#but within an acceptable margin of error

[rawliverandcigarettes]

I think. I have an idea to push The Empire of Preys out relatively fast and make it more fun and more bearable for me.

[doberbutts]

The rise of acceptable anti-blackness is everywhere, and leftists have insidious way of positioning black bodies and black communities as regressive, monsterous, and in need of guidance. I'm finding it works the exact same way as the neo-nazi pipeline. They ask "genuine questions," that ultimately serve to gather an audience, shift through the ramble for supporters, and fan the flames of fascism. All their questions already have a (bigoted) answer. It's a recruitment strategy:

"Why are black southerners homophobic, but vote Democrat?"

"Why is rap music so sexist?"

"Shouldn't black people know better than to be sexist/transphobic/homophobic?"

These are actual questions I've seen. I'm stumped at what to do about it.

It comes, unfortunately, with being a hypervisible marginalization.

Black people are not allowed to just be. We are required to do so much more than just exist in order to get basic respect and acknowledgement as fellow human beings.

My new manager (a black man) and I were just joking about this- he was complaining that my clinic which is now majority white due to some serious workplace drama (previously was majority Puerto Rican) had some very drying soaps and chemicals we clean with but an ancient mostly empty bottle of hand lotion and how he'd have to fix that. I made a joke about being ashy and we had a giggle about making sure to moisturize the hands, knees, ankles, and elbows especially in a customer-facing job where you are expected to look presentable, clean, professional, well-groomed, always wearing crisp and freshly laundered clothes, and of course your best customer service smile and polite language.

And it's not to say that that isn't true of everyone who works there- but I do find it interesting that one of the white women who work there can show up with frizzy hair and be fighting with the humidity all day and be fine, but I have been Spoken To in this profession for my hair looking "sloppy" and "dirty" while wearing it in a natural style, freshly done up and with products in it. Not at this specific job, but within this career.

Our margin for error is much narrower than others- and our ability to be seen as individuals instead of as a hive mind is even less. Every single person asked me about the Kendrick Superbowl thing- I don't watch football and I don't listen to Kendrick as a general rule (if I'm listening to rap 99% of the time I'm listening to black women and not men because often I like their sound and lyrics better) so it took me several days to even watch the thing. But every white person out there made sure to ask me how I felt about it.

I'm always willing to discuss the Problems in the black community in an open and honest light, but I find I'm less willing to discuss them if I don't feel like the question is coming from a place of wanting to understand and more like the question is coming from a place of ignorance and/or racism. I talk about these things with my white friends sometimes- my white friends who have never given me weird vibes about race and who often are of marginalized experience themselves (and sometimes highly visible marginalized experience such as my Jewish friends and my trans fem friends!) - but a random ask I am less inclined as I do not think that person is actually wanting to understand the answer to such a short question with such a nuanced and complicated reason.

[tanadrin]

I feel like a conspiracy theorist, but I'm convinced the GOP cheated by disenfranchising enough voters to win. Not just in swing states. The margins in every state are weird. A few thousand votes here and there across every county. The huge number of split ticket votes. The sudden loss of 12 million democratic voters despite record early voting turnout and voter registration?

It doesn't add up. It doesn't make sense.

So many people who had confirmation of their ballot being received and accepted are now finding out that they were unregistered or there was a "problem" with it.

They were saying for months that they didn't need anyone's vote. The betting market manipulation. The billionaire backers. Elon Musk's grubby hands all over the election.

They did steal the election. And we'll probably never find out how.

in the broad sense, yes, american elections should be fairer, and the franchise should be more universal. in the narrow sense--this is cope. purges of voter rolls happen in public. there's litigation on them all the time. a purge of 12 million voters from voter roles would not have gone unnoticed. to account for all these factors you would need an improbably large conspiracy. (stealing elections in the united states would be hard. each state administers its own elections! you'd have to steal 50 elections. and once again, this would be a case of someone rigging the presidential election and forgetting to rig any of the downballot races, which would be stupid.) including a conspiracy to rig most polling, given the outcome was within the margin of error of most polling averages for this election.

i get why it's the preferable scenario--people aren't dumb! my opponents are just evil! there's some optimism in that--but "i personally do not understand how this outcome could have occurred" does not mean it was a conspiracy.

So many people who had confirmation of their ballot being received and accepted are now finding out that they were unregistered or there was a "problem" with it.

this is normal and you typically have several days after the election to amend your ballot if there was a problem with it. if you do, it still counts. fun word problem time: if ~150 million people vote in an election, and 0.001% post on twitter about how they needed to amend their ballot (especially in non-swing states), how many twitter posts in a row do you have to see to convince yourself there is a ~conspiracy~ afoot?

fun second word problem: out of seven swing states, how many were governed by the opposing party or someone who had publicly opposed donald trump's election subversion attempts in 2020?

fun third word problem: do you know how elections in your state work? do you know which state official is in charge of administering them, and their party affiliation? do you know what the margins of downballot races like house and senate in your state were this election, and their relative swing from 2020? in short, do you know in detail how elections in the US work and what "typical" voting patterns look like, or are you just going off of vibes from a vaguely paranoid local bubble in social media?

[stygiansauce]

This is a post full of Margin of Error lore points coming up in future chapters, Three of them are true, the rest are not. Good luck gamers.

Ranchers have a smut scene before they kiss

Ranchers don't kiss until chapter 9

the Ranchers kiss in chapter 6

Etho choses Jimmy over Tango, and Tango accepts this as the universe telling him he shouldnt have friends.

Jimmy has a massive secret that he never tells Tango

Etho and Tango get french fries and talk about big brown eyes (tm)

Joel POV in Margin of Error

Grian tells Jimmy to use protection

The Ranchers only hold hands in chapter 4

Gem is planning a surprise party for Jimmy's birthday

Scar is loaded, like soooo much money

Grian hits Tango

Tango hits Joel

Scar has leverage over Jimmy and uses it within the story

Ranchers break up at some point

Zedaph tells Tango that Jimmy isn't a good fit for him

Jevin is only mentioned in chapter 4 and doesnt come back again

Pearl doesn't have a physical apperance until after chapter 10

MOE ends with a proposal scene

MOE ends with Tango going back to Texas and not coming back.

MOE has a total of three large fights

Scar is a better parent than Grian is, and says so

Jimmy says he loves Tango first

Tango tells Jimmy they should wait, and go slow

Tango introduces Etho and Zedaph

Jimmy lies to his friends about his birthday

Tango knows Jimmy's birthday is sensitive, so he doesn't get him a gift

Ranchers share a new years kiss

Tango asks Etho for advice and is told to give up

Scott encourages Jimmy to go for Tango, Martyn tells JImmy not to go for Tango.

Only time will tell you whats true and what isnt <3

[nebulamorada]

Please sit with me and listen to me talk about a Marshall Mathers x reader where they deal with an unexpected pregnancy

You had never really connected with motherhood, with any of the ideas and positions that surround the word, of course, you respected women who chose that for their lives, you were in favor of childhoods being cared for and protected, firmly believing that the first step to that is not having a child who could not be given the stability deserved in any case, whether economic, emotional, etc.

Maybe it was the environment in which you were raised, maybe you knew that there were conditions in you that would never be good for you to develop the role of mother, was it how invasive the changes of pregnancy were? or perhaps the social pressure that it all entails. You did not overthink it and, although you did not make any decision lightly, you had everything decided.

Finding Marshall was perfect for it, at his age and with years of parenting that included three girls, his share of fatherhood had been more than paid, so in the initial situation of the relationship, one of the things that were raised due to the age difference was children within the couple, both being honest with each other and happy that, although for different reasons, both agreed on a middle point under the same desire. To be just the two of you. Although of course, all plans have a margin of error.

And the blood tests that were positive for pregnancy that you had in your hands were the ones for both of you.

You had been feeling bad the last few weeks, Marshall insisting that you check it out, being dense enough with the subject to convince you to get some kind of check-up. That had led them to this… that and those weeks of vacation just both of you in that place with the spacious jacuzzi, of course.

Marshall, despite his conflicts about the situation at hand, tried to be understanding of whatever decision you chose to make, offering all the support you might need, promising to find a solution to whatever scenario you were working with, without making it clear if he wanted a particular decision. You, on the other hand, felt that even putting forward the option of an abortion was something that would be accepted. Your family had certain concepts that went against it, the press could find out about it somehow, and you had read thousands of articles and comments about how after the process, regret was generated that almost always ended in depression or some disorder. You didn't want that baby, but the idea of ​​not having it was also wrong according to a little voice in the back of your head that you had never heard before.

Marshall was again the voice of reason inside your head, keeping a cool head by laying out all the possibilities, taking the time to develop each one, especially the one that included abortion, noticing the way you avoided the subject. He wasn't going to force you to do anything, but he wanted you to know that it was one of the options you had. The security in his words, the restraint in his touch, and his understanding behind any decision you made, gave you enough confidence to make the option you considered most correct.

And when everything was done, you spent days waiting for a feeling of guilt and regret that never came. The feeling of relief and peace was arriving as soon as things went back to routine, Marshall still had doubts about being away for too long, but assuring him that everything was fine, he was skipping it little by little, still texting throughout the day and sending blurry and out-of-focus selfies, knowing that at least they would make you smile. Obviously, both of them were not unaware of the elephant in the room and although neither felt guilt or regret, accompanied the process with the help of a professional, with whom you were able to ensure that nothing that happened had to generate guilt and that not having it did not make you a bad person.

You liked your life the way it was and it was only fair to give the infant the chance to have a family that wanted and loved him the way he deserved. There is nothing to reproach in that.

[a-minke-whales-tale]

Assigned Human At Birth

There has been some discussion recently regarding the concept of "Assigned Human At Birth". I have to wonder how applicable it really is, though at least for myself I do not like it.

There are a lot of different beliefs for why therians exist and for how we came to be the way we are. The why and how though is largely outside this discussion. For those like myself who believe we were literally taken out of the water and turned into humans in a way we were literally "assigned human" (and whether you believe that is possible or simply delusion is also outside the scope of things please bear with me). For many therians this particular event would not apply, if you were born in a human you weren't ever declared human, but simply assumed so. However in reading so many accounts from various therians of all types, though this seems particularly common physical therians and holothere, I read so often not of a feeling being made to be a human or declared human, but instead a separation from humanity and feeling dehumanised.

I might have been given a human body and "assigned human" by the humans that twisted my cetacean body to thins, but the benefits of privileges of being human were never really granted to me while the expectations and demands were. Growing up every interaction you are reminded there are rules you do not quite understand and rules that only apply to you. It takes time, but eventually you learn to accept that you are different, the others are -real- people and you are something else - you are not like them - you are somehow different. The humans wanted me to do things for them, but I was never really welcome in their communities and often have to play a character to be tolerated. Even when I was tolerated, it was only a small error in my performance before the humans would realise I was not one of them and they would cast me aside. If my need, or simply my presence, ever exceeded the marginal utility of having me around, then I would no longer be.

It was never one moment, one sharp strike where the humanity I was promised by the form I forced into was granted nor taken - a moment in which I became human, nor one in which I became animal. I was always an animal, I only believed for a while that I was human that just had not figured out yet the things that came so easily to everyone else or maybe was simply a bit broken. Though I could not yet see I was not human, everyone else could, no matter how much it was the humans made me look like them or I tried to play one.

When I look at people in this community, and my mutuals especially, our stories may not be the same, but they do seem mirrored as though reflected across the surface of slightly disturbed water. It should be really no surprise that so much of the community is lgbt, neurodivergent, or disabled - identities which have long been dehumanised - or standing upon the crossroads of multiple (however which way the causality points I do not know). This could be simply selection bias in my want to connect with others and have community I would naturally gravitate to others with similar experiences. However I think it does apply at least in kind if not degree not just within the narrow band of CLCZ, physical therians, and holothere, but the wider therian community, and even many furries.

I do not think it is that I was "Assigned Human At Birth" or really Assigned Human at a Few Months Old, but instead continuously, everyday over and over, we are registered as not human, or not fully human, and continuously reminded that by others.

This might be a bit incoherent at points - I am sorry if it is. I started off writing quite confident in opposing the term, and honestly I still do not like the term for myself. I can though see why some people might like it as it would mirror a lot of trans people's experiences with their gender. Trans people (and GNC for that matter) are often not able to perform properly their expected social roles and so are often excluded from the "full benefits" of their gender. I can see how that would be really similar for at least perisex trans individuals.

Honestly, I do not know really how much it is comparable and how others find it comparable or if they like the term. I would be curious to hear peoples thoughts.

~Kala

[enelleloup]

What is likeness? (TLDR version)

While preserving the face silhouette, modifications within the T-zone have varying degrees of acceptability.

While preserving the T-zone, modifications to the face silhouette always break likeness. These images represent wholly different people.

Note: This entire post is subject to my brain’s perception, so please relax and realize there is a “in my opinion” disclaimer implied in every claim made.

What is likeness?

The distilled, but still quite long version.

The human brain separates facial recognition from object recognition. Damage to the fusiform face area (FFA) results in the loss of being able to identify faces (a condition called prosopagnosia), but it does not interfere with object recognition so these individuals are still capable of recognizing a human or a banana. This translates to a greater margin of error when drawing inanimate objects, or even human bodies, relative to faces.

The ability to correctly identify a face is a complex process, because the face is a complex shape that morphs depending on the rotation, angle, lighting, and expression. So how humans are able to so easily and so quickly recognize faces is quite a feat. One bizarre finding of this research is that caricatures are actually more recognizable than the corresponding image of the person. This is because the caricature (if done properly) exaggerates the strongest deviations from the norm within that person’s face. And those deviations are what our brains register as being “likeness”. (Caricature taken from here: https://www.tomrichmond.com/how-to-draw-caricatures-1-the-5-shapes/14/02/2008/ brilliant article).

Practical Advice for Artists

Proportions and detail don’t matter as much as you think they do, shapes of the most prominent features do. For example, look at this image of Karlach below. It is the most accurate depiction of her, direct from Larian. The proportions are exacting, but it does not capture her likeness. What happened?

Bizarrely, the more detail there is, the harder it is to capture likeness. The brain doesn’t know what to focus on in the gray scale image. The simplified, and far less accurate drawing is more recognizable because it highlights the more definitive shapes of her likeness and has fewer distractions. (Crap drawing by me ~4 months ago). Our brains recognize contrast, and not absolute values. This is also true for pretty much all our other senses such as color perception.

Focus on the fixed features of the face. (face silhouette + T shape)

The brain catalogues the invariant features of the face, such as the shape of the skull, eye depth/distance, and nose placement. While you can exaggerate the proportions of certain features, you cannot change their position relative to the face silhouette without breaking likeness.

In my experience, I’ve found the face silhouette and the eye placement to be absolutely critical. In the first line of faces, the hair changes the perception of the face silhouette: thicker hair narrows the face, whereas the bald look, broadens the forehead. The third line of faces underscores the criticality of eye placement. Notice how these cartoons all look like very different individuals. (Figure taken from here: https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC2629401/#ref-list1).

Certainly, the mouth, eyes, and eyebrows can move around dramatically during various facial expressions, and this is where you need to preserve the placement of those features within the silhouette.

Keep in mind, everything is relative, so if you broaden the eye distance, the nose length will look shorter (See https://www.tomrichmond.com/how-to-draw-caricatures-relationship-of-features/21/02/2008/)

Focus on the most distinctive features of the face.

Normalized faces (across all nationalities, shown below) that lack any distinctive features are the hardest to capture likeness. If you met either of these people, you would probably forget them immediately.

However, no one’s going to forget a face like this:

Or this:

(Honestly, how many of you even noticed there was a horse in this picture above???)

All the angular features and deviations from the average are catalogued by our brains to identify that person. (delicious!)

Shadows and silhouettes aid our interpretation.

The shading, particularly under the eyebrows and around the nose gives our brains tons of information regarding the form of the face. Notice how in the last two images below, the eyes aren’t even visible, but our brains have no issues identifying that woman.

(image taken from: https://news.utdallas.edu/science-technology/facial-recognition-tech-2019/)

This is not all there is to know about the topic, but that should give you plenty to chew on for now.

Thanks to @snailsinner1999 for encouraging me to post about this topic. <3

[screams-in-writing]

Wanna share w/ you the idea of Mr Puzzles turning off Reader's vacuum cleaner because it's "too loud" and he has to think about his movie ideas in peace

I was trying to answer from the reader pov and it wasn’t working, so I did 1st pov mr puzzles. He decided he wanted to be dramatic, then have cuddles and one on one attention. So this is fluff, with a lil end paragraph of possible future angst.

Silence could be a wonderful thing when one wanted to be focused on a task at hand, or it could be the worst thing in the world that was so soul-crushing one could find no focus or inspiration at all. 

It was my luck that it was the former, and I was delighted that you’d invited me over to your house to make use of your dining room table to work both on my own movie ideas, and the scripts of upcoming podcasts for you and your…coworkers/acquaintances. While I still believed these audio-based scripts could be better used in a television format, I wanted to be in your good graces after the…little incident in town, where I may have let slip my eventual plan I wanted for this charming place.

Through the movie script I was currently working on was, in fact, a rather charming little romance greatly inspired by those constantly running Hallmark movies. And as I’d informed your roommates, it was not a ‘blatant ripoff.’

(I would have to go through numerous drafts to make it so; curse those self-made critics picking apart my perfectly fine shows!)

In a compromise about my movie idea about your town, and the cafe as the centerpiece, I didn’t take any more townspeople into one of the many show settings within my mind that played out different scenarios of the script before me on the table (I may have not confessed to the latest batch of new actors but I would let them out soon, lest I be assured of kidnapping again; really, it didn’t harm anyone and made for great television and even better, I received great input of what did it didn’t work). 

But enough of that. 

Now that my perfect not-ripoff romance script was in decent shape, it was now the podcast scripts that were to be inspected. These scripts desperately needed my attention and my attention I would give them. 

I made remarks and suggestions on the margins, fixed grammatical errors, and even made some suggestions on an attached sheet of what could be used for references and who would be best to deliver the information for best reception. There were even a few lines that I came across made me experience grudging admiration. Even I had to admit to some things being left unchanged as it made it unique in its own way of delivering the information being spoken of within the topic of the podcast.

What I hadn’t realized at the time of accepting your invitation to do our own work within the house was that your work happened to be household chores while I worked my magic over these…decent scripts. I’d become aware of how those chores were split between you and your roommates. 

But must you really vacuum right now?

The noise was grating. 

The repetitiousness of the sound, shifting now and again as you moved that terrible contraction, drilled into my head with a ferocity that was slowly causing me to lose focus on the task at hand. 

What to do, what to do. 

I tapped my free hand in the table in thought before I perked up with an ‘ah-ha!’

Perfect!

I could use an excuse of having us both take a little break. Not only would that allow me to avoid having to listen to that dratted vacuum, but I’d get to spend time with you, without our focus on work and chores!

Taking a brief moment to arrange the papers on the dining room table (ensuring I’d be able to easily get back into it) I rose up out of the chair, stretching out my limbs, and pulling on what little muscle was still at my shoulders and thighs. 

Slumping in brief relief over the relaxation of those muscles attached to machinery, if a little achy, I made my way to the living room with a little hop in my step. 

And there you were, your back conveniently turned as you nudged a box out of the way to vacuum beneath it. 

Stealthily, I crept up behind you, before sweeping in with barely a sound as I wrapped my arms around your waist and carefully rested my head on yours, taking the opportunity to nuzzle with the underside of my head, careful to not press down to hard so as to not cause my neck too much discomfort, as tender as it was as of late.

“Hello, my dear!” I greeted while slyly turning you away from the vacuum while I turned it off. As I did, the noise dissipated, and wonderful silence took the place of the noise. “I think it’s time to take a break before we get too tired to discuss your possible participation it a show idea of mine.” I laid it on thick with dramatic flare, even turning you lightly to witness my face change to a sighing expression as I laid a free hand backward against my face. “And with that, I’d like to ask if you’d care to spend that beak time with me.” I was incredibly pleased by the face that you’d agreed with a shake of your head over my theatrics, but I was practically vibrating with excitement over getting to spend some quiet time with you without your coworkers or roommates around. 

“You’re always cuddling me, so I want to this time.”

I practically tripped over my own feet as I led you to the sofa, surprised yet flattered upon hearing your words. 

“Puzzles?”

“…I would like that.” I said, quieter than before. 

More genuine than I tended to allow for. 

After you sat down on the sofa on one side, I promptly sprawled my lower half out over the unoccupied part, carefully leaning back and smiling lighting up my face with what was likely several different technicolor shapes conveying this and my digital eyes no doubt closing partly when one of your arms went sprint my back while the other rested over my chest. Waiting for you to be comfortable, I carefully lay out over your lap the rest of the way, resting my head on the pillows you’d thoughtfully arranged. 

“You’re so lanky.”

Instead of a response, a static noise issued out of me when you lifted the hand resting on my chest to pet my head, teasing me by avoiding giving my antenna any attention but I was mollified when I felt your fingers slip beneath my hat to caress the usually unseen top of my head. It was embarrassing how quickly my entire body went limp as I sluggishly half-turned over to face you, while being mindful to keep my neck cushioned by the pillows, right before a particularly nice press to my casing caused my screen to fuzz out in the equivalent of eyes closing. 

This was a great idea.

No horrible vacuuming noise plaguing me, and being paid attention to. 

A win-win, in my option. 

And when there was light petting across my face, I would assume that my face allowed for a flicker of a content, multi-colored smile across the bottom of my screen. 

“I’ll make sure I clear my fingerprints off your screen before we get back to work.”

I let out a sigh of appreciation, experiencing quite mushy, complicated feelings over such attention being paid to my habits of a clean screen, due to the fact that this meant you’d been watching him closely enough to notice. 

“You’re not going to go to sleep, are you?”

“Only if you’re going to be the star of the dream.” I muttered, paying more heed to the sensations I was experiencing and not what was coming out of my mouth. Or rather, out of my speakers. 

There was a pause in your fingertips on my screen, before you resumed the touch.

I sank into the attention, appreciating the closeness to another. 

I was so lucky that I’d found someone who’d dote upon me and indulge me in what was likely a different kind of touch than one would normally think of. The fact that you’d touch me head so gently, and avoid poking into the vents on the side, made it nicer and more relaxing. More importantly, it was refreshing for you to be so tolerant and perhaps, (dare I say it?), fond of my presence, despite my past actions.

I could get used to this. 

But of course, it was unfortunately determined by powers outside my control that I wasn’t allowed to have anything nice in my life for once, as word of my misdeeds, both in town and on the world parallels to this one, began to come to light over the next few weeks.

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 25

A Niche Narratives Fanfiction

last | first | next

25. Lackadaisy Austerity

Even in his youth, Mordecai was never an athlete, struggling to keep pace with peers and often the last to finish even after those with weak chests. As with most innate insufficiencies, the nine year old tom had refused to accept he wasn't athletic and instead turned to his strengths, studying how to become a fit and healthy young man who could rival an Olympian on the track. The scrawny tom believed he could do it as well; books had yet to fail him, from botany to mathematics, so was certain all he needed was to buckle down and understand, to flourish here too.

Though he was aware of his intellectual differences well before fourth grade, the discrepancy between Mordecai’s attempt to overcome this challenge with applied research, compared to how his teacher and peers responded, would ultimately skew any future interactions with others for the worse. Attempts to discuss his physical limits or potential adaptations to optimise both his own and classmate’s development were met with irritation; his notes stuffed into a desk, he was escorted out by the ear and deposited back into the school yard roughly, a reminder to respect his tutors ringing in the sore appendage.

To wit, he was pushed harder in gym class, until an inescapable physical exhaustion claimed his body and he fell. This was received with amusement by his peers, especially when it was usually followed by a yardstick to the rear and accusations of laziness. For the rest of the year he was at the epicenter of his tutor’s storm, miserably exhausted and never able to improve his physical state. Yet adult Mordecai would look back on those months as an important learning experience, one he subscribed to even neck deep in the Savage Family Corporation.

If he wanted something done right, he should remove the middleman and simply do it himself.

While he hadn't been particularly successful with an extracurricular exercise routine - life seemed to develop an uncanny ability for throwing proverbial spanners in those particular cogs - a discernment of keen proprioceptive capabilities in adolescence allowed Mordecai to ‘hack’ his biological malleability. 

According to the physiology books, proprioception is an awareness of where one’s appendages remain in space without thinking. Realising he’s acutely aware of this sense, preteen Mordecai would consciously engage his entire body’s muscle framework while he undertook mundane tasks like paperwork to enforce an almost ambient regime into his schedule. 

The initial results were as expected; a deep seated exhaustion and a dread of repeating it all tomorrow, which he almost surrendered to on a monthly basis. Every night, he’d collapse into bed, his entire body aching but thankfully too exhausted to be kept awake by pain. He'd sleep fitfully and awaken with residual soreness in his core, both a physical and mental battle of wills to overcome and rise before the day even began, but he persevered regardless.

Until one day he realised the pain was simply gone his mind and body finally in sync as both analysis and reaction became a seamless response to any stimuli. While Mordecai never became the Olympic contender he'd envisaged as a kitten, he gained something more useful; a finely tuned core strength that enabled swift, precise movements within a tiny window of inaccuracy, a margin of error easily rectified with basic calculations.

It still bothers the tuxedo that he can't pinpoint a day his muscles adapted. Applying tension upon waking eventually became automatic, as much a part of the mask he wore to sequester his emotions. This skill is what made him an exacting amateur surgeon for interrogations, a formidable foe with a firearm and a swift, decisive hand in high tension altercations. 

It likely saved his life the night Fiores attempted to murder him also, though as he sprints through the back alleys of Queens in driving rain, path heralded only by the cloud-crested moon, the unanticipated limitations of his biological hacking quickly become apparent. Already fatigued from constant flexion, his core muscles reject the sudden exertion and begin to ache as they drown in an excess of lactic acid, low base energy stores swiftly exhausted.

His legs feel immensely heavy, his chest tightened by an underdeveloped lung capacity, but as a shot whistles past his ear the tuxedo forces himself on through sheer willpower, towards the station he can see a few blocks away. A small part of Mordecai's mind agonises over his missing satchel, but there is no time to return for it; he has no money or papers, just a pen, a pocket watch, and a useless safe code wrapped around a dime in his pocket.

An awkward step on the cobbles and he stumbles. Mordecai gasps and barely prevents a fall onto the glistening streets by grabbing at the nearest wall in desperation, claws digging into the mortar with an unsettling scratch across brick. He pauses only long enough for the moon’s shine to glint off of the barrel of a pistol and pursuer’s eyes before pushing off the wall, ignoring the growing stitch in his side and the burning in his lungs, hellbent on survival.

The station is barely fifty feet away when a thought hits him. I can't purchase a ticket. A revelation that is swiftly accompanied by a trajectory shift towards the unfenced tracks extending from the southern side of the illuminated building. It troubles Mordecai to know riding the train without procuring a ticket is theft - something he refused to indulge even in the depths of poverty - however, he decides imminent mortality is an effective extenuating circumstance to allow it this once as by divine doctoring, a train pulls out of the station when he's a mere twenty feet away. 

With a grunt and a final surge of energy, Mordecai sprints the distance with a burst of speed before he leaps forward, jumping for the nearest carriage as the rear stairs draw level.

Time seems to stop when airborne. Breath caught in his throat and heavy body suddenly weightless, his heartbeat becomes a rapid, dicotical metronome in his ears and throat as hot smoke envelops his body. Suddenly blinded, the tuxedo is forced to have faith in his calculations and physical reflexivity, reaching through the choking gray smog with little more than a muttered prayer to a god abandoned years prior.

When his hand closes on a cold metal railing, time resumes with a sudden explosion of sensation; rain raps heavily on his bare head and chugging engines are thunderous in his ears as he clings to the railing for dear life, soaked loafers slipping on metal steps before finding purchase. Exhausted but relieved, he clutches onto the guide rail and sucks deep breaths into aching lungs, unstable legs threatening to give as he casts his gaze out in search of his pursuers.

Between the darkness, smoke and driving rainfall, viability is poor. Mordecai squints towards the alley he'd fled from as the train begins to pick up speed, pulse still hammering and breaths drawing deep. He can see nothing; lanterns eaten by darkness, smog too thick to dispel. Assuming they can’t see either, the tuxedo finally sags against the guide rail, acutely aware of the patter of rain on his head and the deep thrumming of engines rattling through his teeth.

As the adrenaline surge begins to wane, his body comes alive with aches and pains. Both his throat and lungs burning with exertion, his thighs aching almost as much as his blazing calves, a stitch in his right side flaring with each heavy breath. Whipping winds and unsteady legs mean he dare not release the guide rail lest he simply fall into the tracks, so he remains steadfast as they gain momentum, taking a moment to recover from-

A bullet pings off the train car barely a half inch over his head. Hair waving wildly in crosswinds between carriages and eyes startled wide, Mordecai ducks behind the guide rail with a gasp just before another shot dings off the metal right where his head had been moments before. The tuxedo peers around the edge of the carriage behind his own and squints in the smog, until he sees two dark figures hanging off a guide rail two train cars down, attempting to fire as the rails jostle their aim.

His second adrenaline rush is more like a trickle, a heavy delay between noticing the danger and acting on survival impulses. He jerks back being the train car between them as a third shot pings off the metal guide rail and with the last of his remaining strength, Mordecai wrenches open the rear door and throws himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

The air within the train car is still, the trundling of the train and heavy rainfall muted by thick window panes and thick metallic architecture. A couple of yellowed or green pairs of eyes turn to observe their belated fellow passenger before they return to their books, newspapers or work. None take interest, nor inquire of his arrival mid transit, merely sneaking a covert glance as he stumbles down the middle aisle to an empty pair of seats at the front of the carriage and collapses against the window.

Finally safe, if only for a short period of time with his pursuers just two carriages down, Mordecai allows olive eyes to flutter closed as he can truly catch his breath. He barely feels the usually uncomfortable sensation of soaking clothes on coarse fur or the way his hair sticks to his face, his mind distracted processing the events of the night with the clarity of a man aware of his imminent demise. There's no time to dwell on misfortunes when it's at a premium.

He shuffles through data, from limited inventory to loose ends, until finally, the tuxedo has a course of action to follow. Sitting straighter in his seat, he first pulls a pencil from an inside pocket and digs it into the inner lining of a coat pocket, destroying stitches he'd added the week prior to extract the dime, and paper wrapped around it containing the safe code in his apartment bedroom.

Using a tissue from another pocket, he soaks up the worst of the water from his right knee and folds his right leg over the left. It's only as he begins writing he truly notices his left glasses lense is cracked, but it does not stop him from transcribing his last words.

Mother,

Forgive my unannounced departure. Circumstances relating to my employment have required me to travel on short notice. It may be some time before I am able to correspond again, but you will find savings in my rented room above the dry grocery adequate for living. Give Mrs. Kovitz the name Ezra and she will allow you upstairs. There is a safe hidden in the southeast corner behind the baseboard.

He makes sure to outline the safe code where it had faded slightly from formerly hurried penmanship. He may have sat there for hours procrastinating the end of the hastily scrawled letter were it not for a sudden  and short lived increase in engine noise and driving rain. The rear carriage door opening and closing, a shuffle of fabric as someone silently takes a seat, an additional passenger changing carriages amidst the rainstorm worrying for the pursued tuxedo. Incensed to finish his letter, Mordecai carries on.

Please use some portion of it to relocate to more suitable living space, expeditiously. Purchase somewhere if you are able. The building is poorly ventilated, molded and unhealthful.

-M

Before he can sign his name, a thick drip of red falls to the crumpled page. The tuxedo pauses to stare at it, distracted brain struggling to comprehend what it is and where it might have come from, before a thick warmth oozing down his lip preludes an accompanying second drip of blood joining the first. Mordecai rubs at his snout with the back of a hand and pulling back, is greeted by a smear of red on dark fur. His own body betrays him, coating his only note paper in blood of all things, which he cannot send his mother lest she worry or ask questions of unsavoury people in the city.

“Damnit, damnit.” He rubs his nose roughly on his sleeve, inadvertently smearing the blood across his muzzle, before ripping the bottom of the letter away to remove both his blood and the laments regarding Mother’s current housing. Casting a glance over his shoulder as he crumples the soiled paper in hand, he spots Brady’s sour face immediately beside a man Mordecai recognises as Gabriel’s chauffeur. 

They don't meet his gaze, but Brady smirks for the briefest of moments, hand thumbing something in his pocket. Dark ears folding flat as time speeds past, the non-stop train journey to Missouri rapidly closing in on its, and his, inevitable end.

Fatigued adrenals activate a final time when he turns forward to find an unfamiliar man in a flat cap also observing him over the back of a seat. This man watches him openly, a lit cigarette dangling from thin lips and a brow quirked in a question the young tom cannot decipher. Noticing the three men briefly sucks the air out of the carriage, a suffocating sensation making it nigh impossible to draw breath.

Fear isn't an emotion Mordecai entertained often in recent years. He'd become as adept at masking that weakness of character as any other, sequestering it beneath a stony façade and severe tone most were themselves too intimidated by to query. In the face of death however, a young tuxedo cannot prevent bile churning in his stomach any more than the rapid jittering of his leg, an outlet for the intense anxiety created by knowing his time is running short.

Mordecai inhales and the spell is broken; the man in front turns away and lights a cigarette, the train still trundles along its track, rain beating mutedly against thick panes of glass. With a ragged exhale, he digs in an inside coat pocket for the blank envelope that so recently held a thick wad of cash and presses the folded letter to his mother inside. The sealing glue is bitter on a dry tongue, taste lingering as he scrawls her name and address on the front.

This very envelope previously had once contained a payout, monies accrued through sanctioned abuse, suffering bloodshed at his own hand. 

As a kitten, Mordecai was enraptured by fairytales not for their whimsy and wonder, but the dichotomy of good and evil so frequently portrayed. Black and white, heroes and villains, light and darkness. The concept had made perfect sense; that badness was as inherent to a soul as was blood to a paper cut, to know even as a child whether you were good or evil. It was a comfort in an otherwise difficult childhood to know he was good and that would never change. 

Joining the Savage Corporation had congealed bad and good into various shades of malignant gray. In order to benefit his family he was forced to entertain fixed odds, inflated prices, lying and stealing his way to middle management in an organisation with its very foundations rooted in moral debauchery. The kitten so sure of his integrity had become tainted by shadows and soon, was no better than those who now sought his death.  

All before one final, poorly conceived embezzlement endeavour had left Mordecai staring down the barrel of his own pistol. He grimaces, pencil stilled on the last digit of his family address, his grip on the shaft so tight his hand shakes. It's almost poetic that the former vessel of such funds should deliver his final words home but the prospect that money tainted by moral ambiguity required his untimely demise before Mother could discover and utilise the funds?

In hindsight, that is nothing short of zemblanity, but now is not the time for lamentation. The tuxedo tom tucks his pencil away safely and leaning forward, he speaks softly to the man sitting in the row in front of his own. “Excuse me,” Mordecai begins, then clears his throat softly to attract more attention. Though his eyes never leave his paper, the man’s head turns toward him, which is enough for the desperate tom. “You wouldn't happen to have a postage stamp, would you?”

“Sorry kid, I don't.” The man goes back to his paper without pause, leaving Mordecai to mumble half hearted thanks and lean back in his seat, ears flat to his skull and tail tucked beneath his legs. While the response is polite, it's useless; even if he manages to alight in St Louis and find a post office, he can't afford to buy a stamp with just a dime to his name. 

Resisting the urge to surrender to anxiety he casts his gaze around and spies a finely dressed woman reading, one seat back and across the middle aisle. Suppressing the growing anxiety in his chest as the train speeds towards its destination, Mordecai turns in his seat to try a more direct approach. “Pardon me, uh… perhaps I could impose on you to post a letter? I wouldn't ask a stranger, except that it’s-”

The carriage plunges into darkness as it enters a tunnel, a cavern of semicircular bricks and mortar that couples as an echo chamber, exponentially and rapidly increasing the thrumming of metal wheels on tracks. A clamber of engines and a heavy trundle of bolts and divots of very carriage pulled forthwith all join the cacophony of screeching couplings, rattling window panes and screeching horns that only grows by the second, a locomotive thundering through a wonder of modern architecture with all the disruption that seemingly accompanies industry.

With the accumulation of these sounds, the carriage interior almost becomes intolerable. Yet Mordecai does not notice intense auditory stimuli that would normally cause him great discomfort. Instead, the sight of a man standing in the aisle, a glimmer of something in his hand catching tunnel lighting as it flashes past, has his blood run cold. White fingers tighten on the pivotal envelope still in his grasp as desperation devolves into desolation, for as Close as he came to achieving his objective, this is where it must end.

The figure takes a step closer, the cover of darkness and intermittent flashing of passing lanterns keeping his identity shrouded in mystery. The glinting in the figure’s hand comes closer and the tuxedo flinches, eyes squeezing shut and head turning away. Final breath caught in his throat, he awaits an inevitable oblivion as overt peril draws his overwhelmed mind inwards, to a nauseatingly empty vacuum sans the rapid biological metronome drumming in his ears.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Chest burning with depleting oxygen, his body tense for anticipated pain, it takes until early morning light falls on his face as the train exits the tunnel for the tuxedo to date squint as his executioner. Mordecai is not met by the barrel of a gun however but rather, a visage he will remember for decades to come as a moment his life changed forever; a gray tabby with pure white across his muzzle, a glinting cane under one arm and a newspaper under the other, the pale tips of his fur illuminated like a beacon of hope by the sun’s tender morning rays.

While not a particularly spiritual man, Mordecai is captivated by the imagery even as the tabby takes a seat directly opposite, placing his newspaper down out of sight before resting his cane against a hand. Impeccably dressed; a sharp three piece of better quality than anything Mordecai could dream, fitted leather gloves and manicured whiskers, he's flawless even as he stoops to spark up a cigarette, a habit the tom holds with a deep level of scorn as a wasteful vice.

As if feeling the young tom's gaze upon, the man tilts his head to regard Mordecai in return. Despite his obviously ruffled appearance, this businessman looks upon him without distaste or irritation, but a curious interest. Dark ears turn forward as yellow eyes meet olive across the gangway, a long moment of mutual, silent study before the gentleman turns his gaze to the rolling Missouri fields outside.

Time speeds past and soon, the train is pulling into its final stop in St Louis, Missouri. Palms slick with a nervous sweat, Mordecai watches as the gray tabby stands and disembarks without a second glance, leaving the newspaper on his seat. Mordecai’s only respite is seeing the unfamiliar man in a flat cap at the front of the carriage follow, after briefly meeting his anxious gaze. Not another assassin then, but a concerned third party, or perhaps a bored traveler concocting gossip for his next tiresome meeting.

The relief is short lived, for when the well dressed woman also stands to depart, it leaves him alone with Brady and his chauffeur. The tuxedo feels his nerves fray as they stand, wordlessly reaching into their jackets, cold eyes and wicked smiles telling of their intentions. Breath so heavy yet fruitless, the young tom feels he might faint. He clutches onto the seat in front of him and murmurs a quiet plea to the God he’d lost faith in years prior. 

One last chance, that's all I ask. One more-

It's surely coincidence alone that he notices the glint across the aisle at that moment, a metallic shimmer catching the sun’s still virgin rays. Wide olives settle on the newspaper the gray tabby left behind and finally sees the gift wrapped within; a revolver with an ornate handle, ivory or bone to contrast a brown casing and the sleek sliver of a metallic barrel. A custom piece, one not left behind easily, and a clear direction for a lost kitten to take.

Mordecai dives across the center aisle just as a shot embeds in the seat in front of the one he'd occupied. He crouches between one bench seat and the backrest of the next as he retrieves the revolver, a heavier kind than he's used to. A swift check of the chamber to know precisely how many practice shots he has before he can't afford to miss - four shots, far more than necessary to recalibrate - and he's ready to take this final chance seriously.

With the swift mobility he's come to rely upon, the tuxedo rises, aims and fires at the chauffeur within a second and a half. As expected, his aim isn't sure with an unfamiliar weapon; a shot intended for the chest instead rips through the chauffeur’s left bicep. Mordecai ducks just as Brady curses and takes a shot, the bullet searing a path through air so close to his face, the tuxedo feels the heat of expulsion graze his face before the bullet embeds in the seat behind him.

The proximity doesn't phase Mordecai now he has a tool to wield. He takes a breath and makes a swift stab at ballistic trigonometry. Intersecting axes, angles and calculations overlays the memory of his failed shot behind sharp olive eyes until the basic math completed, Mordecai once again rises, aims according to estimated mathematical adjustments, and fires. This shot lands just shy of his intended mark, striking the chauffeur in the lower right lobe of his heart for a fast, fatal wound.

Blood blossoms on a white shirt as the strong scent of iron fills his nostrils. The man screams in terror, a gun clatters to the floor as shaking hands clutch at a punctured heart, desperate wails swiftly suffocated by blood rising up his esophagus. Brady hesitates, his gun raised but eyes averted to the chauffeur. It's all the time Mordecai needs to reload the chamber, adjust his aim and finish the job.

Only once Brady hits the floor beside his compadre does the world flood back into focus; screams and shouts echo beyond the train car, fluffy of shadows in all directions as panicked passengers scramble to flee the platform. A whistle screeches over the noise as calls for police cut through the chaos, orders for men to surround and search each carriage issued in short order. Mordecai has to get out of here, before he's apprehended holding the murder weapon in a strange city, with no papers or credentials.

Pocketing the ornate revolver, Mordecai skulks low between the seats to the rear exit, diligent as to not step in the rapidly widening pools of crimson around his former pursuers. Unseen from without as chaos unfolds, Mordecai unlatches the door and slips into the masses, joining civilians fleeing the gruesome scene of a double homicide that will make the papers in just a few hours. 

A Shadow in St Louis: Double Murderer Disappears Without Trace from Overnight from NYC!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mira Lazine for Erin In The Morning:

On Monday, a team of nine international experts on transgender care drafted a 39-page response paper to the Cass Review. The paper argues that the Cass Review, including the additional York Reviews, has numerous methodological problems in both how it was conducted and how it interprets its data, and that it has been grossly misused by governmental bodies across the world in justifying bans on gender affirming care, especially for minors. The Cass Review is a review of the literature on puberty blockers’ effects on transgender youth conducted by Dr. Hillary Cass, a researcher who has no prior experience working with transgender youth, and who has consulted with Ron DeSantis appointed Florida medical board members in establishing the Review. In addition to the main document outlining clinical recommendations, it also has several systematic reviews conducted by researchers from the University of York. The Review has been used to justify bans on puberty blockers in England, and has been cited in court cases restricting gender affirming care across the United States.

“The Review repeatedly misuses data and violates its own evidentiary standards by resting many conclusions on speculation. Many of its statements and the conduct of the York [systematic reviews] reveal profound misunderstandings of the evidence base and the clinical issues at hand,” says the paper. “The Review also subverts widely accepted processes for development of clinical recommendations and repeats spurious, debunked claims about transgender identity and gender dysphoria. These errors conflict with well-established norms of clinical research and evidence-based healthcare. Further, these errors raise serious concern about the scientific integrity of critical elements of the report’s process and recommendations.” The article is entitled “An Evidence-Based Critique of ‘The Cass Review’ on Gender-affirming Care for Adolescent Gender Dysphoria,” and is authored by Dr. Meredithe McNamara, Dr. Kellan Baker, Dr. Kara Connelly, Dr. Aron Janssen, Dr. Johanna Olson-Kennedy, Dr. Ken C. Pang, Dr. Ayden Scheim, Dr. Jack Turban, and Dr. Anne Alstott. It was announced both by Turban in a post on Twitter, as well as on the Yale Law School’s website. Both McNamara and Alstott are professors at Yale who co-founded the Integrity Project, a project that aims to provide legal justice to marginalized peoples.

The core of the paper is divided into seven sections that each tackle a different element of the Review. The first section focuses on how the Review actually is compliant with established standards of care recommendations for providing legal protections for gender affirming care. The authors compare it to the World Professional Association for Transgender Health’s (WPATH) eighth rendition for standards of care and the Endocrine Society clinical practice guidelines, finding that recommendations for individualized and evidence based care are consistent across these different documents. The authors state, “the Review does not conclude that gender-affirming medical care for adolescent gender dysphoria should be banned. Thus, it should not be cited in support of bans on medical treatments for gender dysphoria.”

[...] This paper shines a new light on interpretations for the Cass Review, suggesting that it’s based on low quality work and has been falsely interpreted in legal proceedings across the world. The lack of expertise from Cass herself contrasts with the expertise of the authors of the paper, all of whom represent institutions across the world that have decades of research and clinical practice on transgender individuals. Legal decisions made using the Cass Review need to be reevaluated in light of the sweeping critiques found within this paper.

Yale Law School researchers wrote an article debunking the anti-trans Cass Review that has been used to justify bans on gender-affirming care in the UK and USA.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

69% of Respondents Say They Prefer Democracy in Brazil, Datafolha Shows

Dictatorship acceptable for 8%, while 17% are indifferent; 52% see no risk of democratic backsliding

Support for democracy as the best form of government remains overwhelmingly high in Brazil, with 69% of respondents surveyed by Datafolha endorsing this position. However, this percentage has been declining over the past two years.

In October 2022, 79% stated that democracy was the best system for the country, marking the highest figure in the historical series that began in 1989—the year of the first direct presidential election following the end of the military dictatorship, which ruled from 1964 to 1985.

At that time, 5% said that a dictatorial regime could be acceptable under certain circumstances, a number that has now risen to 8%—a slight increase within the margin of error.

Continue reading.

[omgsquee2001]

We Are Connected: Chapter 1: Discovery

It had been quiet for a few days. There had been no distress signals for a while now, making Keith on edge. Almost all the Paladins were on edge. This was normally the calm before the storm. Keith looked out towards the stars. Shiro walked up to his friend.

"You okay?" He asked. Keith glanced at Shiro before looking back at the stars.

"It's been too quiet for a couple days now. It's making me on edge." He said. Shiro smiled and placed a hand on Keith's shoulder.

"We can take this time to rest. Just because it's quiet, doesn't mean it's a bad thing." Shiro said, smiling. Keith sighed and relaxed a little.

"Yeah. I guess." He said. The other Paladins entered the main deck of the ship, walking over to the two. Hunk sighed.

"Man! It's nice to be able to relax! We're not having to form Voltron, not having to take down any Galra. This is nice." He said. Pidge nodded.

"Yeah. I've gotten time to create and algorithm that would, within a statistically acceptable margin of error," Pidge started, pushing up her glasses. "Provide a list of target-rich Galra environments, color-coded, of course, because what are we, animals?" Pidge said. The others looked at her like she was speaking another language. Pidge's smile fell and her shoulders dropped. "In simpler terms, I made a Galra finder." She said. She really wished that her team members understood the complexity of science like she did. It would make things much easier to explain. Lance's eyes widened.

"Oh cool! This will make taking down the Galra much easier!" He stated. Allura was scanning through the solar system, making sure that they hadn't missed any distress signals in the past few days. She scrolled past something that made her look again. She zoomed in and her eyes widened.

"It, can't be." She said to herself, catching the ears of everyone else. Shiro walked over.

"What is it, Princess?" He asked. Allura immediately called for Coran, who entered through the doors.

"You needed my assistance, Princess?" Coran asked. Allura looked over at him like she had seen a ghost.

"Can you come look at this? I think my eyes are deceiving me." She said. Coran walked over and looked at the planet she was focused on. Coran stood there for a moment, then, his eyes widened.

"Y-You aren't seeing things, Princess. That is Pandora." He said. The Paladins looked at the two Alteans in confusion. Lance tilted his head.

"What's Pandora? Does it have cute ladies?" He asked. He was then elbowed in the side by Pidge. Clearly, whatever the two were looking at, it was a serious thing. Allura turned to the Paladins.

"Pandora is home to the Na'Vi. They're an alien species with excellent fighting skills. They have been one of Alteas' greatest allies for many decafeebs." Allura explained. Coran turned to them.

"We thought that Pandora had been eradicated, just like Altea." He said. Allura nodded.

"Their Chief, Aengtew, and his mate, Seäumni, were very good friends of my father's," she explained. She turned to Coran.

"Coran, do you think it might be possible to pay them a visit? It has been a while since I've seen Pandora." She said. Coran nodded.

"It shouldn't be a problem. Though, you do have to remember, Princess. It has been ten thousand years. Things may have changed a great deal." He said. The Princess sighed and nodded.

"I know." She said. Her smile returned and she looked at the Paladins. "We could think of this as training!" She said. "Like the Olkari, the Na'Vi believe that everything is connected. They believe that everything has the same energy. Seäumni once told me, that all energy is only borrowed. And someday, you must return that energy." She said. The Paladins looked at each other. They all nodded. Shiro looked at the two Alteans.

"Why not. It seems like a good learning experience. Plus, if there are any Galra there, we can form Voltron and protect the people." He said. Allura smiled and nodded.

"Then to Pandora we go." She said. Thus, began an adventure the Paladins would never forget.

~~~~

//Here's chapter 1. Let me know what you think about it. Also, if you would like to request a one shot, or something like that for Voltron, please don't hesitate.//

[mariacallous]

Russia and “other bad guys” will try to exploit a Donald Trump US election loss if he attempts to “play dirty” and contest the result, intelligence and diplomatic sources have warned.

Current and former diplomats and US and UK intelligence insiders told i that they believe enemies of the West will try to take advantage of the situation if the Republican candidate loses but refuses to concede to Vice-President Kamala Harris.

They are warning that hostile state actors will spread disinformation and whip up disorder.

An American intelligence source said: “It is safe to say in this environment there are plans to anticipate how our adversaries may try to exploit this opportunity.”

A British source said that Russia could use disinformation campaigns to encourage “militant action” among Trump’s supporters if he loses in the election, which is believed to be on a knife-edge.

When he lost to President Joe Biden in 2020, Trump made baseless claims that the election had been stolen from him through widespread voter fraud.

He was later accused of whipping up the insurrection at the US Capitol on 6 January 2021, when his supporters stormed Congress in a bid to stop the counting of Electoral College votes to formalise Biden’s victory.

Trump is facing a federal prosecution for allegedly conspiring to overturn that election defeat, along with criminal charges in Georgia for allegedly conspiring to change the result in that state.

On Thursday, he repeated the false claims about fraud during the last Presidential election, saying “bad, bad things” stopped him winning in 2020, and that he will prevail next week “if we can keep that cheating down”.

While Trump is the favourite in the betting markets, the gap between the Republicans and Democrats in key battleground states remains within the margin of error, making the final outcome still too close to call.

A tight result either way could see the losing side raising legal objections.

Trump’s previous form and utterances on the campaign trail have sparked particular concerns that if he loses, he will bitterly contest the outcome, plunging the US into political chaos that could be exploited by the West’s enemies.

A senior former British diplomat told i: “Trump has said the only result he is going to accept is one if he wins.

“So what bothers me is whether there is a narrowish victory for Kamala Harris and we end up with a crisis of democracy because Trump won’t accept.

“You end up not only with the usual lame duck period between the election and the inauguration day, but you have several months when America is off the stage and unable to do anything.

“The trouble with that scenario is that bad guys may well decide that’s a good moment for them to do whatever it is they would not otherwise do if America is up and running and fully loaded to deal with a crisis.

“If Trump wins fair and square, well we know what we’re dealing with. But what bothers me is if he doesn’t and then he plays dirty like he did last time.

“Quite apart from it being a bad example for American democracy, it …opens the door for other guys to take advantage of it.”

The UK intelligence source said that adversaries such as Russia would “seize the opportunity” if Trump were to lose to “invoke militant action” among the Republican candidate’s supporters.

The Kremlin has been accused of meddling in US elections in the past, most notably in 2016, when Hillary Clinton, despite having the largest popular vote total in history after Barack Obama in 2008, lost to Trump due to the electoral college system.

Last month, a group of American right-wing influencers said they had been deceived by Russian media executives after the US Department of Justice released an indictment charging Moscow with interfering in the 2024 election.

The indictment accused the Russian state broadcaster RT of paying a US firm $10m (£7.6m) to “create and distribute content to US audiences with hidden Russian government messaging”.

The UK intelligence source said a period of instability following a possible Trump loss would see Russia attempt to “enforce its western right-wing influence” using disinformation campaigns in a move which would cause “maximum distraction” to wider geopolitical issues, such as the war in Ukraine.

Along with Russia, other adversaries that may seek to capitalise on the US taking its eye of the international stage could include Iran and North Korea, as well as non-state terrorist groups.

Lord Ricketts, a former permanent secretary of the Foreign Office and ex-national security adviser, told i that there was “of course” a risk that Trump will be “just as bad a loser this time” if Vice-President Kamala Harris triumphs.

“Even worse – he’d hate losing to a woman,” he said.

Lord Ricketts said that while US law enforcement agencies would likely be more ready for potential unrest than in 2021, militant supporters of the Republican candidate “might be better prepared” too.

He added: “It will be a dangerous time, because this is his last shot. He’s not going to run again four years after this, so if he’s lost, he will be an extremely bad loser.”

A serving diplomatic source said it was “not impossible” there could even be violence on polling day.

“There are lots of people who are facilitating the elections who are worried about risks to them and to polling stations,” they told i. However, the source added these were “limited” and “very localised” concerns.

Sir Keir Starmer’s government has been careful not to comment on the race for the White House, particularly after Trump’s team accused Labour of “blatant foreign interference” in relation to party activists campaigning for Vice-President Harris.

However, a Whitehall source told i that preparations were taking place in government for what might happen in the election, with officials “working through a range of scenarios”.

While it is possible that the result of the election might be confirmed by the morning of 6 November, recent history and the closeness of the contest suggests it could take a few days for every state’s votes to be reported.

After election night, the outcome may remain unresolved if the race is too close to call in key battleground states or if significant numbers of absentee and mail-in ballots remain uncounted. In 2020, it took nearly four days for all votes across the country to be counted, eventually declaring Joe Biden the winner with 306 electoral college votes and 81,283,501 popular votes to Trump’s 74,223,975.

[nighttimeebony]

By the way, has anyone else noticed the similarities between these three ships?

BECAUSE I HAVE AND I CANNOT PRETEND TO BE NORMAL ABOUT IT ANYMORE

(unhinged gay screaming and rambling below the cut)

You know, "serious, deadpan gay has their heart melted by a nerdy, chaotic disaster bisexual with childhood trauma." Alternatively, "not enemies but initially on opposing sides before sun-coded breaks down moon-coded's walls and then subsequently become best friends that are closer to each other than most other people."

To start, the similarities between Lan Zhan, Cas, and Shouto:

Deadpan, cold, aloof, serious, intimidating, takes things literally 

Initially driven by rigidly-defined principles/goals before having their world view altered by the other half of their ship, which in turn causes them to become more uncertain of themselves and what they want, but recognizes that they are happier and better-off for it now than they were before

They were raised in an unforgivingly strict environment where there was no margin for error, causing them to become cold and jaded in a way that covers up the fact that, at their core, they are fundamentally kind and good in a way that they don't even realize but desperately want to be

Socially awkward introverts that hate everyone but This One Person

Come across as very intimidating but are actually very soft 

Surprisingly good with kids

Familial issues/trauma

They can also be identified as the "fell first" half of the relationship, and most likely fell within one of their first few interactions with their love interest 

Youngest siblings

Has an obsession with a specific animal (Cas likes bees, Lan Zhan likes rabbits, Shouto likes cats)

The undisputed powerhouse of their respective series that everyone recognizes as one of, if not the strongest members of the cast

Everyone thinks they're super wise and mature, but they are actually the pettiest bitches you will ever meet

Gay and entirely obsessed with This One Person

They all have small, private conflicts about allowing themselves to Feel. They were raised to compartmentalize, repress, and conceal-don't-feel; push everything down until you are perfect and untouchable. Then their love interest comes along and upends everything and finally allows them to Feel, but because they were taught to repress everything, they don't entirely know how to do that yet, so, with the help of their love interest, they slowly heal and learn how to be more human and less like the image of untouchable, god-like perfection they were raised to be (metaphorically for lwj and Shouto, but literally in Cas's case)

(I was gonna say, "they all belong to the mile-high tall club", but then I realized that only applies to lwj and Shouto because Cas is technically shorter than Dean, lol. Though, I guess you could argue that his true form (without his vessel) is taller, but, like, c'mon)

Incredibly dry, niche sense of humor that's only really funny to This One Person

Lan Zhan and Shouto both have mothers that they love, but who were forced into an unwanted, loveless marriage by their father that led them to be increasingly isolated from their children until resulting in a psychotic break that ultimately destroyed them and drove their husbands to imprison them (Rei in the mental hospital and Lan Zhan's mother in the Jingshi)

Unrepentantly earnest and blunt with their thoughts

Completely whipped for their partner

Now! To the disasters! Wei Ying, Dean, and Izuku:

Friendly, excitable, extroverted, sunshine-y/always smiling

Near-unparalleled geniuses in their fields of interest that like to experiment and test things

Childhood trauma

The powers that be have decided that they are undesirable in some way or another, that they are a waste, disposable, an acceptable sacrifice to make in the grand scheme of things. They have all struggled with feelings of worthlessness, and have all arguably struggled with self-hatred at least once in their lives, and even if they don't actively hate themselves anymore, by and large, they do not recognize that they have value just as they are, that the only value they have lies in what they can do (or sacrifice) for others. None of them have much in the way of self-esteem or any sense of self-worth.

At their core, they want to save people.

They all have themes of being different from the negative characatures that society tried to make them into.

Extremely talkative and come across as annoying to most people

Likes kids

Reckless and jump head-first into danger at the drop of a hat

Carry feelings of guilt, have a tendency to cast blame onto themselves, takes responsibility for things that aren't their fault

They want so badly to do good, and they choose to be kind in a world that deemed them unworthy of it

Good relationships with their respective maternal figures/caretakers (Dean and Izuku with their actual mothers, and Wei Ying with Yanli)

Wise-cracking smartasses that give off dumbass energy

Bisexual

Inadvertently ends up adopting a small army of children

Deflects their traumatic experiences with jokes

Has that one female best friend that is definitely a lesbian (wwx and Wen Qing, Izuku and Ochako, and Dean and Charlie)

"Oh my God, (Cas, Lan Zhan, Shouto)! You can't just say things like that!"

They are the caretakers, the protectors, but they so rarely let themselves be cared for by others. Their respective love interests are some of the few people they feel comfortable being truly vulnerable with and will let take care of them

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms™

In particular, I noticed a lot of uncanny similarities between Wangxian and Destiel specifically, especially in the themes and arcs that exist in both the couples and the individuals

[stardew-obsessed-ora]

I've been avoiding posting just so that Ulrich's ref could be my 100th POST. RAHHH. WOOO IT'S DONE!!

For anyone whose new to seeing this man, his name is Ulrich Althaus (Ulrich Mephisto Althaus if we're referring to him in other canons). He's a Technical Lead for Joja Corporations, and despite being introverted, he can come off as rather judgmental to people who don't know him well enough to understand how he speaks. He's around 18 years old when he first arrives in the Republic itself, finding himself staying around Downtown Zuzu for a while. He's somewhere in his late 20s/early 30s when he stations himself in the valley itself and tries to gather the resources to set up a Joja Brand tech store. In his mind, he truly, deeply believes that Joja can help benefit the valley. He ends up having rose-tinted glasses over the company for the longest time, and gradually has those viewpoints shattered the longer he stays within the valley. Of course, I plan on building his lore up gradually and through slow answers here and there, so I'm really trying not to spew out too much :3 also he's ungodly picky i mean he hates more than the average farmer LMFAO. bro has most of the universal hates too

More general description stuff/expansion stuff (fair warning its long):

 Ulrich's personality is a fascinating one. He feels as though he has a reputation to uphold, and will often shut down most, if not all critique coming toward him unless they are genuine. He often-times does not stand for attacks on his own character. Usually though, he’s the one giving critique to others, but it mostly comes off as insults rather than from a genuine place of concern due to how blunt he is. The way he phrases things tends to be derogatory in nature due to his lack of filter. He tends to get annoyed when people act offended, and genuinely doesn’t understand why they took his concern the way they did.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of feeling he has to constantly uphold a reputation, he is quite the perfectionist. It's difficult for him to accept his own mistakes without shutting down and having to distance himself from the situation awhile. To put it simply, he feels like he’s failed those around him through his errors. While he gives others the opportunity to correct their margin of error, he would never give himself that leeway. 

Due to Ulrich’s lack of social understanding, he tends to struggle at fraternizing with others and oftentimes misses obvious jokes or sarcasm within sentences. He is particularly bad at this when matched with tone through text, and will often find himself over-explaining something that didn’t need to be explained to begin with just to be met with “blah blah blah its a joke”. Though his lack of tonal understanding is better in person, he can still be found occasionally left confused and bewildered at interactions.  

Speaking of social scenarios with Ulrich, he is relatively introverted, and prefers brief interactions with strangers in person as to not burn himself out. He prefers interactions with little to no people around, and in general much prefers spaces with little to no activity. This is one of many reasons which his line of work involves remote involvement and virtual meetings on his end. While this issue does not present itself in online chatrooms, he still finds himself burnt out of interaction occasionally if he’s had to speak to those hes unfamiliarized with for too long. 

To those he’s come to know, however, he can be a rather clingy, overprotective individual who wishes for nothing more than to be there for the ones he’s come to love. His clingy nature comes from a place of fear, as he doesn’t want to go through losing someone else he’s come to grow close to. Though, he can be a bit overbearing at points. 

Other Likes:  

 - He highly enjoys programming, creating things from scratch through the languages he knows,  and being able to experience anything which was decently coded. He’s actually a total nerd for video games and especially for computer viruses. He loves being able to dissect things like that. 

He enjoys heavy metal music and EDM. His playlist can be a jumpscare for those entirely oblivious to his music tastes.

He enjoys hiking and exploring alone in his free-time. Its relaxing for him to be able to get out and exercise in any way he can. 

He’s a total dork for mythology and the study of all things surrounding mythological creatures. 

He gets overly hyper during the festival of the moonlight jellies 

He’d never actually admit it, but he really likes dancing, the art behind dancing, and is a decent dancer himself. 

Other Dislikes: 

He has a phobia of needles

He’s outright terrified of Krampus. His father told him ONE tale for bedtime and it forever sealed his fate. 

He dislikes overly loud and obnoxious individuals, finding them quick to drain him. 

He dislikes summer, finding himself overheating easily in the harsh sun

Despite being a Joja employee, he somewhat holds disdain for the way a majority of the branches are run. 

Geese. I don’t need to explain this one, I’m sure it’s justifiable.

Strengths:

One of Ulrich’s greatest strengths is how agile he is. Being relatively skilled on his feet, he is able to run away from most confrontations. Of course, he’d find that shameful, so instead he uses this agility of his to get to and from places at concerning speeds. He might have knee issues, but that doesn't mean he's not fast as fuck.

He's a total computer nerd. Got a tech problem? He’s probably your guy to help out. 

He’s a surprisingly good chef

He was also taught a decent amount of fishing by his father, making him decent at it. 

He’s very outspoken about how he feels regarding any given situation

Weaknesses:

He’s ass at farming. Do not make this man do farmwork, you’ll regret it deeply. Please PLEASE don’t make this man do farm work.

He has the depth perception of a literal toddler. If he’s running somewhere, there’s a 50% chance he’ll slam into a pole on the way there.

As stated in his bio, he has difficulty in social situations. This can make bonding with others difficult, and causes him his fair share of conflict. Especially when he mistakes a joke as a snide remark and starts to comment about how it shouldn’t have been said and it spirals out of control.

He’s stubborn to a fault. He has a very stern set of morals which are hard to bend. Not only that, but his strict internal code causes him to react oddly to anything which bends it even slightly, causing even MORE conflict on his part. 

He’s very outspoken about how he feels regarding any given situation

close up on some things that might be hard to read + the chibis that im absurdly attached to (i might post them standalone)

[cmdrjanus-2]

@nobodyofsparks

"Not perfect, unfortunately, but well within the acceptable margin of error."