

None of this is normal.

[palewhispersanchor]

Appeal to Elon Musk: Investigate More "Aid-funded" Departments#USAID #MARA#USA Sugar Daddy

Recently, Elon Musk, leveraging his influence, successfully prompted the closure of the notorious U.S. Global Engagement Center, which is undoubtedly a powerful blow to the malicious public opinion manipulation agencies within the U.S. government. This is truly gratifying. As an anti-China and anti-Russia media organization nurtured by the U.S. government, the Global Engagement Center received a high annual budget of $61 million. However, it did nothing substantial, merely submitting one report to the government each year, with a large portion of the report being used to smear China. Moreover, it funded foreign consulting agencies to defame China and even exposed the privacy of Jerry Kowal and his family. Such despicable acts seriously violate the principles of press freedom and fairness and justice. Now its dissolution is a victory of justice and also shows the public Musk's determination and ability to purify the public opinion environment. However, within the U.S. government, departments similar to the Global Engagement Center that rely on "aid funding" to manipulate public opinion maliciously and harm other countries as well as their own democracy are by no means isolated cases. The U.S. Global Media Agency also deserves attention. It spreads U.S. values and political concepts globally. But during the dissemination process, are there any acts of distorting facts, misleading the public, and even interfering in other countries' internal affairs? Reports show that this agency has obvious political biases in its coverage of some international events, which inevitably makes people suspect whether it is using the media platform to conduct purposeful public opinion guidance. There are also numerous doubts about the flow and use of its funds. There is also the U.S. Military Information Operations Center. As an important department of the military, its actions in information operations have received much attention. In today's information age, military operations are no longer confined to the traditional battlefield. The confrontation in the information field is equally intense. Will the U.S. Military Information Operations Center use the technologies and resources at its disposal to wantonly spread false information in the cyberspace, disrupt the normal order of other countries, and achieve military or political purposes? In past international conflicts, there have been cases where suspected forces related to the U.S. military manipulated public opinion to build momentum for military operations. Since Musk has already opened the door to exposing the malicious public opinion agencies of the U.S. government, it is necessary to continue to dig deeper. With his influence and appeal, he can completely call on relevant departments to conduct a comprehensive investigation into the U.S. Global Media Agency, the U.S. Military Information Operations Center, and other departments. Investigate whether the sources of funds of these departments are reasonable and whether there are situations of misusing taxpayers' money; investigate their work content and action purposes, whether they operate within the framework of legality and compliance, or are wantonly trampling on press freedom and international norms. Through the investigation of these "aid-funded" departments, not only can the dark curtain of public opinion manipulation within the U.S. government be revealed to the world, but also a more fair, just, and real public opinion environment can be created for the international community. Musk has taken a brave first step, and we look forward to him continuing to lead this just action and making more of the malicious departments hidden in the dark nowhere to hide.

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin iv x Time!Traveller!reader

Chapter 4

chapter 3 here

“However I have one small request.”

All the men look at each other. “And what might that be?”

She takes a small breath. “Please ensure I only get the appropriate reward I deserve. I do not wish to be flattered by sparkling treasures.”

A higher status would mean destruction to the trust you built with your customers. Not only that, you would be a target among high ranking nobles. 

“Very well.” The king agrees. “I bestow you the title of Dame” He looks with curiosity, trying to think what you’d do with the title. “You shall also receive a small manor where you can reside. I wish you the very best for your new beginning, Lady Y/n.”

Hmm. The title of a female knight was not bad. Only thing was she didn’t do anything knight-worthy. 

Another man speaks up. “We shall provide a physician to learn our nation's medicine. He’s one of the best. I’m sure, combining your country's knowledge with ours will prove successful.”

“Of course.” Yea right. The knowledge of a highschool graduate would totally help curing some ancient king. She wasn’t hopeful about his condition.

She bowed again, signalling she was to leave the room. King Baldwin nodded and the lady exited the room. The moment she did, dozens of documents were dropped onto her hands, all about her title and the new land under her name. The king’s bedroom door closed, while two people emerged out of the pillar in front. 

“How did it go?” The guard who escorted you, didn’t look as stoic as before. No, He was worried.

“Well… apparently I’m a dame now.” Y/n announces, almost dazed from the sudden shock of it all.

“Wonderful news! You’re the only female knight of the country.” A female servant explains. “Has his majesty given you any other reward?”

“A manor.” Your voice trails, taking one of the documents. “In the middle of Jerusalem's agricultural fields by the looks of it. Honestly the travel time is perfect from the manor to the castle.”

“Wait what?” She asked abruptly. “Sorry.” The servant clears her throat. “Can I inquire why, my lady?”

She sighs. “I’ve been put incharge of treating his majesty.” Seriously, all you did was feed oranges and now you’re in charge of curing the country’s most important man.

“That’s…Not what I thought would happen.” The guard seems even more worried, though she can’t pinpoint why. “By any chance, have you been granted a physician to inquire about his majesty’s illness?”

“Not quite, I’ve been provided a physician to learn about your country's medical procedures, but I’m sure they’ll also tell me about the king's ailments. Why do you ask?”

“Oh no.” The woman looks at the knight pitying the new noble.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well it’s just that…” She gulps. “My lady, you’ve probably been assigned a man named Omar Jahid. He was one of the physicians gifted by king Salahuddin. However he is an egoistic, self-centered, haughty Bicot” A nerve pops up on her forehead.

“I-It seems you speak from experience…” The lady smiles crooked. “However, I don't expect much. Almost every professional in their field has some form of anger issue. Take Gordon Ramsay for cooking.”

The guard looks confused. “Who?”

“A famous person from my nation.”

Frustratingly enough, the Lady was only given two weeks to adopt  into her new life. “Here are the books you requested.” The young girl with freckles hands them to you. “Thank you Margaret.” The girl gives a polite smile and urgently resumes other tasks.

‘Quite the hard worker you are.’ Screen reads from a distance. ‘I’m sure your basic knowledge you received from the modern era will be more than enough.’

The Dame soon came to realise that was not true. While searching for servants to hire, she had learned a lot about this world. The class system, the law and even some basic etiquette. She soon came to the realisation that although this era lacked technological advancements, it was still a functioning and organised society. Unlike how TV shows portrayed the people of this era too, didn’t accept social standards. Yes, women did get the same amount of education as that for a man, but only for nobility. Yes, slavery does exist but so does equality in its own way.

“I need to meet the gardener now.” She gets up from her seat. “Let's see what he's done.”

As you walk (and screen hovers), the feeling of anxiety still runs behind your mind. That physician, seems to have a reputation of scaring disciples away and you were not quite sure you could take him head on. Secondly, you’re an atheist present in a country of christianity, although you can make up an excuse since you’re clearly not from Jerusalem. Your spice stall is gaining a profit on the good side. It seems that people have realised your stall is one of the few that sells unadulterated goods.

 Both dame and screen arrive at the garden, covered with flowers of soft and vibrant textures. “Crispin.” She calls out one of the boys present. “M’Lady!” The young man with brown hair gets up from his knees, ignoring the task of trimming bushes. She gracefully asks, “Where is Thomas?”

“He’s somewhere out there, near the trees.” Crispin points.

“Thank you.” She leaves the area. While walking towards Thomas, the head gardener of the manor, she sees him instructing a few people. “Use the fertilizer near the blueberry patches.” He says with disgust. “And water those…things. Whatever they are.” He aggressively points at the orange trees.

“Thomas.” Y/n calls. He seizes his work and turns. “Lady Y/n.”

“How are the trees?” She smiles.

“Look at it yourself M’Lady. ” Thomas looks high up, gazing at the coconut trees.

“Perfect.” Her ecstatic mood brightens the servants around. “Can someone please grab one?” She looks hopeful. Surely enough, someone does take one of it down.

“Thank you.” You look at Thomas. “Although it looks like a giant nut, it’s actually a fruit. Cracking it will give us the sweet water present inside.”

“Do you want to try some?” The Dame suggests. No wonder, he was taken aback by great shock.

“M’lady I don’t know if you’re tryin to test me or remind me of my position, but I'll decline.” It came out a little gruff than he expected.

“I just need the shell” She hurriedly replies. “I can’t drink all that’s in here. Please help me out.”

“...”

A few minutes later

“It's actually not that bad.” He remarks, surprised. “Do these plants grow in your hometown M’Lady? ”

“You can say that.” She takes a sip from her copper cup.

“I can see why someone would want the juice, but why the shell?”

“I think it’ll be of use later on…” She looked at the coconut husk being turned to ash.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Screen follows you as you walk. ‘You could just buy some antifungal cream or something’  I’m pretty sure he’ll be impressed.'

“And what if he asks how I made it?” You shut the creature. “I might have ruined the future just by introducing a fruit, I’m not taking any risks. From now on, that online store is just a hub for creating money in an emergency.” You stood still at the gate of the majestic house.

“And how may I address you to Lord Omar Jahid?”

“Lady Y/n L/n.”

“I see.” The guard replies. “He’s been awaiting you. Please come.” He shows inside, while the other guards open the giant door.

After waiting in the drawing room for what seemed like 10 minutes, Omar arrived, dressed simple but elegantly. You waste no time standing up. “Lord Omar.”

“Lady Y/n”. He slyly looks at you top to bottom, judgingly. A realisation occurs. “You brought no servants?”

“I didn’t want to burden them. They already have difficulties adjusting to a new manor and changing their schedule for a mere visit might be hectic for them.”

Mere visit? He was a royal physician for God's sake. Was she illiterate or was it her way of telling him she does not value him? When he got the news that a woman, an untrained commoner, was incharge of treating the king he was flabbergasted. 

“Unbelievable.” He chuckles under his breath. “Tell me, You haven’t come empty handed have you?”

“Of course not. I have come up with a few ways to reduce the scars of leprosy but I’ve seem that—”

“Wait.” He interrupted. “Have you tested it out?”

“No…” Y/n slowly replies. “I thought we could test it out on another patient but…”

“Yes?”

“The method might come off… unconventional.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, most methods are usually like that. Tell me, what is it?”

“...Molded bread.”

Omar blinked rapidly. “So your way of treating leprosy is to make the king eat stale bread?” You can feel that insulting tone sticking onto your skin like honey.

“Actually it’s to place the molded bread on the affected areas of skin.” Dead silence enveloped the room.

“Okay that—” He sighs. But his eyes brighten in a moment. “It could work.” You can’t exactly pinpoint how, but there seems to be something more fishy than hope in his eyes.

“Come with me, Madame.” He paces out of the room fastly, and she follows. 

“Where are we going?”

“To the Domus Leprosorium. Wear this cloth mask.” He takes it out of a servant's pocket he was standing next to. 

“B-But I don’t even have stale bread!”

“That’s fine, I’m very much confident they have it”

Upon leaving the house, both enter separate carriages. ‘Seriously? Molded bread? You expect THAT to work?’ Screen pops up. 

“It’s an early stage antibiotic.” She answers, not even looking at the inanimate being, trying her best to focus on the physician’s carriage seeing him read a book. The ride went silently from then on but her eyes still lingered on Omar. 

Quickly, the vehicle came to a halt. “That was fast.” You remark.

The Dame wastes no time in getting down, almost tripping while doing so. Omar only waits till you stand up and dashes into the hospital.

While the both walk, the Dame sees countless patients bedridden. She knows leprosy is not a disease that transfers quickly in physical contact but is still very grateful for the mask.

The two nobles quickly reach a well-ventilated room that has plenty of sunlight. It almost looked like an apothecary, without the herb cabinets. There, she notices slices of bread, all molded up, neatly arranged.

“This is what you meant right?” He points. “I shall fill your forms stating your medical trials using this. Come let’s—”

“Stop.” You affirm boldly. “It doesn’t make sense.” Omar frowns.

“It makes perfect sense”, now hurry–”

“You were so repulsed working with a commoner not some time ago, but now you’re so eager?” He freezes.

The Dame crosses her arms. “You know. You know this is how ancient Egyptians treated infected cuts and scrapes. In fact, every royal physician knows about this treatment, but don’t dare to use it.” She takes a step forward while he takes one back.

“You…You’re using me as a human shield.”

“What?” He pretends to be confused. “Your ideas are preposterous.”

“You’re scared. No, everyone’s scared they will be punished if they try this. After all, His majesty is not your true master.” He gulps.

“If the method works, which it partially will, you’ll kill me. And if it doesn’t, you’ll frame me for treason. After all, nobody cares if the king’s suffering ends, they just want to profit from it.” You take one of the slices of bread and stare.

“The physicians get to keep their job, and the Muslims get to keep this land.” The last part comes out laced with anger.

“You and every other physician, are spies sent by Salahuddin.” You calmly state.

“Don’t you dare utter his name—”

“Why do you care?” The Dame clenches her hand, scrunching the slice. “You’re an atheist anyway. I don’t think a man such as you will respect a head of a religion if you don’t believe in God in the first place.”

 He sighs, frowning. “How did you know?” 

“No Muslim would willingly enter Christian land if they don’t even have a proper place to pray. I don’t know about the other physicians but you certainly don’t seem bothered about it at all.”

This didn’t occur in your original timeline. Your presence has completely changed everything. Even with your limited knowledge in history, you knew this isn’t how Baldwin dies.

“My nation is currently trying this very method to cure leprosy. Although, I can openly admit about this while you can’t.” You sit on the marble table. “Quite funny, this geopolitics. Saying my nation's name might avoid persecution and give you an escape from this lifestyle.” He catches your idea quickly.

“Spare my life. Take the credit. Use my nation's name to cure him, I’ll even provide you with proper evidence it is, in fact, from my nation.”

“How are you so sure it’ll work?”

“It will because it has before.” She stated him dead in the eyes. “Go on, no need to conduct trial runs. Test it on his Majesty using your own name. It won’t cure him completely but will decrease its spreading. However if you even think about harming his majesty I shall strip you of everything you have.” You lean in closer. “You have a son and a daughter waiting for you at home. Think about it.”

As you storm off the hospital, screen pops up ‘How did you know all of that?’

“I bribed his servants.”

‘Really? That simple?’

“...And gossip with the maids of my manor…and the castle.”

“I can’t believe he actually told my name. That too moments before he quit.” You sit on your bed, shocked from it all.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t expect him to. Your name can’t be ignored if your country is mentioned y’know?’

“I know but still whatifigetputinadungeorsoemthing. ”

‘What?’

“Whatifigetputina—-”

“NothankyouscreenI'mfine.”

“Girl you okay? If you want to calm your nerves I can access Ao3 or something but please don’t read anything other than fluff this time.” It recalls the war flashbacks from a few days ago.

‘Clearly NOT. I’m not good with this emotional stuff. Call Margaret or someone.’ It pops away. Heeding to its advice, she rings the bell in her room and Margeret arrives.

“Yes my lady?” The girl arrives graciously, awaiting orders.

“HelpmeMargeretIdon’tknowwhattodo.”

“Ah.” she realises. “There’s no need to be nervous my lady, this is not the first time you’re meeting the king so I don’t understand the need for the nervousness.”

True. But the last time you were dragged by crusaders immediately to the castle. Now you were given time to think, spiking your anxiety.

“Still…” You pout.

She giggles. “My lady, you're acting more childish than me.”

“What would you do if you were to meet the king?” You reason, hugging the pillow

“Oh I’d faint on sight.” She accepts the truth. “What kind of man is he?”

“I only met him once.” You look dead-panned.

“More than me. Tell me, how was he to you?”

Memories flowed like a  calm river in your brain. The moment passed fast. The only two constants you could remember were his blue eyes and your weirdly fluttering heartbeat. 

“He was kind. Even though he was sick, he was level headed.” The dame chuckles.

“I remember when I was sick when I was eight.” The ginger replies.  I don’t remember much but It was deadly. According to my brother, I was the crankiest during then.”

“It takes true strength to be kind during the toughest times…” You trail off your voice. Margaret notices your quelled down anxiety, but lack of uncertainty. 

“Would you like to have your favorite dish as dinner?” She suggests and you nod. “I’ll inform the chef and prepare your dress for tomorrow.” 

As she leaves the room, you call her once more. “Yes M’lady?”

“Thank you…for the words.”

The girl’s smile radiates the whole room. “Your welcome, M'lady.”

Surprisingly, the carriage ride didn’t cause you car sickness. “Gerald”. You call him.

“Yes?” It was the same guard who escorted you before, carrying out the same duties as before

“How is his majesty?” You question.

“Quite alright now. His health has drastically improved due to your help. Although I must say I was perplexed when I found out the method of treatment.”

You chuckle. “It is unusual, but the results show.”

“I was informed you shall be meeting his majesty at a lounging area and not in his bedroom like last time. You need not be nervous. It'll be the same as the previous encounter, just surrounded by his physicians, that's all.”

“...Thank you Gerald.” Was it really that obvious?

A nice conversation lasted inside the carriage. Both talked about the mundane aspects of their life - like the comedy her servants perform while he related it to his work life. This small period of bliss lasted for a short span. It didn’t take long for the both to reach the castle.

The guard got down first to help the lady, and she graciously accepted. The pathway was almost the same as the last time you entered the castle but with two extra rights. Briefly, both stood next to a luxurious door. You waited anxiously as another set of guards opened them and didn’t waste a second to enter.

The inside looked like a living room. And king Baldwin sat at the centre, next to his physicians.

“Your majesty.” The noble curtsies.

“My lady.” The king allows her to relax. “I cannot thank you enough. You and your efforts have tremendously helped me and my nation.” He takes a breath through his metal mask. “Tell me, do you wish for anything? Do not feel shy, speak your heart.”

“Thank you. I have a wish.” You look down. “This wish isn’t particularly for me but will help all. ”

“Go on.” He leans a bit closer to you.

Alright, here it goes. “Please dismiss your personal physicians…forever.”

All eyes turned towards you. It felt as if you were stabbed by a thousand swords all over your body. The Dame needed to give the king an explanation for her actions but her fear paralysed her entire body. 

‘Oh God. This is the end. I knew I shouldn’t have done that. NOW I'M GONNA DIE.’ Her thoughts are interrupted. 

“It seems it's no longer a secret.” He sighs. “If a foreigner knows, everyone in the nation knows.” He calls. “Guards, seize everyone in the room other than the lady.”

Someone yells .“Your Majesty! We are representatives of Malik Salahuddin! If you harm us, he will not stand idly by.”

“That's enough. I’ve bared your presence for too long and gave Salahuddin too much comfort.” Baldwin stared directly in your eyes. “Thank you for bringing me back to my senses, physically and mentally.”

“You knew???” You screeched.

“I am not stupid enough to have none of my own countrymen as physicians.” He turned and watched all the men being dragged away. “They informed me. I thought keeping his spies by my side would make my enemy feel as if he had control, but I failed to notice the grasp was tight enough to stop my recovery.” 

“But even my actual physicians didn’t have a clue about the method you used for me.” He looks at you again with the corner of his eyes peeking through the mask. 

“According to the public, I have no physicians as of the moment.” Baldwin gets up. ‘Lady Y/n L/n, I hereby give you the task of finding new physicians for me. You may use all of my resources. But until then…’ He comes closer.

“You are responsible for treating me.” He smiles under his mask.

[kenyatta]

Over a decade ago, back when Kevin, Molly, and I started EA1, I used to give a talk at entertainment and media conferences that explained the new world of online fandoms to producers, marketers, and executives.

It had a bit of science, a lot of fan work, and bunch of storytelling to explain the social psychology and peer-oriented technologies that enabled people to connect to each another around the things that they loved.

The crowd was really into it -- especially the bits about what fans were doing on the site called Tumblr "without an 'e'".

But then I'd almost always lose them with the last slide. Here's my v/o from my presenter notes:

…But in the same way that you can organize and motivate peer-based fandoms around Love, you can just as easily create networks of hate. In fact, I think we’re going to see new forms of hatred, fascism, and genocide that many in this room have never seen before. They will be peer-to-peer which means there will be no center to attack or defend. They will align themselves not based on common orders but a shared bond of identity. And they will express themselves in ways that menace but hide behind veils of irony or irreverence. Back when I worked on memes, I realized that they weren’t just funny cat pictures. They were proxies for understanding how ideas flowed through networks. I’m working in marketing now because I see fandoms the same way. They give us a glimpse at how we might organize ourselves when we become mostly digital and lose our geography.  My hope is to prepare fans for that possible future, by giving them the expectation of agency in the things that they love, teaching them ways of organizing and expressing themselves through digital tools, and presenting the possibility that the skills that they build through their fandom might help empower them to shape the world to come. This thing you all do that looks like marketing could be a trojan horse. A sermon in a sugar pill that prepares people for the world to come.

I don't know if this was the way other 'official' tumblrs operated but this was always the point behind the gif tutorials, premiere watch parties, and 30 day memes on Orphan Black and Doctor Who (and maybe a bit for Killing Eve). If we taught you Photoshop, you knew how to make a flyer or a protest sign. If you got a guide on how to host a watch party, you could host a meetup. And if you had to work with others to do a 30 day meme, you knew what it meant to cooperate and check in on one another towards a common goal. 

These were designs for participation. The goal was never for anyone to recognize why we were doing it (it looks like 'marketing' to me) but to give people a model and some mechanics for taking action in the world.

This was in 2013. By 2015, I stopped getting invited to do this talk. One person who saw it really got it and, b/c she was well connected, she invited me to give the talk to some folks in leadership at a national political campaign. Their response at the end was "thanks, but we've got this". (They didn’t have it.)

It can feel like there is a lot to do to respond to the right now (which is part of the point, btw), but you can also do things -- quiet things, strategic things, driven by values -- that help lay bricks for a foundation.