#Moderate Livelihood

[femboy-c-cups]

being on here as a trans sex worker and seeing the smug jokes and brand loyalty over the past two years with regards to twitters decline has been infuriating because despite the fact that it's an algorithmic nightmare owned by a right wing transphobe driving into the ground, it is by a fucking mile, a better place to be a trans woman online. My trans femme friends can't post pictures and videos properly marked as adult, all within the terms of allowed adult content without getting their blogs blurred. My trans femme friends can't post sfw pictures and videos of themselves without it being marked as fucking sexual!!! This is a website that allows nudity and adult content while systematically erasing trans women as "inappropriate content"

To this day if i see someone with the double blueticks i lowkey think you're a cunt. Tumblr destroyed our livelihoods in 2018, they drove sex workers from their site. Now those of us who have been forced back here have to navigate their completely archiac policies of adult content, unfairly moderated by a team that either holds active malice for us, or just doesn't fucking care.

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 queerest place on the internet!!!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[venusandlotus]

Pick a pile

How will your in laws treat you?

Orders

1 —> 2

3—> 4

Dont forget to leave a like and reblog it if u liked my reading .

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Pile 1

The hanged man , page of pentacles , 5 of wands , 10 of swords .

So for this group I felt that some of you might have disputes inside this families , your in laws wont share your personal mistakes or any failures outside this family , its like they try to keep up a decent image of yours no matter what happens inside this family and they wont let anybody know how they feel towards you . Its like if anybody asks them about u they will be like “oh shes doing well ..oh she is having a good time , nothing to worry about” but inside the family there might be some things which doesnt matches maybe it can be religion , ideas , way of livelihood , anything it can be but there might be somthing they wont like fully . So lets u get married to their son / daughter they might go along with their kid’s choices like welcoming u at home nicely / traditionally but i cant sense any heartfelt connection with them and you or any soul tribe connection . Its like even if u werent their first choice they will go along just for their kid’s sake , its not like they will treat you bad or beat you its simply like they will just be ok with you , but there’s likely to be some energy mis match happening there. Maybe both parties (u and them ) may be good to eachother but too much closeness or soul tribe thing cant be sensed here.

Pile 2

The star card , four of swords , ace of cups , nine of pentacles , eight of wands

So for this pile I sense that you bring them some kind of relief here… maybe u are the one who earns in the family or maybe u could be smone who brought their son / daughter a lot of happiness and they might even like you for that , the star card can play out as any scenario but you are likely to be smone who brings them hope , happiness, relief ( some kind of ) to them and its likely that they will be warm towards you and considerate towards you and its likely that u guys may even connect really well . You might he someone whom they are likely to approve of thats all i picked up here. You can also be smone who brought their son / daughter out of depression or smthing , or maybe smone who acts as light to their son / daughter’s life

Pile 3

5 of swords , knight of cups , queen of wands , six of pentacles

So for here i m picking up some heavy emotions , so for this pile i picked up three scenarios here but three of them has heavy emotions to it .So first of all it can be like there will be some kind nostalgia feeling to u , like they can care for you and treat u better than you own parents and second scenario might be that they might treat you little rough that u might even compare them with your own parents and they might be authorative or strict towards you and another scenario is that it might be hard to win them at first but as time passes u guys might get along . Theres sm kind of comparison happening here so it can play out in any way here i think lot of people will take this pile .

Pile 4

Three of swords , 5 of cups , ace of wands , the star card.

For this pile its like you guys arent that close with your in laws but when you guys meet there will be some kind of respect towards eachother , more like one of those relative u meet only once or twice in a year but the energy between you guys is moderate and neutral even if you guys live together in a house you are likely to carry on with ur own life and they will be carrying on with their own lives but when u need them or when they need u you guys will get along well there isnt any quarrel or dispute energy here its giving the energy of people who will be busy in their own worlds but when u guys need eachother u guys do it without hesitation.

[gennygosling]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭. sierra six.

warnings: age gap, always between consenting adults 18+. somnophilia induced noncon. creep six <333 need him so bad

𝐰𝐜: 𝟏𝐤

stealth. six was the ultimate professional in that. it’s his livelihood, his freedom. it’s what he was hired to do.

that’s what he tells himself as he silently sifts through your belongings. meters away from your sleeping body. he was hired to be stealthy, to protect and manage. eliminating any dangers possibly lurking in your things is a completely sound course of action.

although the possibility of finding a weapon, a camera, anything planted without him noticing, was unlikely.

he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, really. some kind of insight to quench his ache. a reason to be put off by you, proof that you’re too young for him.

there’s little out in the open; few pictures, few tchotchkes, sketches, records, whatever. nothing that satiates him. he moves to the drawers, slowly opening each and sorting through them without a trace, ignoring the creeping feeling of knowing what he would soon find.

the top left drawer faces him, last to search, surely enclosing what he’s dreading with hope. and he can’t resist. he slides it open with an immaculately careful restlessness, and his face pales, and then heats, at what he’s met with.

lace, sheer, leather, mesh, satin. teddies, two-pieces, bikinis, thongs. six releases a quiet, controlled exhale as he feels himself hardening and growing. there’s much more than he could’ve imagined.

he takes a minute to reflect and ponder, one foot still stuck on the line that the other has passed. unfortunately, he feels that his quest for relief has only made him sicker. he can’t walk away now. he can’t sleep this off. he can’t face you tomorrow without obscenely vulgar visions of your body plaguing his mind. and he can’t walk around all day with his dick strained against his slacks.

but he’s got options. well… one option. one repugnant, deviant, thrilling, option. he leaves the line in his rear view and lets his hand fall into the sea of erotica.

six shuffles through the lingerie of all colors and fabrics, searching for the perfect implement to take his load. his free hand dips to cup himself, and he nearly groans when he finds his bulge stiff as a board. it’s all risky, but it’s addictively tantalizing- he won’t back down now.

he finds his favorite, still partially buried under the rest, but when he tugs it, out flies something even better.

“fuck,” he whispers forcefully, carrying the revelation to the chair in the corner of your room, his eyes never leaving it, hand on his cock squeezing to relieve the ache.

a wallet-sized portrait.

you.

nude.

he’s not sure how long he stares, engrossed in the imagery; your skin, your breasts, your cunt, clandestinely revealed to him. the sky has turned twilight, and he hasn’t noticed. all he’s noticed is the crippling grasp you have on him, and his now leaking cock.

there’s also an unrecognized twinge, jealousy, tugging at him. he wonders, who took it? but mostly, he’s enthralled.

he sets the image on the arm of the chair, eyes remaining locked on it as he works his dick free. he can hear his blood pumping in the silent room, feels it concentrating and throbbing at the head of his cock as he starts to pump.

it’s a fight to keep himself quiet, as he’s still moderately aware he needs to be, but the reason has escaped him. all he knows is he’s finally getting some form of gratification, finally witnessing the body he’d spent months yearning for. his mind flickers with images of you under him, begging, moaning, squirming for him, gripping and caressing you, making you take every inch and ounce and forcing the both of you over the edge.

six grunts at the thought, the wave of yes, finally, washing over him as he eagerly strokes himself, now completely lost his sense of noiselessness-

until he hears you rustle.

he’s stuck with his dick in his hands, literally, nearly caught, and he’s afraid to move and fully wake you. it all comes crashing down in that moment, exactly how destructive things could get if you wake up and it all goes wrong. that’s the thing about being sierra- it’s always a life or death situation. and he crossed the line.

he watches you, like a deer in headlights, anxious, unsure of what his next move should be. but he can’t even think.

he sees how your body arches, contracts and relaxes, how your lips part as you sigh, and the sound of it. all real, close enough to touch and feel.

just as quickly as it’s dawned on him, it escapes him again; suddenly he can’t fathom why the fuck he’s stuck with his dick in his hands.

he makes his way to you, shedding his clothes as he approaches. you’re still fast asleep, and rather than wake you and halt his dream just before the best part, he carefully pulls the comforter down.

your body is highlighted by the sapphire hue that fills the room, bare nudity taking six by surprise, and he shudders.

he traces his hand over your frame, so gently that you barely stir. he can barely breathe as he nears your sensitive folds. a single, calloused finger slides between and inside, and he bites back a moan to hear yours instead.

you’re dreaming, feeling six fondling you, stroking your walls, reaching a pleasurable, unfamiliar depth inside you.

you don’t recognize the reality; six had always been calm and collected, seemingly uninterested. and the dream is one you’ve had before, waiting for your return at the end of every night, after six has escorted you to bed. but this is more than a dream, and it doesn’t click until you gasp yourself awake.

six is above you, bare and erect, and you nearly faint at the sight alone. you’ve seen him shirtless, by the pool, dressing a wound, but never this close, never hovering above you. your hand reaches for his statuesque torso, down his massive chest and over his abs, and your body flutters.

“good morning, sunshine.”

your eyes lock as he lifts your leg around his waist. he’s got that quintessential blank stare, but this time you’re seeing right into it. he’s wanted you, this whole time, and stupidly, never managed to act on it.

his cock knocks at your entrance, spreads your slickness and prepares you for him. he’s thick, and he’ll be a challenge, but one you’ve waited much too long to back down from.

[mariacallous]

AI projects like OpenAI’s ChatGPT get part of their savvy from some of the lowest-paid workers in the tech industry—contractors often in poor countries paid small sums to correct chatbots and label images. On Wednesday, 97 African workers who do AI training work or online content moderation for companies like Meta and OpenAI published an open letter to President Biden, demanding that US tech companies stop “systemically abusing and exploiting African workers.”

Most of the letter’s signatories are from Kenya, a hub for tech outsourcing, whose president, William Ruto, is visiting the US this week. The workers allege that the practices of companies like Meta, OpenAI, and data provider Scale AI “amount to modern day slavery.” The companies did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

A typical workday for African tech contractors, the letter says, involves “watching murder and beheadings, child abuse and rape, pornography and bestiality, often for more than 8 hours a day.” Pay is often less than $2 per hour, it says, and workers frequently end up with post-traumatic stress disorder, a well-documented issue among content moderators around the world.

The letter’s signatories say their work includes reviewing content on platforms like Facebook, TikTok, and Instagram, as well as labeling images and training chatbot responses for companies like OpenAI that are developing generative-AI technology. The workers are affiliated with the African Content Moderators Union, the first content moderators union on the continent, and a group founded by laid-off workers who previously trained AI technology for companies such as Scale AI, which sells datasets and data-labeling services to clients including OpenAI, Meta, and the US military. The letter was published on the site of the UK-based activist group Foxglove, which promotes tech-worker unions and equitable tech.

In March, the letter and news reports say, Scale AI abruptly banned people based in Kenya, Nigeria, and Pakistan from working on Remotasks, Scale AI’s platform for contract work. The letter says that these workers were cut off without notice and are “owed significant sums of unpaid wages.”

“When Remotasks shut down, it took our livelihoods out of our hands, the food out of our kitchens,” says Joan Kinyua, a member of the group of former Remotasks workers, in a statement to WIRED. “But Scale AI, the big company that ran the platform, gets away with it, because it’s based in San Francisco.”

Though the Biden administration has frequently described its approach to labor policy as “worker-centered.” The African workers’ letter argues that this has not extended to them, saying “we are treated as disposable.”

“You have the power to stop our exploitation by US companies, clean up this work and give us dignity and fair working conditions,” the letter says. “You can make sure there are good jobs for Kenyans too, not just Americans."

Tech contractors in Kenya have filed lawsuits in recent years alleging that tech-outsourcing companies and their US clients such as Meta have treated workers illegally. Wednesday’s letter demands that Biden make sure that US tech companies engage with overseas tech workers, comply with local laws, and stop union-busting practices. It also suggests that tech companies “be held accountable in the US courts for their unlawful operations aboard, in particular for their human rights and labor violations.”

The letter comes just over a year after 150 workers formed the African Content Moderators Union. Meta promptly laid off all of its nearly 300 Kenya-based content moderators, workers say, effectively busting the fledgling union. The company is currently facing three lawsuits from more than 180 Kenyan workers, demanding more humane working conditions, freedom to organize, and payment of unpaid wages.

“Everyone wants to see more jobs in Kenya,” Kauna Malgwi, a member of the African Content Moderators Union steering committee, says. “But not at any cost. All we are asking for is dignified, fairly paid work that is safe and secure.”

[sivavakkiyar]

Sakai is coming up a lot more recently on here so I’d like to bring up a passage from his interview ‘when race burns class’:

A number of years ago, i was trying to help a group of young Chinese-American activists on an anti-racist campaign. This was an interesting case of how a pure "race" issue only fronted for class politics. Now, these folks were "paper Maoists" in every worst way you could think of – and all my friends know that i'm someone who has warm feelings for the old Chairman. Not only did they have what Mao once called "invincible ignorance", but were also arrogantly full of Han nationalism. They did have physical courage, at least. Their project was to protest the sports racism in the famous industrial town of Pekin, Illinois – which was originally named in the 19th century after Beijing, and whose high school sports teams were colorfully named "the Chinks"! (capitalism, what an ever-amazing civilization – what next? "Auschwitz! The Perfume!" ).

Every week a few carloads of young Asian protesters would arrive in Pekin to picket the high school and city hall, hold television news conferences, and keep the issue simmering in the news. You see, the small flaw in the campaign was that all the protesters had to be imported from New York and Chicago. There were only eight Chinese families in town, and all were refusing to have anything to do with the anti-"Chinks" campaign (not wanting to lose their livelihoods, homes, and be driven out of town by the controversy).

By accident, not in any political way, i had casually met two vaguely liberal young white guys there. One was a teacher in that very high school. The second was a UAW (United Auto Workers union) shop steward at the nearby giant Caterpillar tractor assembly plant, which was Pekin's main industry. So i thought maybe they could be persuaded to get some local people to take a moderate wishy-washy public stand, anything just to give the Chinese families some local community cover if they wanted to speak out (there was zero local support of any kind, including all the unions and churches of course).

When i suggested it to this Maoist group, there was a moment's startled stony silence. Then the leader barked, "We do not work with white people!" Discussion over. So, is this a good example of that error of "racial issues taking precedence over class issues"? i know some radicals might think that, but they'd just be getting faked out.

First off, to those activists running it, "race" was not what was central to their thinking. After all, if those Asian American dudes had really been into either "race" or anti-racism they might have started by organizing and working with the local Asian families. They might have tried to help find some survival strategy for these families, who couldn't just drive off into the sunset after each press conference (being an isolated Asian family in a heavy white racist scene is no joke, obviously). This is just a normal problem in anti-racist work, which folks had to deal with all the time in small towns in 1960s Mississippi, for instance.

It also wasn't true that those Chinese-American leftists "didn't work with white people". They did that all the time, when they wanted, and these Han nationalists even argued for the "revolutionary" nature of the white working class . What i came to realize was in that situation they didn't want any broad community support for the Chinese families there, or to let others into "their" issue. Because they had a really different agenda. Which was to get sole public credit for this and other anti-racist issues, so that their little Maoist "party" could vault into political dominance over the Chinese-American communities. Later, when they thought it necessary, they even used physical violence and death threats to drive other Asian groups away. They intended to be the people in ethnic power, in effect like replacing the tongs . These "paper Maoists" had a pure class agenda, all right, only it was a bourgeois agenda. Although they themselves might have honestly believed what they did was "revolutionary", they had anti -working class politics hidden by "anti racism" and left people of color talk.

And this Maoist group really did get their Andy Warhol-like "15 minutes of fame", becoming large in part because the more dishonest and destructive their "anti-racist" maneuvers became, the more support they got from white middle-class liberals and "progressives" (coincidentally?). i mean, from many white social-democrats, those white anti-repression "experts", academic leftists, etc. Those types that subject us to those endless droning lectures about "the working class" (which they aren't in and don't get, of course). As a sage comrade of mine always says, "Like is drawn to like" even if their outward appearance is very different.

This is a more difficult, easy to slip and fall on, even dangerous way of seeing things than radicals here are used to.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

No. It's not Cancel Culture.

I've seen a lot of people recently saying that the right is embracing cancel alter. Which is actually kind of funny to me because that's never what cancel culture meant.

Long story short cancel culture as a topic or rather, as a phrase was basically invented for one very specific purpose. Cancel culture was invented to a culture of taking stuff from people's past, digging it up by going through various different social media websites blogs or other things, and then posting it online in a very public forum and then demanding others share that to that person's workplace.

"Are you in your 40s - 70s now? Well did you ever do blackface once upon a time when it was not seen as an absolutely atrocious thing to do? Well guess what we are going to do everything in our power to get you fired from your job. Ruin your life. Make sure that you can never make income ever again. And we're also going to try to get your family removed from their livelihoods as well."

"Are you a race car driver? Did your dad say the n-word once before? Did he do it before you were ever born? Well we're going to remove your sponsors and make sure that it is harder for you to have a life because the sins of the father are the sins of the son".

"Do you have an opinion on LGBT things that we don't like? Are you one of those gay people from the past who think that it should have been called a gay partnership rather than gay marriage? Well we are going to make sure that your life going forward as an absolute living hell and that you are not considered part of the LGBT community despite the fact that you were probably there fighting for the rights to be considered normal before any of us were ever born."

Those things generally speaking are what we refer to as cancel culture. Digging things up from 3 to 5 years ago or longer and then bringing them to people you know are absolutely willing (and often incited) to call businesses and jobs and other things and get that person removed from polite society as an entirety.

However, cancel culture is not posting something publicly to a social media site as a way to inform (yes there's a difference. The moderates don't incite. You all do) With no calls to action. Just saying "hey these people exist", and yes there people taking it on themselves to tell businesses that their employees advocate for violence. Because fun fact about speech. I am for freedom of speech under the laws of the Constitution. However calls to action are not free speech. Truth is, a lot of the people who have been fired should have actually been arrested. Because it's not a joke when you tell someone to try it again or to do it again or saying "next time" knowing the implication.

Because if that same exact thing had happened with Joe Biden and you had a bunch of Fringe lunatics on the right saying "next time don't miss", they would be in solitary confinement for the rest of their lives because the justice system leans heavily in favor of democrat power. So, the right is finally learning their lesson. Which is that if a person doesn't support your rights to speak you don't defend theirs. And I know that there are going to be people who don't agree with that. They are going to say that that's not moral or not principled. But you know why I don't care? Because I'm not on the right. And because I actually support free speech. But here's the problem.

If you willingly defend the rights of people who would take your rights away at a heartbeat that's not being called principled that's called being a moron. Because if you were to save someone knowing they would willingly kill you in the same given situation you're not winning any victories. You're not doing yourself any favors. Have some semblance of self-preservation.

Because I can promise you, there is no point in having morals or principles at all if they are only going to be utilized as a weapon against you. Am I saying that you should forsake your morals or forsake your principles? No. I'm saying that if there are other people who value living in polite society the same as you and they would defend you if you were in need then you can defend them when they are in need. You can still have morals and principles. I'm not saying don't.

But stop letting it be a weapon against you. Because when you let it be a weapon against you, all you do is tie yourself down to be beaten. Your morals and principles will mean nothing if you're in a gulag or you're dead. So, forgive me if I am not apologetic towards the people who asked for an act of extreme violence to happen again. Because what was it that the leftist used to call it? Not "cancel culture" but "consequence culture". If a business does not want to keep you employed with them because you publicly express violent rhetoric, that's their right.

Because what was it that Destiny said whenever people got banned when they said learn to code? "It's a private company they can do what they want". Well guess what Destiny. Kick banned you and they can do what they want. Twitter demonetized you and they can do what they want. If you can't stand up for other people's rights whenever you have power you do not deserve to have people who actually value those rights stand up for you when you're not in power anymore.

[bringthekaos]

Do you ever think about MH Viktor coming home late at night, after bargaining his life away with Renata for another dose of shimmer, after working all day trying to salvage a city that treats him like a boogeyman, after sinking knees deep into toxic waste in his efforts to fix another broken machine thats polluting the livelihoods of zaunites and fighting some chembaron thugs in the process, and he comes back home dirty, tired and in pain, and hears the radio news bragging about the new record earnings the hexgates made, and the council preparing a new banquet to celebrate, and Golden Boy will be there, of course, to get another flaming award, oh and haven't you heard? The latest gossip is that him and Medarda are together now

And Viktor just looks at the mirror, and he is so very fucking sad, and heartbroken. A few years ago he was touching the stars and now what's left of all that?

But he is not going to allow himself to feel sadness, so instead, it turns into anger, and lets the anger burn any other feeling he might have until even the ashes are scorching hot.

You have no idea just how much I think about this… especially with the already established League Viktor lore. Like, to my knowledge we only have concrete proof that Viktor moderates his fear.

(Exhibit A)

We don’t actually know if he suppresses the others. House on Emberflit suggests that it’s a chemical injection which somehow eliminates fear. So either there are different chemicals for different emotions, or he hasn’t bothered with the others yet. Which… says a lot about what Viktor feels on a daily basis. Sure, without fear, a lot of problems are solved. But like… Viktor went into a deep depression after his exile, and if my assumption is correct, that was never addressed. Time and separation may have doused it a little, but… he probably still struggles with it every single day. Some worse than others, when fights with Jayce or Piltover in general open up old wounds. And you’re absolutely right, I think for Viktor, all things eventually morph into anger, which only festers. His grief turns to rage at the injustice of all of those lives he lost, his aborted love for Jayce his old life in Piltover turns to retaliation for those that ruined it. Anger is a safe place, for him. It doesn’t hurt like all the others, and depending on the effort he puts in, it always yields results. Resolution. Closure.

And I think his volatility in battle really depends on how long the rage has been festering. Sometimes he’s much more reasonable than others, and I think that stems from the chemical imbalance that would certainly arise from meddling with his emotions. I’d like to think that Jayce starts to figure this out, with time, and can start to piece together what is truly at the root of Viktor’s moods. He’s always known Viktor better than anyone, and it’s harder now, but… he learns. And he hopes that maybe one day he can break through all that armor and reach his old friend.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Update to the fishery dispute between Sipekne’katik First Nations and the federal governments.

[play-now-my-lord]

for the sake of anyone who hasn't been following twitter insider news and depends on twitter for a livelihood - no judgment here on that, it's a stupid thing to follow closely - it's worth knowing that musk fired a huge swath of support and moderation staff because they're not coders (he's that stupid) and accounts have been getting hacked as a matter of routine and just never brought back. keeping anything you value there has moved on from "bad business decision" to "playing russian roulette with identity thieves"

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 17

Give someone a brand new look

Okay, I've had the idea for this one for quite a while!! Thank you Kloktober for giving me the excuse to write it.

With that said, please enjoy Toki giving Skwisgaar a brutal makeover~

“Ams you dones yet?” Skwisgaar asked, starting to get tired.

“No ways.” He heard Toki say. “Ams just getting startsteds.”

“Toke, ‘aves been heres for hoursk or twenties minutes.” Skwisgaar lowered his shoulders. “What ams you even doings?”

“Just shut ups and lets me works!” Toki told him off, though judging from the tone of his voice, he wasn’t angry.

Resigned, Skwisgaar reclined his back against the chair and kept strumming his guitar aimlessly. He was pretty sure he had been here all morning already, or at least it felt like it.

He was minding his business at the breakfast table when Toki ran up to him, telling him he needed him for something. Not quite believing the urgency Toki claimed there was, Skwisgaar followed him nevertheless, moderately curious.

When they reached Toki’s room, Toki had finally confessed he wanted to give him ‘a brutals make overs’ but he couldn’t say it in front of the rest because they would get jealous and would want one too. 

Skwisgaar had raised his eyebrow. “Amsnt makeovers for peoples to look bettors? I don’t needs one.” He frowned, preemptively offended by whatever Toki was trying to imply. “Your musk stash howevers-”

“But it ams goings to be totallies brutal!” Toki insisted, closing the distance between them with one step. “Please?” He stared at Skwisgaar with sad puppy eyes, way too close for comfort. “It wills be funs, Skwisgaar!”

Skwisgaar really hated when Toki looked at him like that, like his entire livelihood depended on this particular whim of his. “Eugh…” Fortunately for Toki, when it came matters unrelated to music, Skwisgaar was very easy to convince. “Fines.” He said, hoping he wouldn’t regret this.

…And here he was, not even allowed to open his eyes because Toki insisted on it being a surprise. Not like he could see himself with a mirror anyway, but Toki was being really stubborn about it. On the bright side, it was helping Skwisgaar practice his playing with eyes closed. He never knew when being able to play Dethklok’s entire discography with his eyes closed would come in hand. 

“Aw!” He whined when Toki pulled on his hair violently and without warning. 

Instead of apologizing, Toki scolded him instead. “Oh, you big babies!” Just as abruptly, he tugged a handful of hair from the lower part of Skwisgaar’s head

“What on Odin’s name ams you doingks?!” Skwisgaar frowned, almost opening his eyes out of annoyance.

“Ams givings you a brans new hairstyles!” Toki said, like the question was fucking stupid. “No mores of dat borings middle parteds hairs. You ams going to be a new Skwisgaar’s from now on!”

“I don’t wants to be a news-” His sentence was cut short by another pull. “Aw!” He moaned in pain. “Toki!”

“Why don’ts you tries takings a nap?” Toki sounded exasperated by now.

“Why don’ts you tries being nicers to my goldens mane?” Skwisgaar shot back. Toki didn’t reply, though he was more careful from his movements afterwards. Grumbling, Skwisgaar settled against the chair and started counting guitars. He was past a billions krillions when one of the guitars grew gigantic and swallowed him whole.

“Skwisgaar…” Something tapped his cheek and he slowly blinked his way out of dozing off.

“Eugh?” He managed, with a hoarse voice.

Toki was smiling at him. “Ams done.” He said and gave him a hand mirror. 

Quite disoriented still, Skwisgaar looked at himself in it and almost didn’t recognize the person staring back. 

His hair was tied into messy space buns, though one was visibly higher than the other and his part was made into a crooked zigzag. His lips were teal, a smudge on the corner of his mouth, shining with silver highlights. His eyelids, on the other hand, were hot pink and sort of uneven. Glittery purple blush adorned his cheeks and when Skwisgaar turned his head, he spotted holographic star stickers on the sides of his face. 

“Eugh…” Was the only thing he managed to say.

“You ams a space metal princes now!” Toki explained proudly and shoved his bear plush into Skwisgaar’s free hand. “And Deaddy Bears ams your princess whats you gots to save by killing aliens with the powers of metal!” He smiled at him. “You likes it?”

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked like a lady. “Toki, dis ams…”

“Yes?” Toki nodded with expectation.

Skwisgaar grimaced, hoping his expression would be telling enough. “You knows…”

Clearly, Toki did not know because he kept waiting for him to say something. Skwisgaar noticed his fingers were stained with purple and teal, hands sparkly from the glitter. Next to him, the bed was full of make-up of a wide variety of colors: lipstick, eyeshadow, powder, mascara, lip gloss, stickers, etc. And also, a lot of drawings of the space guy he was supposed to be. Something about it tugged at his heartstrings, despite his better judgement. 

He sighed. “It ams pretties cool, I guess.”

Toki beamed at him, almost insufferably so. “Ams going to takes a picktures.” He said, grabbing the polaroid on his bed. “Says cheese!”

“Wait, Tok-”

The camera made a clicking sound and the photography came out of it soon after. A delighted Toki showed him the picture. “Amsnt it cools?” He asked.

Somehow, Toki had caught him in the split-second right before his expression twisted into concern and he tried futilely to reach for the camera. Instead, it almost seemed like a glamour shot of Skwisgaar’s new look. 

He raised his eyebrows with surprise. “Hey, dat amsnt so bads.”

Toki let out a chuckle, eyes glued to the photo. “Rights?”

Smiling fondly at him, Skwisgaar momentarily forgot what they were talking about. “Ja, it looks good.”

[aichabouchareb]

Hello,

I am Heba, 23 years old, and Adam is my youngest brother, we are a family of 10 individuals, including parents and children, one of them is married and has a daughter. The fundraiser is my aunt who lives in Belgium.

In the early days of the war, most family members were injured as we tried to escape the intense bombing that hit our area, which resulted in the destruction of our home and car.

The picture here shows the date and that people were appealing for us

Translation: "Urgent Appeal

The Maqadma family's house has been bombed, and currently, the family is stranded in Bodrum. There are injuries among them.

Their address is Al-Tawam, an extension of Al-Nasr Street, before Astro Supermarket. There is a laboratory for analysis at the head of a side street, a street near Al-Tawam Pharmacy.

Their contact number

00972595690008

Help us spread it"

Thankfully, the injuries were minor to moderate, except for my father who suffers from significant damage to his hand and still needs an urgent procedure that can’t be done in Gaza.

My niece, Sara, who is a year and three months old, was injured in the head and hand.

My youngest brother, Adam, who suffers from cerebral palsy (we face difficulty in obtaining his chronic medications in Gaza), sustained minor injuries.

We were transferred to Al-Shifa Hospital and stayed there for a month before evacuating to Khan Yunis and later to Rafah in search of a safe place.

Our family is in pursuit of stability, striving to rebuild a new life amidst the ruins. The destruction has also impacted our family's means of livelihood, which gave us no other choice but to evacuate from Gaza. Your assistance is sincerely appreciated as we want to stay save and save our lives.

Why do we need this money and how will it be used:

Passing Rafah Border: 5000 for each person to pass Rafah border, which we will pay them for Ya Hala company: 10x5000= 50000

My father's treatment: My father needs around 5000 for surgeries, treatment, and physical therapy, he needs neurological surgery and cosmetic surgery, which will be made in Egypt.

Adam's treatment: 5000 Adam needs physical therapy because his condition got worsen due to lack of therapy during war, a new wheelchair, and doctor appointments.

If you have any questions you can DM on:

Instagram: hebaingaza

Whatsapp: +970595690007

You can find my detailed story here https://docs.google.com/document/d/10d9tlgIDVIqv2wyLP6gL7qj1PyLBIN-x2duDKAA8Ez0/edit?usp=sharing

Thank you for your time,

Heba

[serenelia]

𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉

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Content includes: SFW, pair of Kokomi and reader (who is named as "the scholar" in this fanfic), use of non binary pronouns, lengthy thought process, they are indeed, full of thoughts, no vibes.

Scroll away if you do not entertain fanfics of Kokomi, slow burn, and a multi-chapter series. previous part

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The scholar had long arrived at the designated area for their departure, standing on the coarse wood plank the residents call “the docks," which they couldn’t help but feel pity and disgust for. They are quite sure a mere jump would smash it to pieces; unfortunately, they are unable to test the theory, no matter how funny it is to them, due to the soldier taking post behind them and watching them like a hawk. It was no surprise at all; going out this late at night by ship would be deemed suspicious for someone not even listed as a formal guest.

            They squinted their eyes on the numbered nails supporting what’s functional left, counting at most 2-4 nails per plank, which would mean it has an average amount of nails of 20–40. A moderate amount for an average dock, they suppose, if they also count the ones either washed ashore or loosened enough to barely keep the pieces of wood together. The closer they examine the island, the more depressing the depiction of life here becomes. To be fair, perhaps they have raised their standards of livelihood on the island to the same level of beauty it holds; they have no right to judge it, but that will not stop them.

A subtle tap on the board for the purpose of entertainment emits a loud creak that makes them stiffen; they are sure the soldier turned to that, though the thought never bothered them as they raised a brow at the durability the dock has. It’s only a few times they abandon their uniform; coming back home drenched would disturb them the whole way.

            And so, they take a cautious step back, only to be stopped by a muffled explosion heard at the sea far away. They snap their head in the direction of the sound, horrified to find something engulfed in flames. When had that gotten there? And how did they never notice it? The soldier, who seemed to have noticed the dilemma sooner than them, rushed to the docks they were standing at until he reached the edge, hand held to his brows as he zoned in on the flames spouting out the explosion. The rash movement, however, made the dock shake even more, and the scholar was not willing to endanger their comfort by looking out for some unknown catastrophe as they rushed back to the steady beach.

            Once on stable ground, they take the liberty, and stood near the edge of it, and look out to the horizon, finding nothing but a small dot of orange. Despite little evidence, the scholar instantly concludes it’s a ship that possibly carried a cargo of explosives. It’s unlikely for something to suddenly erupt without any prior signings, afloat on the sea, so near the territory of Watatsumi. Or could it be volcanic activity? They had little curiosity about the geography of the island, so they are unable to provide an answer for themselves. Now that they think about it, how is it able to support itself in all these years and is yet to show any evidence of sinkage?

            A pair of thunderous footsteps drifted them out of their own thoughts, followed by whispers of urgency and the creaking of wood. The scholar glances at the soldier from before, who walks with rushed steps out of the beach, clutching tightly at the spear he wields in hand. They have no intention in meddling with the island’s affairs, so they didn’t bother asking; he’s most likely about to report the incident. Once out of sight, they then became aware of the absence of security, and they went to pick up their luggage lying on the sand to place at their feet, assuming the worst-case scenario of treasure hoarders attempting to steal what’s left of their money.

After hiring some eremites to become their only trip back home, because trying to communicate with a local is far too uncomfortable, they deemed themselves lucky for even encountering fellow Sumeru people at such a time. They had little doubt about the words the group uttered in confidence; the price was at first a questionably large amount, but they didn’t ponder on it any further, for they had spotted something of interest in that moment.

            At this moment, doubt tainted the memories upon looking back at the proper skills and requirements in order to get permission for handling a boat in a strict place such as Ritou, considering the importance of safety in order to maintain the reputation of the place. Even their own documents had taken a while in the process of validating their information. How they were going to achieve such is a wonder the scholar decides to ignore.

Which brings their attention back to the matter at hand: the trip back home they were eagerly waiting for is surely taking a while to arrive; the time for departure had long expired by now; did they simply take the money and had abandoned them there? It wasn’t entirely a new thing for the eremites, but something tells them a sense of loyalty to the money given is enough to persuade the likes of them.

            There is also the unexpected matter of the explosion in the middle of the night, any longer they have to wait, the deadline of their painstaking research paper would be pointing a knife at their throat. Little persuasion is enough to convince them to deal with the matters of the island themselves, starting with the state of their agriculture first and foremost.

            …oh.

Oh dear.

The scholar’s face fell. Surely not? There has been rumors of Fatui sightings around the island for quite a while now, even before their arrival. An attack foreseen by the army? It would raise little questions even so long after the difficult situation with the main land, the details weren’t clear- or they just didn’t bother to read it- but the idea of the Fatui meddling once again wasn’t too far off.

For what reason? The scholar’s teeth sunk into their nails, shivering as the coldness of the night demanded their attention. Resources? No, it… little of importance could be found in the island’s exclusive items. Land… no. It’s not that… compared to other factors.

Factors, factors, factors, factors… Mora?

            They have no mora left. Or what’s left of it couldn’t even possibly pay for a ride home.  

Maybe it really was just a random underwater volcano deciding to awaken from its slumber, but… no. What were they thinking? That couldn’t possibly be it.

It could… it could…

An unprecedented smack on the shoulder jolted the scholar: “Excuse me, Mx, a peculiar situation has arisen, and we’d deeply appreciate it if you had followed us to a place more suitable to guarantee your safety.”

They turn to find a pair of twitching fluffy ears coated in muddy brown and white streaks. It was a rather strange sight, one they haven’t seen since making an appearance on the island. Looking closely at the stranger’s features, which are more canine than humanoid, their thoughts halted. His choice of clothing belonging to that of a soldier, judging by the pieces of armor stuck around his body, a strict code of color distributed evenly among it.

“…Sorry?”

He removed his hand from their shoulder and remained at a respectable distance. “We’re going to have to ask you to follow us to a more safe location as the explosion you may have heard earlier is still under investigation. Please be assured that we will be dealing with it accordingly and will ensure your safety.”

At the response of a nod from the scholar, the respectable and boisterous voice of the man ordered the calling of another fellow soldier, whom they cared not to heed. He instructed him to escort them to Bourou Village and have them be withdrawn to the place where they previously stayed at, though they doubt he had any prior knowledge of their existence until now.

Before, the scholar did not wish to entangle themselves with the island any longer, but desperation for answers and validation in some form forces the words out of their mouth, “Uhm…”—they intake a sharp gasp— “I…I think the ship may have belonged to… I mean, the ship came here for me.”

Silence overtook the beach.

“I see, well, while that does explain some things, would you care to elaborate, please?” the fluffy eared soldier halts. “My apologies, I seemed to forgotten to introduce myself- I am General Gorou of the Watatsumi Island resistance, I received a report from my soldier, about the explosion at the ocean just now and went to investigate the scene, and we’d deeply appreciate it if you cooperated with us. Would you tell us more about what had happened?”

An esteem clamorous individual such as he, they judge, is rather fitting for the position, one of the few things they are able to compliment the island on, they are somehow disappointed they didn’t reach the conclusion themselves sooner.

“Certainly,” they said, fortunately regaining their composure. “If my assumptions are correct, then the ship that exploded moments before could have been the eremites I hired in Ritou.” at the mild confusion on his face, they add, “Eremites are mercenaries from the dessert of Sumeru, I saw them in the harbor and recruited their services.”

Gorou nods slowly. “Then may I know what is their business in Watatsumi’s borders?”

“The reason why I hired them is because I needed a way of transportation back to Sumeru City, we had agreed to meet here in your island to escort me back, but they may have failed to do so.”

“I see… I will be- “

Another soldier calls out his name abruptly, interjecting in their conversation as he nears them both. Whispering in a low voice to Gorou’s ear at the sight of the stranger, to which the movement of his mouth spoke in a quiet language the scholar quickly translated.

The pair of furry ears belonging to the collected General twitches, the slight crease of his eyebrows softens. He dismisses the reporting soldier. “I have just received news that it is indeed the uh, the eremites you spoke of in the ship that exploded. If you would please follow us, we’ll lead you to your companions and you can answer our remaining questions there.”

The scholar’s previous resistance to voice out their arrogance in having correctly predicted the words reported is quick to fade into a disapproving frown. “No, no, that is unnecessary. There’s really no need. Whatever questions you may have, I will be happy to answer it here.”

“Are you sure? they had just arrived and is in the care of Her Excellency, you don’t have to hesitate.”

The unfortunately familiar faces of the money boggling eremites’ flashes in their mind and they were quick to shake their head.

“I am quite sure of it, please.” they had almost pleaded.

A look of perplexion on Gorou’s face brings a heavy sigh to the scholar’s mind. They’d have thought a respectable soldier as him would have understood a fraction of what they buried underneath their demeanor.

They intake a breath.

“Very well,” said he, bringing the scholar to a stop, “I will respect your decision and ask you the questions here instead. Please answer only with the truth so we are able to help resolve the issue efficiently.”

The scholar could almost smile, “I will.”

            The questions, much to their relief, cleared suspicions relating to them being related to the reason for the explosion ever occurring. It was rather tedious; the clear suspicion in his voice was enough to tire them out. It would waste less of their time if he were to ask them directly in an accusatory tone if they were a murderer. The hushed whispers, along with the cowering gazes of the soldiers surrounding the area, were a constant thorn in their side, even at the slightest movement they made an effort to make. They kept a careful eye on the grip held on the spears at hand, which always appear to be facing their way whenever they come facing the direction of the wielder. It terrified them little; the protection promised by the trusty general was, they feel, something they can bet their furrowed brow on. As strict as Gorou is in keeping the island safe and in providing hospitality to the visitors, his service to them, no matter how short-lived, is deemed to be praise-worthy.

            Judging the island in some aspects, their choice for soldiers felt much like a decision made in times of desperation, which they deem themselves to have the right to in concern for their own safety and past experiences. Most of them lack the stiffness and sense of duty one would expect from a soldier. Upon walking past them as the scholar retreats back to their previous home, they all share one key item that their eyes are intensely focused on. A book, a thick one at that, holding the title of ‘Directives’. Now, a satisfied curiosity would have them begin to think back on the root of their careless attitude more deeply than they should invest in, but with how they are always met with a grumpy glare by any soldier they approach, it’s better to leave it unsatisfied to keep their image of a frail scholar for now.

            Taking it by force would only brew more problems for them, more than they could handle in their current situation. They would rather solve it using logic and sense rather than their old and regrettably familiar ways. It’s easier; it always is. But they have long strayed from that path to think otherwise.

            Something creeps up from behind them, and the scholar is swift to turn their head to the approaching hand, only to be relived at the sight of the granny who took them under her roof.

            The lady smiles so much it hides her eyes that they faintly see, “Oh, what are you doing here, child? shouldn’t you be on your way back home already?”

            The scholar faces her. “I should be, yes, but the current situation I’m afraid, is rather complicated.”

            “Oh dear, what happened?!”

            “The ship I was supposed to take back home suddenly exploded.”

            Her mouth flew open. “How terrible! terrible indeed! how will you go back home then? ah- I’m sure you must be tired after that ordeal, come, come!” she places a hand on their arm and started to push them. “Let’s just talk about it inside, you’ll get nothing worked out in an empty stomach!” she laughs, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

            Once forced inside her home, a sight the scholar wished they didn’t have to see this evening, a bundle of plates filled with smoking hot food, from soup to the snacks they saw hidden from the view of visiting children welcomed them, they felt as if they had just come home and is bombarded by an enthusiastic grandma.

            The thought brought a small smile on their face as they were explaining the situation to the granny, who was in the process of setting up their delivered belongings by the soldiers back to where they were previously placed. By the time she was done, it looks like the scholar had never left at all.

            “I see… so that’s what happened,” the granny mutters upon siting down at the chair across.

            The scholar wordlessly nods, drinking the third refill of their tea in the past hour offered by her that they complimented once.

            “What will you be doing then? it doesn’t look like you can afford another way home any time soon. If I remember correctly, the eremites had robbed you of half of what you were worth, right?”

            They set down the half-drunk cup, giving a glimpse of the remaining liquid inside to the raised tea strainer, they nod once again.

            “Preposterous of them! how could a group be so uncaring for others? did their parents never teach them manners? you’re from the same region and they still treated you as if you weren’t! do they have no sense of friendship?” the granny exclaims in an exasperated manner before they could even utter a letter.

            It was the first time she had acted so out of conduct; it brought a mix of emotion to the scholar’s thoughts. “friendship”? such is foreign to the children of the dessert, they can imagine the concept is hard to consume for someone who is exposed to merry activities from birth, is it worth to bother her with the explanation?

            They were silent for a moment longer, “Well, it’s hard to guess what they’re thinking most of the time, but they hardly matter now that they’re out of the picture. I’m just worried on what to do to get back to the Akademiya.”

            The granny’s discomposure falters, puckering up her face. “Ah, yes! that will be troublesome for sure. Hm, perhaps you could send a letter of request to bring you back?”

            The idea is not entirely implausible; the research, even if out of their control, is still an activity proposed by the Akademiya, and some liability would be held in some way. Yet it is only in action if they were endangered or harmed in an irreversible way that they can manipulate that law to their wish; perhaps they should try and puncture their lungs so they can answer for the damage done to their sanity?

            In any case, a letter would be difficult to obtain; more so, for it to travel to the main land and be sent to the Sage, it would cost mora, the very thing they have scarcely of. Even if they were to successfully dispatch the envelope, a half-baked appearance is guaranteed to be ignored and thrown away by the staff, maybe even just thrown away by the other students to sabotage their reputation. They weren’t exactly friendly with them; few words are exchanged between group projects, none of which is for the sake of conversation. This apparently is hard for them to digest, for a moment of silence is comparable to a rotting decade, and the harmless wish of isolation is a lonely death. They understand not of their logic; even with their logic-oriented mind, it’s a much waste of their time to participate in meaningless use of air.

            The scholar blinks, shaking their head and redirect their attention to the concerned smile of the granny, “That’s… not doable, I’m afraid.”

            She makes a sound of disappointment. “Is that so? how unfortunate. And while I know you must be itching in your boots to get your brain working already, you must be tired, no? why don’t you call it a day for now, and get to thinking tomorrow?” the granny wearily stands up from her seat, her frail hands raising the tea pitcher from before and places it on the kitchen counter beside her.

            “A lot has happened for one night, even for an old lady like me, you youngsters need to spend your time wisely!” she bends over to pick up their now cold tea, setting it beside the pitcher after a nod of confirmation from the scholar.

            A glance to the ragged window of the home, the soft light of the moon eagerly greets them, to which they drift their eyes away. The darkness of the night rarely served as a reminder for their slumber, nor are they inclined to follow. They rise from their seat and approach her.

            “Let me do the dishes instead, it’s the least I can do for you.”

            Their offered hand is swatted away. “No, no, that will not do. You are my guest! don’t bother with the small details, dear child, go to sleep,” the granny insisted, turning the tap on before soaking the cups in water, her gaze fixated on the task at hand.

            The scholar frowns, but knew better than to argue with the elderly and walks away.

            At the following rise of the sun, a more poised and diligent mind greets them at their wake, and the appetizing aroma of freshly prepared rice that the wind carried to the neighboring houses through an open window—it’s what the scholar was afraid of the most—and after a quick rush to gather a handful of onigiris, they find themselves by the outskirts of the village, triumphantly steering clear from the crowd growing at the granny’s doorstep. The scholar can understand their love for the food, if only they could understand their love for serenity as well.

            The antagonizing flutter of breeze brushes past the fuming onigiri they hold in hand, greatly urging them to devour their meal upon taking a walk upwards to the piece of land above the village. The heavy stares of the soldiers are replaced by a drowsy glance at their presence, confirming the scholar’s suspicion of their innocence being justified. A thank you to the general is at hand. It brings them to wonder at the thought of the current state of the eremites after the ordeal, assuming the matter is fully resolved, and as they worry not, the procedure done by the people in power have done piques their curiosity.

            There is also an item of interest they recall at the sight of another soldier muttering a list of orders with the directive book in hand; is it perhaps some sort of rule book their knowledge missed out on? Watatsumi proves to be more of a peculiar piece of land the more they entertain their investigation towards it. If a book of rules is in need to maintain order, the process of maintaining it is the problem. Unless it is highly detailed to provide a solution for every problem, it will only cause more for their high independence on an item than their own judgement, which is required to be fabricated from the training to gain their current position. They praise the use of a book, despite its questionable use, for promoting literacy. Though, why would it need to be advised in such a way? Lack of manpower? Lack of efficiency in training? Lack of morals?

            A whole lot of problems weigh the island down constantly. Looking back at the war between the resistance and the shogunate’s army, they had never imagined an aching one would be in the resistance with their outstanding odds of prowess against the army. Food, weapons, morale, strategy—perhaps the luck lies in the strategies made?

            The familiar view of the poorly maintained farm comes into view as they swallow the last of their onigiri; the scholar’s gaze gravitates towards it, and an idea appears in their head.

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don't take the title seriously, i honestly was too lazy thinking of something genius, it describes the chapter in a way anyway. Hope you enjoyed reading it. Any form of support keeps me motivated, so don't be shy in spamming if you wish.

[flimflamfandom]

CALVIN HC's!

A while ago in my prompt request, @echo-pinch suggested I do some Calvin HCs. Now, I tend to write in a pretty significant AU, which I desperately need to do a new writeup of (that may come soon). So I'll keep these pretty general and very brief!

LET'S DIVE IN!

Calvin is handy: For whatever reason, Calvin was gifted with an innate ability to do easy to moderate household repairs. Sure, he's not BUILDING a house or something, but the man knows his way around a DIY project. Calvin redoes the trim boards in his apartment, he installs a new laundry machine, he even fixes the radio from time to time - it just never seems to work right! Calvin is fit to fix just about anything.

Calvin is regularly approached by the Marigold: Simply put, it's more advantageous to convert someone to your own side than to just kill them. Calvin has a...we'll say a "Reputation" as a very dangerous, bloodthirsty killer who can and will destroy entire livelihoods while laughing. The marigold doesn't know anything about the emotional weight behind that so they just know they want a man like that for the job! He turns them down because he knows they'd make him target Ivy..speaking of...

Calvin envies Ivy's college experience: In my rather dense AU there's a good reason Cal doesn't go to college, but in the comic it's more implied he doesn't go because of his potential as a policeman. He hears regularly about what Ivy is doing, and he HATES that he's not in on it. Calvin regularly just hears her complain about a class where they read a bunch of books. Where the FUCK does he sign up!? Granted...

Calvin's bad at math: Outside of household repairs, Calvin's mathematical knowledge is...bad, at best. He was never great with numbers. he has no clue WHY that is, it just kinda...is. Poor Ivy has to explain to him what she considers basic concepts. And she's incredibly skilled in the field, so her 'basic fundamentals' include stuff like ring theory.

Calvin really loves Ivy.

No, seriously! The comic leaves this up to a bit of chance, and as far as I know, Tracy J. Butler has mentioned in passing that it may not be THAT serious. But I HC that Calvin is head over heels for her, and just has...NO idea what to do about it. He TRIES to do the right thing - the movie things - the swooning, the deep stares, the longing glances, all that stuff. He's not great at it, but Ivy puts up with it anyhow.

Calvin is not himself when he goes berserk:

When this happens, Calvin loses himself. He's in there, sure, but he's not in any way under control of himself. Whatever it is inside him that does this, he sees as a demon - some sort of horrible thing that must be put out. He knows that soon, it will go wrong, and he'll hurt the ones he loves...but he has no clue what to do about it until then. He's horrified of what it will do, and he neurotically washes his hands after touching guns.

ON A LIGHTER NOTE:

Calvin used to have trouble saying his L's: Not too significant I just think it's cute. He also used to have a lateral S.

THAT'S ALL FOR NOW!

[radicalnotions]

TIMELINE — Present; July 2, 2024.

LOCATION — Greensburg, Kansas.

SYNOPSIS — Nell and Steve close in on their first destination after a two-hour flight from Chicago, nearly twice as long spent untangling a logistical hiccup at the airport to secure a rental vehicle, and the hundred-mile drive to their lodgings. Their day, comprised of frustrations, is made further trying by another visitor to the small town.

The long stretch of highway that laid ahead was as plain and monotonous as the miles that had passed behind them. The flat vistas of beige were a familiar scene to Nell, who had spent most of her childhood looking out windows at similar scenes, straining her eyes to pinpoint the exact terminus of the wheat fields that covered her home state of Kansas. No matter how hard she'd tried, she could never quite place where they ended, their ending points as dubious as that of a proverbial pot of gold.

Nell sat in the passenger seat, laptop balanced on her knees, and squinted out at the passing field of cattle. Next to her, Steve was drumming against the steering wheel to the tune of the soft rock playing lowly on the rental car's radio. The views on the drive were far easier to stomach than the images coming out of nearby towns recently hit by storm cells forming as part of what the news media had dubbed the "2024 Super Outbreak": a sequence of tornadoes primarily ravaging Kansas and Oklahoma. She had cycled through a few of the pictures coming through from photographers on the ground — some of which had run as part of her evening report the night before — before closing the folder in favor of checking her e-mail for what felt like the thirtieth time since she'd tossed Steve the keys to the midnight blue RAV4 and staked a claim to navigate.

The pictures had struck something deep inside her chest. There were images, both still and video, among those submitted to the station that didn't make it to broadcast, could never in good conscience make it to any level of broadcast news. A small town street completely obliterated by the careless dance of a twister, the limbs of a resident peeking through the debris as first responders work to recover what will be found to be remains. Bloodied survivors, shellshocked in the aftermath of the storm. Neighbors collapsed in grief over the loss of their livelihoods, screaming in grief and anger.

It was all too fucking familiar.

Nell reached for her lipstick-stained cup in the center console and drained the contents, willing the cold coffee to wash away the taste of acid on her tongue, but also for the moderate amount of caffeine to keep her alert enough to get to their motel and to check in with her producer ahead of the evening's live report. She had spent most of the previous night staring at the rising sun through the blinds, scarcely reacting to the wake-up call that wasn't hers. If she was lucky, there would be just enough time to sneak in a short nap before she and Steve would have to hit the road again and drive the short distance out to Minneola.

"U-uhh, Eleanor?" Steve stammered, nodding upward to the rearview mirror. "Are you seeing this?"

Steve was, by all accounts, a steady hand when it came to operating a camera. But in all other aspects of his life, Nell knew of him to be a fairly nervous man. He was a creature of habit, a man who enjoyed routine; deviation from the expected left him, as those in the newsroom described, "shaking like a Chihuahua."

This particular deviation was not as simple as Dunkin being sold out of his usual chocolate glazed donuts. As if on cue, timed with the end of the right lane, Route 400 westbound into Greensburg narrowing into a single lane, a vintage green Ford Bronco came racing up behind them. The driver's impatience did not resolve with the distance closed — if anything, it grew.

Nell's stomach lurched, the cold coffee and airplane pretzels incompatible with the shock that crackled through her nervous system as she glanced over at the side mirror and confirmed what she already knew to be true: Arlo Sullivan, her estranged husband, was tailgating them.

"Maybe pick it up a little," Nell offered, gently clearing her throat in an effort to conceal the edge in her voice as she adjusted her posture. Steve had been sitting on the speed limit for the duration of the drive, sometimes dipping below the limit. She appreciated his efforts to be safe, though they were on a deadline. "But don't let him bully you into speeding. I don't think the double-yellows break until we get into town so this asshole's gonna have to finally learn the virtue of patience."

@flamekeepcr

[mariacallous]

Over the last 10 months, the world’s attention has been focused on Israel and the Gaza Strip. The war that began on Oct. 7, 2023, with Hamas’s attack on Israel has been cataclysmic. But the conflict has overshadowed another crisis enveloping the region: intense heat and water scarcity.

In mid-July, the heat index in Dubai was 144 degrees Fahrenheit. In late June, the Grand Mosque in Mecca, Saudi Arabia, registered a temperature of 125 degrees. This heat coincided with Hajj season. When it was over, more than 1,300 people had lost their lives. And in Egypt, temperatures have rarely fallen below 100 degrees since May.

It was actually hotter in the Gulf region last summer, topping out at an eye-popping real feel of 158 degrees in the coastal areas of Iran and the United Arab Emirates. That reading and the unrelenting heat this season exceeded the “wet-bulb temperature” at which humans, if exposed for six hours, can no longer cool themselves off, leading to heat-related illnesses and death.

The World Bank estimates that by 2050, water scarcity will result in GDP reductions of up to 14 percent in the region. In 2021, a UNICEF report stated that Egypt could run out of water by 2025, with the Nile River coming under particular stress. Water stress in countries such as Egypt is exacerbated by the upriver flow of the Nile being restricted because of the construction of the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam. Syria and Turkey have been at odds over many years because the Turks have built dams along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, cutting the flow south. And among the many issue that divide Israelis and Palestinians is water and who has the right to tap into the Mountain Aquifer of the West Bank.

In addition to the extreme heat’s significant threat to life and livelihood in the Middle East and North Africa, a hotter region has the potential to destabilize politics well beyond its borders.

Before going further, it is important to underscore that this is not a column about “climate conflict.” About a decade ago, there was a spate of articles on this issue, highlighting the Syrian Civil War as an example of what the future would look like as the globe warmed. Even though this idea captured the imagination of a variety of notables including then-Prince Charles, U.S. Sen. Bernie Sanders, and others, the claim about Syria in particular was based on incomplete data, faulty interpretation of that data, over-generalization, and, as a result, erroneous conclusions.

As the October 2021 National Intelligence Estimate on climate change dryly noted, the U.S. intelligence community had “low to moderate confidence in how physical climate impacts will affect US national security interests and the nature of geopolitical conflict, given the complex dimensions of human and state decisionmaking.” Basically, the spies are saying it is hard to make a causal connection between climate and conflict because there are so many variables that contribute to conflict.

A clearer and more pressing problem is how people adapt to rising temperatures and water scarcity. They migrate to places with lower temperatures and more water. According to the World Bank, as many as 19 million people—approximately 9 percent of the local population—will become displaced in North Africa by 2050 because of the climate crisis. And for people in the region, the destination of choice is Europe.

A number of caveats are in order: First, the bank is extrapolating. It is possible that there may be political, economic, or technological changes that limit the number of migrants. Second, not every person on the move will be migrating because of the changing climate. And finally, some of those displaced people will remain somewhere in the region given the resources necessary to make it across the Mediterranean. (That presents its own set of problems, however. Internally displaced people, who generally settle in urban areas, will put pressure on the budgets and infrastructure of places whose resources and capacity to absorb migrants are limited.)

All this said, in the abstract migration is positive for countries in the European Union, which have aging populations and need workers to pay into generous social safety nets. Yet the claim that migration provides benefits to society remains unconvincing to a significant number of Europeans who oppose large (or perceptively large) numbers of newcomers into their countries.

France’s National Front party, which long flirted with fascism and a coy version of Holocaust denial and rebranded itself as the National Rally in 2018 in an effort to shed this ugly legacy, has become a major force in French politics in large part due to its opposition to immigration, especially from Islamic countries. Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orban, the avatar of European illiberalism, built his authoritarian system on fears of the threat that migrants pose to Hungarian society.

Brexit, which British voters approved in 2016, was about a lot of things, but immigration propelled the United Kingdom’s imprudent decision to leave the European Union. More recently, the proximate cause of the recent riots in England was the allegation that an immigrant was responsible for the murder of three young girls at a dance class in the seaside town of Southport. Despite the allegation being demonstrably false, the ensuing street violence suggests that simmering resentment toward migrants within a segment of the marginalized English working class stoked by, and combined with, right-wing populism is dangerous and potentially destabilizing.

Then there is Germany, where in 2015 hundreds of thousands of Syrians sought refuge from the violence enveloping their country. Then-German Chancellor Angela Merkel made the decision to grant Syrians entry. It was a decision that many Germans embraced, but it also produced a backlash that has helped drive the emergence of the Alternative for Deutschland (AfD) party. The AfD is different from other right-wing populist parties in Europe given its provenance. Although it began as a party based on Euro-skepticism, it has moved steadily toward embracing fascism, downplaying the atrocities of the Third Reich, spreading Islamophobia, and inveighing against foreigners in general. Of course, there is a whole host of reasons for the rise of the AfD and other fascist, illiberal, right-wing populist parties in Europe. But scholars agree that migration is the through line in this phenomenon.

The Unites States has a compelling interest in a Europe that is stable, whole, free, and prosperous. The emergence and success of xenophobic, fascist, or fascist-adjacent parties that make common cause with the enemies of Western liberalism are a threat to that core U.S. interest. That’s why Washington needs to help head off mass migration to Europe. There is not a lot that the United States can do about conflicts—such as the one in Sudan—that drive migration, but U.S. policymakers can help when it comes to the climate crisis, which will contribute to the increasing numbers of people seeking refuge in Europe.

This requires not increasing financial assistance or green infrastructure projects but something both more cost-effective and influential: creative diplomacy. High heat makes the problem of water scarcity worse, which is why people migrate. Using its own experience and technical expertise from managing resources in the increasingly hot western United States, the U.S government can play a useful role in helping countries in the Middle East do a better job managing what water they have.

The conflicts that span the region make assistance harder, given the fact that water sources often cross boundaries. But that is a challenge that can be overcome. Not only are there technical solutions to the problem of water scarcity, but there are also political incentives to come to agreement even across conflict zones.

Leaders across the region may disdain their citizens, but they have a political interest in satisfying at least their people’s minimum demands, including access to water. Even with all the nationalist huffing and puffing of their governments, Egyptian President Abdel Fattah al-Sisi and Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed have a strong interest in sharing the waters of the Nile. Without such an agreement, the political and economic problems of both countries will deepen, threatening both leaders.

Of all things, the maritime border agreement between Israel and Lebanon can be a template of sorts for the way U.S. officials approach the problem of water sharing in the region. There was a range of critics of the agreement in the United States, Israel, and Lebanon, but the actual substance is less important than the way U.S. diplomats brought it about. They separated Israeli concerns about Lebanon and Lebanese concerns about Israel and focused instead on the upside for each country. Once that became clear—the exploitation of gas deposits off the Israeli and Lebanese coasts—it was hard for the two countries that nonetheless remain in a state of war to not agree to a boundary. Despite 10 months of conflict between Israel and Hezbollah, the agreement has not been breached. That is important and suggests a way forward for negotiations over water.

It is tempting to want to place efforts to deal with water scarcity in some broader climate agenda for the Middle East. That is exactly what U.S. officials should not do. Washington should focus on issues where it has a realistic chance of making a difference. There is little the United States can do about the intense heat, and mitigation of greenhouse gases is not a pressing problem in the region because it does not actually emit that much greenhouse gas. Water, however, is critically important, and it is an area where the United States has expertise to bring to bear.

Indeed, helping strike agreements to manage water scarcity in the Middle East is a low-cost way the United States can mitigate the perversions of European politics and help shape the global order to come.

[thatssosussex]

As part of New York Climate Week, Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex participated in an exclusive event hosted by African Parks that showcased the transformative work the organization is undertaking across the continent, emphasizing their innovative “conservation at scale” initiatives.

As a passionate advocate for environmental conservation, The Duke joined a distinguished panel moderated by Katie Couric, which included notable figures such as Hindou Omarou Ibrahim, Rob Walton, and African Parks CEO Peter Fearnhead. Together, they engaged in a substantive discussion that illuminated the organization’s ambitious goals and measurable successes in combating climate change, protecting vital ecosystems, and enhancing local livelihoods.

The Duke shared a personal and powerful account of his involvement in the historic 2016 translocation of elephants in Malawi. This experience profoundly shaped his understanding of conservation and its extensive impact. He expressed how this pivotal moment further fueled his commitment to the continent as well as his passion for Africa’s rich biodiversity and cultural heritage.

The Duke connected African Parks’ mission to his broader philanthropic vision, highlighting how their strategic approach aligns with his goals for sustainable change. He emphasized the importance of collaboration and investment in conservation efforts, noting that protecting Africa’s natural resources is essential for both the environment and the livelihoods of local communities.

The event served not only as a celebration of African Parks’ impactful work across 22 protected areas in 12 countries but also as a rallying call to join this vital mission. The Duke’s participation underscored the urgency of the conservation challenges facing the continent and the need for collective action. (9/23/24)