#provisions per second

[spokenforinvaliduser]

still calibrating timespeed versus 3rd level networkspeed at minute 100

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reade

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Joel has had a ‘crush’ on you for a long time now and will make sure no man gets in the way of that.

Warnings: PORN-WITH-PLOT. Kinda. Reader is not legal to drink but still legal. Polite reader just trying to not be a bitch while dealing with a pervy old man! Joel has a crush on you, a BIG one. Bro gets so mad he gets a boner. Mutual touching he drives, daddy stuff, a teeny bit of spanking & nipple play, unprotected P-In-V, tummy bulge, aftercare for once wow!! No beta.

A/N: ANON REQ!! (you know who u are and here’s my take on a bit of a jealous Joel) I would've done way more smut if I didn’t have a high fever rn + writers block 😵‍💫! so VERY rushed.

No man should covet a woman he doesn’t own. 

And you weren’t his. 

Your daddy would make sure you would never be. 

Joel tells himself that. Over and over again, the only prayer in his head, the hymn he lives by ever since you’ve been staying with him per your father’s request. You yourself slowly recognizing Joel’s patterns of life. As he wakes up he takes pills for his headaches, swallowing them dry without a blink. His body is accustomed to the feeling. Every Saturday he’d take a weekly drive to the liquor store to stock up on the much needed provisions to his day-to-day routines. Booze, in much less dramatic terms. 

Your father was out of state for work forcing you to settle up with Joel for a couple of months, the only man your father would allow you to actually be around. In fear of you doing something bad. Bad as in… Sex? You could only assume that’s what your darling daddy meant. 

A rocky relationship in the cruel reality. 

Joel’s home. It was livable, there isn’t much to say when it’s the house of a man who’s been living alone twenty years. Indications of life scattered upon furniture the only real telltale signs that someone actually lives there. Coffee table littered with rings from mugs he’d simply leave for too long, the way the worn, vomit-colored green couch sags in the middle. Any prints that were on the buttons of the TV remote had been rubbed off by pressing around them, the last time he had gotten a new television was probably going on fifteen years now. Sad. Truly and utterly sad. 

Then you came along. 

Remnants of your liveliness woven into the once so dreary place. Something as so simple as a hair tie left on the counter, the very vague scent of perfume you left lingering in the small space of the bathroom every time you’d leave it. Now at night he’d walk past the second bedroom of his home that had been left unused, once depressed and dark, had the warm glow of your lamp being left on, leaking through the gap between the door and the floor. The littlest things.

Joel pretends not to notice. 

Though, he does. 

He notices the way you hum so very quietly the times you’re obligated to cook your own breakfast. How you pull your knees up onto the couch when you sit. Rolling your eyes at him every time he’d vexingly tell you to make sure to lock the front door when you came in. You listened. 

You’re too comfortable here. Too at ease. 

And what’s worse is he was getting used to it.

He’s not your fuckin’ father. He’s not your keeper. He’s just the man your daddy trusted well enough to take care of you when he was gone. Sorry excuse for a babysitter all the while you weren’t a baby. An adult who can well take care of herself. Only agreed because he wouldn’t want you to discover how he’s been living for practically twenty years by being alone for two months. The dark quietness of a home when it was just you there. 

He told himself it would be easy. Two months. He’d keep his distance. 

It’s almost impossible. The way you made him feel was sickening. You’re always around. Sinking deep into the couch, marveling in whatever boring sitcom would play on the box of blue light that flickered throughout the room. How you’d take sips from his beer just to tease, wrinkle your nose at the taste deep down you liked. Making your tongue buzz. You were making yourself at home in a place that was never meant to be yours. 

The only thing that worsened it for Joel is that you were so blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. 

He thought the hardest part of this arrangement would be keeping you out of trouble. Your father acting like if he was gone you’d fall apart as a person. Be out partying or fuckin’ every night. Far from the truth. Laying so contently home every night.

Coming back to reality, the hardest part was keeping himself out of it. 

It’s the way you’d walk around his house in whatever you had slept in that night, no matter it be a tank-top and those tiny, plaid shorts that went up your ass. Appreciating the comfortability, though, he fucking hated it. You acted like you belonged there. 

Often he’s finding himself watching you too long, staring at the curve of your mouth while you speak, the plump of your lips as you stay entertained by the television with your face at a gentle rest. He was always seemingly gawked. 

Fifty-seven wasn’t the age to have crushes. 

And on Sunday’s, the day of the lord, of course. Joel Miller goes to the local bar.

Nighttime was surprisingly when the crowd died down. You were surprised to see that as you walked through the doors that sheltered the poorly kept saloon style establishment. Tables seated with older men closer to Joel’s age, some luckier than others to be accompanied by a woman. Smelled like stale beer and sweat which in reality was more disgusting than appealing. Loud breaks in the casual conversions of the crowd as pool balls clacked together. Rejoicing coming soon after. 

Usually you had something better to do on these nights. Going out with your friend’s always suffices though of course they canceled out today. Great, stuck with Mister Miller for a night of drinking all the while you weren’t allowed to let alcohol in your body at your age.He wouldn’t lie for you either, he was supposed to take care of you. Not turn you into the starts of an alcoholic. 

Torturous. Did the man want you to shoot yourself?

He led you through the slim pickings of a crowd there really was, hand grazing the small of your back to keep you close. Nothing more. Both sliding your bodies onto the leather tops of the barstools. Uncomfortability was the price to pay for the first hand of drinks. A squeak in your stool that no one had the patience to fix. 

“Whiskey.” The request sounded more like a plea from his lips. “Two.”

You knew the second one didn’t mean for you. 

Rubbing his temple as he flagged down the waitress. She was all too polite for what seemed to be the shittiest bar on earth. As if a small town in Texas would give you any better. Nodding her head in your direction. Your lips pursed as if ‘Beer” was gonna be the next thing to move past them. Though, you digressed. 

“Soda. I guess.” Joel gave a nod to you. Of course he approved of that action. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he sighed. Forgetting to take his pills this morning. Fuck, the throb behind his eye was something only the alcohol could numb by now. 

“You could’a stayed home.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You shrugged, admittedly so you rather be home- no. You rather be out with your friends as you were supposed to be tonight but in an act of such kindness, you came here with Joel. “Maybe I wanted to see why you liked this place so much.” It was a simple muse to him, though it did strike your curiosity. 

“Quickest bar from home. Quickest way to get drunk.” Curiosity met with an undeniably depressing answer. You were used to it by now. His lips pressed into a thin line. Once the barkeep came back she handed Joel his drinks, plural. As she also came with yours. Soda rimmed with ice. He picked up the first drink given, perspiration coating the glass. His thumb pressed against the cold lowball as he took the first sip. Heavy hot liquid sliding down his throat. Numbing him, his mind. Felt refreshed. 

You hum, stirring the ice in your soda in circles with your straw. He hears the clinking over the din of the bar. Louder than his own thoughts. 

You crossed your legs. Your thighs squishing together through the denim of your jeans, the material a bit loose on your body, a choice out of comfortability to buy baggier bell bottoms instead of the ones that hugged your ass tight. Drawing Joel’s eyes unintentionally.

Fuck this. 

He drags his palm down his face, trying to wipe away whatever the fuck he was feeling. It’s sickening for him. It’s so easy to not feel like this when it’s something so simple, so selfish as a one night stand, a whore he had paid to suck his cock. Different. Far different, especially since the last month he’s spent his time admiring the woman before him. You. The innocence in your eyes that served your beauty. It was this crawling under his skin he wanted to rip away from. 

So fucking vigilant on the scent of you, the sound of your voice, the way you shift ever so slightly closer to him as another group of men pass.

Joel breathes out slowly, averting his eyes to the sweet sight of you. 

The night goes on, the whiskey dulling the edges of restraint with every slow, steady sip. Slowly the place was growing on you, the night seemed to cool it down, less noise less chatter. Seems everyone needed to knock out a couple drinks before settling. You would’ve been happy to say the same if you were allowed to order that beer. You propped your chin in your palm, your elbow flat against the bartop avoiding any of the sticky substances that would coat some unfortunate patches of it. Your eyes scan throughout the place. Not much to take in, not much to see.

Though the slow deliberate movements draw the tiniest bit of attention from a table your eyes accidentally glance at for too long. Subtle but inevitable. 

Joel catches the way the men sitting at that table glance your way. The way you adjusted your body to once again sit straight up. Clearing your throat. 

And that’s when it starts. 

The first one wasn’t particularly bold about it. Just a flick of his gaze in your direction before returning to his minutes-til’-flat beer. The second man, greying, looks a little longer. Too closely. He nudges his friend, mutters something incoherent- something probably offensive to earn a laugh from him. Now he looked again.

Joel knows that look.

The kind that lingers for too long. That waits for an opening.

The kind that makes Miller’s teeth grind, his shoulders go rigid. His fingers slowly begin tightening around the glass of gold as he keeps his eyes forward. His eyes flutter just a bit to the left, seeing your smile. Trying to hide it by gently pressing your lips to the rim of your glass. Pretty pink lips. Before time heat is bubbling in his belly. Praying to god that was the fuckin’ whiskey. 

Those men are still watching. 

The next sip of booze doesn’t quite help as much as he’d want. It doesn’t smooth out the sharp edges of this feeling, the low simmering deep inside his pelvis. It keeps getting worse. 

He’s coming over. Walking with heavy legs. 

Joel sees it from the corner of his eyes, the way the man pushed back the chair, unhurriedly, sloppily walking straight towards you. From what Miller could gauge from the corner of his eye and what the wiry grey hairs covering the man’s beard told him is that he was older. Older as in his own age. Fifties either early or late. Joel wanted to die. Exhaling sharply, slamming down his glass a bit too hard. 

Muddled, you’d lift your head from your glass to look at Miller with an eyebrow cocked. And before you could even speak-

“Evenin’.” The man spoke.

You’d blindly blink at the man now standing beside your barstool. Startled for only a second before schooling your expression into something- polite. Something surely this man was undeserving of yet you really couldn’t help it. Instincts. 

“Hi.” Joel wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t acknowledge him. Not yet.  

“Can I help you?” You smiled, sweetly.

The man would lean in as expected. The strong smell of beer radiating off his breath. Open-mouthed ogling like a fucking dog. He was clearly absolutely wasted. Just those words were an absolute understatement. 

“Is this your daddy?” Of course he’d say that. Gesturing to Joel who was looking straight on before he turned a glance to the man, his eyes slits as he glared. Understandable. If you weren’t trying to give this man the benefit of the doubt you’d be glaring too. This guy was undeniably a fucking dick.  

“No- no,” You’d giggle. “My babysitter.”

You didn’t like how your mind and soul was making you act, unfortunate your internal instincts were to be tooth-achingly sweet in public.

You wanted to die. 

“S’my lucky day, huh?” You’d blink again. Silence as if the man had stole all the thoughts from your head- not in the good way. 

“No. Not- not quite.” 

You’d laugh, trying your best to brush it off. The man should go away soon. Probably just mistaking you for something you’re not while you’re here trying your best to avoid something awkward. Joel’s jaw clenched. 

“Well,” He hushed. A finger twirled into one of your soft locks. Your body tensing as you kept up another nervous giggle– you were only egging him on more. “I just wanted to see you up close.”

“She ain’t interested.” Miller told the truth with that. You weren’t and you were further from interested. Though the nervous, dumb smile on your lips told the fuckin’ pervert otherwise. 

“She didn’t tell me that.” He pushed. “I’d much rather hear that from your mouth, sweetie.”

You hesitated, your lips parted though words weren’t falling. Refusing. Alas, Joel Miller reached his breaking point. 

He popped up from his stool as he moved over to the guy. The greying man hesitated at the sight, of course. He wasn’t gonna be the kinda man to get his ass beat over something fucking stupid. Though, Joel was willing to beat his ass for your sake. 

A long beat of silence through the access chatter swimming around the bar enters the space between you, Joel and this sad fuckin’ man. 

Joel doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe. 

He just stares. 

The man exhales a chuckle, deep down he didn’t want to walk out of here with a broken nose for flirting with a girl he wanted to fuck. A girl he thought was alone, dumb enough to possibly join him and his sad excuses for friends sitting around his table.

“Didn’t mean any trouble, pal.” He threw his palms up in a mock surrender though, he didn’t mean it. That’s what that beer was for afterall. Stepping back only an inch, letting the hair that was between his fingers fall back to your shoulder. 

“Just bein’ friendly.” 

Joel didn’t answer, why should he? The man let out a scoff as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. That was good. All Miller could do was sigh. His shoulders still at unease as he sat back down on the bar stool. Your heart at a slow thump against your ribs. 

You knew deep down that really, you were fine with that. Sure that man was a cuck, sure, you were uncomfortable, but you also knew yourself and you knew if that man would have touched anything else other than the tip of your hair. Oh fuck. He would’ve been gone.

Or– would he? 

It doesn’t shake the feeling that Joel was annoyingly protective if that was the right word for it. That man wasn’t your dad. He didn’t need to stick up for you.

He never did. 

He ran a palm down his face –again– he couldn't take the way he was around you. 

“Ohh, what the fuck.”

He was tired of this.

Goddamn if that happened a month ago chances are he wouldn’t have done anything other than roll his eyes and tell the fucker to go jerk off somewhere else but– oh my god did Joel wish he was the one that close to you. Breathing you in. 

Of course, you weren’t a random woman at a bar.

If only he had enough balls to speak to you. 

Pent up hormones ready to blow out of him every moment he was around you. He was too fucking old for this. 

Too fucking old.

If he felt the rush of blood to his cock one more time this night he was gonna–

Joel was already moving by now. Already shoving back from the bar, the scream of the stool leg against the glazed wooden floor of this god forbidden place made you inherently flinch. His jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he reaches for his wallet, tossing a few bills onto the counter without counting. He didn’t fucking care about the act of either over-paying or under-paying right now. He had one, sinfully unfortunate thing on his mind. 

He knew he’d never do it. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it.

Then his hand was on your wrist.

Grasping.

Firm. Unyielding. 

“C’mon.” He gritted. “Time to go, baby.” 

That was a new one. The name melting of his tongue like an instinct.

His grip was tight. Breathing hitched at the feeling of the grip. He was lucky it didn’t hurt. It was enough to make it clear he needed to get out of there. The reason wasn’t clear. It could be innocent on his part: he didn’t want you in a space where old men are looking at you. Ogling you like a slab of fuckin’ meat. 

His real reason was sickening. 

“Joel– c’mon!”

You’d whine, maybe you had a good reason to stay. Maybe you were just being defiant. 

Typical, like a child.

He didn’t give you time to finish.

The bar stool nearly topples as he pulls you up. Stumbling in the boots you were wearing. Tugging you in tightly to stand beside him. He was tensed, heat radiating off his body like a goddamn furnace. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t speak as if there was a point to. Nothing he said got through to you anyways. He just moves.

People are watching. Who wouldn’t? 

Your pulse spikes as you catch the amused glances throughout the pub. Folks who weren’t looking before now blinking. Causing a scene. Again, 

You. Wanted. To. Die. 

And to make it all better Joel’s eyes rip to the table those men from earlier were sitting at. The ones who eyed you. That same man who had harassed you muttering something to his friend beside him. Fuck. 

He thought he couldn’t get any more pissed. 

His palm covered his lips with no way to read. The music playing throughout the room covered any sounds of a hushed whisper into another man’s ear.

Though, Joel is pivoting. 

His grip on you released as he took a heavy-footed stomp over to that table. He frowned. He wanted to kill them. He would if he could. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Jesus Christ, man.” One of the men mused. Of course, Joel Miller was just another sorry excuse of a man to them. “You don’t give it up do you.” Your babysitter wasn’t intimidating in a setting like this. To a man drunk as a fuckin’ skunk sitting with a bunch of men who reeked of the same stench. 

Joel doesn’t move.

He goes to walk away. No. There was absolutely no point in doing anything.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“All I said is that if I were you I would’ve fucked her by now.” No. Nope that was it.

A quick turn back around and Joel had slammed his fist into the man’s face. Heavy handed. Joel’s knuckles cracking with the impact in the same note as the man’s nose. 

“Fuck!!!” The man cried. It was well deserved. Why would Joel let a man talk to his–

You weren’t his.

Miller couldn’t breathe in the moment. His breathing ragged, watching the blood quickly drip out the man’s nostrils. God was it satisfying.

Your stomach plummets. You can confidently say you’ve never heard a man yell like that. Before the next tick of epinephrine hits Joel his hand now runs to your waist instead. Pushing you out the doors before running into the parking lot.

Holy fucking shit.

The air of the night hit you like a bucket of ice quickly. Suddenly you were regretting only wearing a thin hoodie with a tank top underneath. Joel was dragging you to his truck, practically throwing you into shotgun. 

Slamming the door to your side.

He rounds the front quickly. Pulling open the driver’s side as he slid into the seat. You swore you could hear the way his breath shudders in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pulls his seatbelt over his body– safety first, right? 

The truck was suffocating. Too small. Too fucking warm. 

You lick your lips, tasting salt. Your nerves were shot to hell. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

He frowned. Fist on the shifter before pulling it into drive. He was speeding away, far away from that bar. Yeah, that one punch may had ruined his personal ‘holy day’ for a good while. If him and that man are ever in the same room again most likely one of them is getting there shit rocked and Joel worries that next time it may be him. 

He doesn’t necessarily wanna take that chance. All because of something so FUCKING stupid.

He doesn’t speak. Nothing to say on his part as for you– too stunned to say anything. You had no understanding of why Joel Miller of all people, of all the men you know was acting like this. His fists balled against the steering wheel. Knuckles turning pale. Ghostly. 

“Fuck.” 

He broke the silence with a curse. He was mad. At least, he sounded so. The growl in his voice masked the need. He could feel every twist, every coil in his gut. All because of you.

He can’t keep hiding it. 

“You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ crazy, baby.”

The smell of hard booze on his breath impregnated your nose. Slowly beginning to understand the acts in the bar. “That wasn’t me trying to flirt.” You quickly retorted. That was the honest truth that you’d be abiding by. You were too nervous to do anything except giggle like a dumbass so that’s what you did.

“I can’t help the fact I try to be polite. Even if they’re verging sexual harassment.” 

You’d try to keep it light hearted with a quip. Joel didn’t laugh. Pursing his lips into a line before speaking. It only pissed him off more.

“Not what I’m sayin’.”

You breathe. What the hell did this man want from you if it wasn’t some reasoning from your lips? The road was wet, asphalt glistening with a sheen of rain making light reflect easily off like a mirror. As Joel turned his brights on to properly see through the dark road that light reflected into the truck. The formally dark truck.

Your gaze was pulled to his lap. An accident at first but–

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His cock would writhe against the tightening denim of his jeans. If that didn’t tell you enough you didn’t know what would. 

Joel’s hands flex against the wheel, the veins in his hands popping.

“Whatever you say, M’not fuckin, jealous.”

No no, he was.

And the tension rolling off of him is suffocating, filling the small front space of the truck like a thick fog. Choking you. You could almost still feel the touch he left on you. The phantom of his fingertips that had branded your skin only a few minutes ago now.

He wanted you to touch him and it wasn’t a secret anymore. 

You reached your hand out to place on his thigh. The way his teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip. Yeah, he fucking needed this. You felt your own stomach bloom with heat as your fingertips just barely scathed the denim of his jeans. You were just so close. Closer than you’ve ever been. And if this is something to forever be forbidden,

For all you know this could be as close as you’ll ever be. 

He adjusted his hips. Spreading his legs as if to coax you, as if to tell you this is the right thing. Maybe it was too vague. He took a hand off the wheel as he began soothing more into things. His shoulders finally relaxed as he took a long. Deep breath in. Then out. His fingertips danced along the crotch of your own jeans. Pressing the pad of his middle against your extremely clothed clit, muscle memory of where he knew it was.

He knew.

It was that touch that made your legs wanna buckle. Your cunt clench. 

Your palm soothed up his thigh as he focused on the road. Eyes adjusting, focusing. While his cock focused all by himself. Finally your smaller hand went to the tent in his jeans. Taking your pointer and tracing a line up the curve of the bulge. Wooing a twitch from him. His finger pushed harder into your clothed heat. Rewarding him in your first gasp of the night. 

“Jesus, baby. Soon enough I’ll be the one with the broken nose.”

A jest like that was hard to process currently. 

“What do you mean-?” 

Joel takes his hand away from between your legs just for a second to turn the radio on. Very very low, some old 80’s rock song came on. The background noise almost calming.

“Your daddy.” He’d grunt. “If he ever knew I was touchin’ you–”

“I know. My mouth is shut.”

It was a promise. A promise as your palm slipped beneath his belt.

Home sweet home.

Once the front door was closed the exchanges between your mouths were all teeth and tongue. Messy, sloppy. No shortage of drool dribbling down either of your chins. His fingers latching around the hem of your tank top as he pulled it over your head. No bra. Less work for him. 

It was like clockwork how his big, rough hands scooped under your thighs to grab you, pick you up with a strained grunt ripping from his chest. He couldn’t remember a time where his cocks been this hard. He could almost completely promise that it’s never been. It was heavy and once his jeans were pulled down it was hanging heavy, loose in his boxers. Though his flannel stayed on. Unbuttoned, fabric framing his tummy and bare, soft chest. 

You laid on his bed, splayed upon his blankets like a goddess as you awaited for him to finishing taking his clothes off. But he just couldn’t fuckin’ wait. The sight of you laying there, helpless. Those pretty, lace panties he wanted to rip off with his teeth made his brain turn to mush. He crawled on top of you, leaning down to place a hot kiss on your throat as his hands moved down to your ass. 

“Don’t got time to take you over the knee, baby.”

This sentence came with a squeeze to the soft flesh of your ass. Flipping you over belly-down with his fingers tangled in your hair. Face stuffed into the pillow.

His hand came down firm on your lace clad ass. Watching the thickness of the skin ripple. 

Again. Harder.

You let out a sharp whine at the feeling. Each left with a stinging buzz that lingered within the plush skin. You were addicted. Though, what was fun for a moment was soon boring for Mister Miller, his cock in a painful state in the confines of his boxers. Feeling like he was gonna burst any good moment now. 

But were you ready?

He flipped you back on your back in a sinfully quick motion. One of his practiced, old hands laid flat against your stomach before slipping down beneath the lace of your panties, hooking a finger to the side before pulling them down. They were damp. That just wouldn’t suffice for him. His finger tested the waters, how gluey, slick your folds were. Taking what was currently dripping out of your hole and spreading it around like a glaze. 

He dipped his head down into your sternum, his lips pressing firmly against the skin there before he deliberately moved to one of your tits. Brushing the pad of his thumb across the already hard nipple before taking it between his teeth. 

“Fuck-! Joel-”

Funny, when you touched yourself you weren’t nearly this loud. 

This sensitive. 

The tip of his tongue swirled around the bud, it was smooth against his tongue. Warmer than your skin. His hips dug down deep into his own mattress. Mussing the blankets beneath both of your bodies as if they were neat before. He squeezed your other breast with his free hand, continuing his ministries just for another moment. Keeping his moments practiced and planned for the time being. He flicked your unintended, rock-hard bud with his free hand. Mind Numbing stimulation coursing throughout your body. 

Your hand came down to paw at his erection straining painfully against the grey cotton of his boxers.

“Oh–”  

He groaned, his hips pressing into yours before you could touch more. Clamping himself down so the only way you could feel him throb would be against your thigh.

“You think you’re ready, baby? Ready for my cock?”

Of course the answer was yes. He knew the answer was yes how you were writhing, practically salivating at the thought. Both panting like dogs. He pulled himself out of his boxers. The dim light of the room making it impossible to see was was between your legs. The details left unseen and unsaid as all you could rely on was feel.

You felt his head begin running up and down between your folds. With a girl so fuckin’ wet who needed lubracant. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began to push in. 

You’ve never felt anything like it.

Funnily enough. He’s never felt a girl like you either.

“Joel!” You’d squeal. “Fuck, Joel– JoelJoelJoelJoel–”

You were quickly chanting his name under your breath like an invocation. He was big though a three-letter word so simple as big was a fucking understatement. He was stretching out every ounce of your gummy walls. Your head craning backwards into his pillow. His pillow. The scent of his hair, his scent all seeping into your nose mixing with the sensations throughout your body.

“S’fuckin’-- shit, babygirl…”

Joel’s words were slurring together as if he had drank more than those two lousy whiskeys at the bar. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as you enveloped him. Clenching up every time the tip of his fat cock would graze your cervix. His hand pressed just over your pelvis. Feeling around, ‘til– oh fuck.

“Fuckkkkk… Feel that, baby?” You felt a lot of things right now, your body all too hyper-fixated on the feeling of him to focus on anything other than that. Then Joel took your hand. Trailing it down your stomach as he weakly supported himself with his left arm. Palm flat against the sheets. His bicep tense.

He brought your smaller hand down to your low stomach, feeling the bump there. The bump he was oh-so obsessed with. Jutting out against your palm. 

“S’my cock. Yeahhh. He wants you, s’fuckin’ bad.” 

He was barely there.

“--So. Fuckin’. Bad.”

He punctuated his words with every thrust. You wanted to call out, say something over and over again like your only fucking prayer. But words defied you in the moment. As soon as you felt the unbearable pressure build up in your gut, the pressure that took over, spilled from your pelvis to your pussy. You felt the wiry hairs that crowned his cock scratching against your clit only adding to the feeling. The feeling that was building and building. 

“Joel– I’m gonna–!”

It was so cliché. The need to finish that sentence was gone as you couldn’t control it. Feeling the knot tied so uncomfortably tightly in your pelvis untie. You tried to keep it back, hold it in but it refused. Your hips wriggled against his as your orgasm came ripping through your body. Leaning up as best you could to bury your face in his neck to gasp. Cry out into his ear as much as you well pleased as you felt your legs kick out, your thighs buzz.

His cock curved inside of you, kissing a soft spot that you weren’t even aware you had. His pace slowing, becoming sloppier, rushed. His hips snappy. The way your walls squeezed around him, trying to milk him til’ he was dry. Just wasn’t safe for an old man like him to blue-ball himself like this, huh?

“Fuck- she’s gonna milk daddy dry, ain’t she–?” He was trying to kill you.

With that it was only one more thick, deep thrust into your tight, throbbing cunt where he spilled his cum inside of you. Using what little energy he had left to paint those pretty walls white. Rolling his hips to drive his semen into your pretty little hole. His thumb pushed past your parted lips, your mouth quickly latching on. Cock-drunk, suckling on his thumb to muffle any whimpers. No more cries.

“Atta girl.”

He’d praise. His sweaty, damp body pressing heavily against yours. He didn’t wanna pull out. It’s almost like his body wanted him to stay this way until he was passin’ out. Though, he wouldn't let that happen. He slowly unsheathes his thick cock from your pussy with a wet, squelch as your walls adjust back to normal. Opaque, pearly cum dripping out of your cunt, drooling down your inner thighs all the way to your ass was pornographic. 

Reaching around the back of his head to seize a chunk of his greying, soft-to-the-touch curls. Your tongue licking his way into his mouth instead of his thumb. 

You felt absolutely and utterly euphoric. 

Laying with the blanket lazily draped over both of your bodies. Joel took a long sip from the bottle of alcohol, drinking it like water to refresh his mouth. He felt exasperated. He wouldn’t be able to pin point the last time sex made him feel this good if you were paying him a million bucks. But now he could say with you.

You tucked your face into his neck, taking in the scent of him, the stickiness of his skin. The salty scent of sex still lingering in the air around. 

It was silent. Like you were both trying to process what had happened within the last hour- hell, the last three. Even the whole bar thing seemed like an impossible daydream you’d watch on a soap, something that you’d say is unrealistic. 

“I was jealous.”

He murmured. Turning his attention back to you as the silence was officially broken. You could’ve figured as much.

“I guess I should be flattered.”

You’d giggle. Real and genuine. Not the fake one you put on for that pervert at the bar. 

“I’ve never had a man break another guy’s nose for me before.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Wrapping his warm arms around your body as he pulled you in close. The first time in twenty years his bed wasn’t empty and cold. A warm body tucked right against him, perfectly as if you belonged. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

[tridenopmoth]

Continuation of ✨ batshit insane au✨

Everything you will see here was made and designed by Ness or @almostswagkid, we just agreed that I would post it so that it would all be in one place, so please give her some praise and some love.

Gregor is one of the hunters of G corp, who engaged in the extermination of giant bugs flooding almost the entire district. Hunting is conducted not only because of the threat, but because of the resources that can be obtained by killing: Meat, armor and venom (witch is used for research, medicine and weapons).

Hunting groups usually consisted of 3-5 people and are sometimes joined by a couple of scientists for observation and study of the bugs, for better training of hunters and the effect of venom on them. This number of people per group was made on purpose, because otherwise it starts to attract unnecessary attention, as well as, requires more provisions and medicines, which is difficult to achieve in a permanent mobile group, which goes “on the hunt” on average for a month. Hunters have their own hierarchy, which manifests itself in tattoos, and each tattoo has its own meaning: from simple “High survivability” and “For luck” (such tattoo is tattooed in the form of a ladybug) to literally giving out an achievement, like medals of honor (Gregor has just such). Every hunter also gets dragonfly wings on their collarbone when they are trained. Hunters have many peculiar habits that do not allow them to freely blend into society, which makes them shunned by ordinary people

Herman is from a family, that's been studying and hunting bugs for generations so Gregor got into the industry because of Herman and started training and hunting at a very early age. Since he was a child she used him in her experiments to find not only to find an antidote to the venom, but also to find a use for it. Because of this, Gregor is almost immune to bug bites, even if he does get a bite, it will go away in a week. Plus, scars from needles and venom overdose can be seen on his arms.

Soon enough, at the age of 17, he joined another hunter group where he met Tomah. At first they didn't get along but soon enough they became close friends. Tomah often would tell about his plans and dreams, witch made Gregor started to form goals and desires. But, sadly, he got killed on what was supposed to be their last hunting mission

Bites from bugs on others are usually fatal because the venom literally melts the old skin and muscles, and then forms a new, insect-like shell, but the degree of spread of infection and lethality depends on the immunity of each person.

Each swarm has its own queen. That's what the hunters were looking for to stop the bugs spreading. Gregor and a Herman's group killed one of them, for which he became famous. The second, the biggest and most important one, he had killed on his own, when his whole group was killed by the swarm. He was badly hurt, but the spread stopped, upon his return Herman created a prosthetic arm that worked on just the remnants of the mutation. The mutations constantly distill the blood in the prosthetic + filled its cavity with nerves, so Gregor can use it almost freely like a normal hand

The hunting industry began to die because of the death of queens and Gregor was disliked by hunters and humans alike. After a few years of wandering from job to job, he joined Limbus. Prev post "Swap Ishmael"

[reasonsforhope]

"A long-awaited ceasefire between Israel and Hamas has officially begun, after a last minute delay of almost three hours. The fighting continued past the initially provisioned 8:30 a.m. local (1:30 a.m. Eastern) deadline as the Israeli military said Hamas had failed to provide the names of the first three hostages due to be released, as per the terms of the agreement.

The office of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu later confirmed that a list of names had been provided and that the ceasefire would take effect from 11:15 a.m. local time (4:15 a.m. Eastern). 

Now, families in Israel wait for the release of hostages who have been held by Hamas for more than 15 months. The exchange is set to begin at 9 a.m. Eastern Time, 4 p.m. local time on Sunday.

In Gaza, fighter jets and drones were reported to have disappeared from the skies as the deal took effect, and aid trucks began entering into Gaza through the Karem Shalom crossing.

The first phase of the ceasefire calls for Hamas to release 33 hostages over a six-week period. They include women, children and hostages over 50 years old, a draft viewed by CBS News said...

How the hostage release will work

Under the negotiated deal, the ceasefire will be in three phases.

The first phase of the ceasefire will last 42 days, and negotiations on the far more difficult second phase are meant to begin just over two weeks in.

After the six weeks of the first phase, Israel's security cabinet will decide how to proceed.

In total, Hamas would release 33 hostages during the first phase. Hamas would start releasing hostages on the first day, initially returning three to Israel, according to the draft viewed by CBS News. On the seventh day, Hamas would release four hostages. Thereafter, Hamas would release three hostages every seven days, starting with the living, and then moving on to return the bodies of those who have died.

Among those expected to be released is the youngest hostage, Kfir Bibas, whose family marked his second birthday on Saturday. The child has become a symbol across Israel for the helplessness over the hostages' plight.

During each exchange, Palestinian prisoners will be released by Israel after the hostages have arrived safely.

Mr. Biden said Wednesday that Americans would be among the hostages released in the first phase, but he did not specify any names or how soon they would be freed.

In phase one, Israel will release at least 1,700 Palestinian prisoners, including 1,167 Gaza residents who were not involved in the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas-led attack that sparked the war. All women and children under 19 from Gaza held by Israel will be freed during this phase.

The remainder of the Hamas-held hostages, including male Israeli soldiers, are to be released in a second phase that will be negotiated during the first. Hamas has said it will not release the remaining captives without a lasting ceasefire and a full Israeli withdrawal.

When does fighting stop

During the ceasefire's first phase, Israeli troops are to pull back into a buffer zone about a kilometer (half of a mile) wide inside Gaza along its borders with Israel.

In a post on X, Qatar's foreign minister advised Palestinians to exercise caution when the ceasefire goes into effect and wait for directions from officials.

Israel's military later said Palestinians would not be able to cross the Netzarim corridor that runs across central Gaza for the first seven days of the ceasefire, and it warned Palestinians not to approach Israeli forces.

Despite the caveats and uncertainty, anticipation was high."

-via CBS News, January 19, 2025

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Derin you had a post a while ago (at least several months ago if not more than a year) where you detailed a calendar system that was extremely well thought out and sounded really practical. Something about the months being segmented so that the days of the week would be predictable (ie the 1st of the month is always a monday or something like that). all the months were the same length i think there was 13 or 14 of them and there were provisions for free days around new years and leap days and all. it was just a fantastic system i saw it and was like i would switch to this calendar system in a heartbeat.

but i cannot for the life of me find the post. i would like to find it. i am trying to work out a schedule for my newly-self employed life and our current common western calendar system is just really stupid in a lot of ways. do you have your derin calendar system to hand or do you know how to find the post. it was so good!! i would like to see it again at least for some inspiration for how to organise my life!! i would really appreciate some help with this <333333 thanks in advance!!!

You might be talking about the Time to Orbit: Unknown calendar, which works thusly:

Six days per week

Five weeks per month, giving 12 30-day months for a total of 360 days

A "thirteenth month" rest period at the end of the year of five days (six for leap years)

The advantages of this calendar should be obvious:

6 day weeks are better than 7 because they can be easily divided by 2 or by 3. There's a lot of things that people do every second or every third day, or that they want to spend half a week doing; 6 days makes for MUCH easier scheduling. Whoever decided the number of days in the week should be a prime number was a fucking idiot.

Even months also, obviously, make for much easier scheduling.

Every month within a year starts on the same weekday. If Jan 1 was a Tuesday, Feb 1 and March 1 will also be Tuesdays. Again, this makes for easier scheduling -- there's a lot of events that take place on "the second Wednesday of each month" and stuff like that, and it's also much easier to remember if the 14th is going to be on a weekend or not if it's the same throughout the whole year.

A 5 or 6 day transitional period at the end of the year makes for a very convenient rest and reset period, a "new year's week" that can be an extended public holiday that fits naturally into the calendar and gives everyone a chance to prepare for a new year. I think the cultural and psychological benefits of having an extended New Year holiday baked into the calendar would be large.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Twenty-Four

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Four: Parleying with Beckett

Summary: The pirates name a king, and they meet their enemy face-to-face.

            Bang!

            All of the brawling pirates froze and looked up at (Y/N), who glared at them all with pistol in hand. “Would you all get your heads out of your bloody arses and focus?” The pirates just blinked.

            (Y/N) hopped down from the table and gestured to the crowd. “All yours, Barbossa.”

            Barbossa nodded approvingly and cleared his throat. “It was the First Court what imprisoned Calypso. We should be the ones to set her free. And in her gratitude, she will see fit to grant us boons.”

            (Y/N) seriously doubted that, but they believed she deserved freedom, so they weren’t going to point that out.

            “What boons? Your boons? Utterly deceptive twaddle-speak, says I,” said Jack.

            He obviously had a history with Tia Dalma, so his own safety was on the line when it came to Calypso, so (Y/N) couldn’t blame him for speaking out.

            “If you have a better alternative, please share,” said Barbossa.

            “Cuttlefish,” said Jack.

            Everyone looked at Jack like he was crazy (a definite possibility at this point).

            “Aye,” said Jack. “Let us not, dear friends, forget out dear friends, the cuttlefish. Flipping glorious little sausages. Pen them up together, they’ll devour each other without a second thought. Human nature, isn’t it? Or…or fish nature. So, yes, we could hole up here well-provisioned and well-armed. Half of us would be dead within the month.”

            He had a rough start, but this is the smartest thing Jack’s ever said, thought (Y/N).

            “Which seems quite grim to me, any way you slice it,” said Jack. “Or, as my learned colleague so naively suggests, we can release Calypso, and we can pray she will be merciful. I rather doubt it. Can we pretend she’s anything other than a woman scorned like which fury hell hath not? We cannot.”

            I’m still up for freeing Calypso, but our survival is important, I guess, considered (Y/N). Still, though…they could risk it. Maybe that was the sea pulling at them.

            “Res ipsa loquitur, tabula in naufragio,” said Jack. “We are left with but one option. I agree with, and I cannot believe the words coming out of me mouth, Captain Swann. We must fight.”

            “You’ve always run away from a fight!” said Barbossa.

            “Have not,” said Jack, frowning.

            “Have so.”

            “Have not.”

            “Have so.”

            “Have not!”

            “You have so, and you know it.”

            “Have not. Slander and calumny.” Jack raised his chin. “I have only ever embraced the oldest and noblest of pirate traditions. I submit here now that is what we all must do: we must fight to run away.”

            Are we back to nonsense?

            “Aye!” said all the pirates as if it made sense.

            “As per the code, an act of war, and this be exactly that, can only be decided by the pirate king,” said Barbossa.

            “You made that up,” said Jack.

            “Did I, now?” said Barbossa. “I call on Cap’n Teague, keeper of the code.”

            Jack paled at the suggestion.

            The Arabian pirate nudged his companion, who cleared his throat and spoke for him. “Sri Sumbhajee proclaims this all to be folly. Hang the code. Who cares a—”

            Bang!

            The speaker fell back with a bullet through his skull.

            Everyone looked down the table to find a captain in a red coat blowing smoke from his pistol. Captain Teague had made himself known.

            “Code is the law,” said Teague.

            Everyone sat down in their seats, not wanting his ire. He walked towards the table and came up behind Jack.

            “You’re in my way, boy,” said Teague.

            Jack quickly moved out of the way, and Teague waved with his hand. Two elderly pirates brought a large, thick book to the table.

            The code, identified (Y/N).

            Teague whistled, and a dog that felt familiar walked forward with a keyring in its mouth. Teague took the key and unlocked the book.

            “The dog, how did he—” Pintel and Ragetti stared.

            “Sea turtles, mate,” said Teague, opening the book.

            “Sea turtles,” repeated Ragetti in awe.

            I’ve heard that story before, thought (Y/N).

            “Barbossa is right,” confirmed Teague, consulting the code.

            “Hang on a minute,” said Jack, reading over his shoulder. “ ‘It shall be the duties, as the king, to declare war, parley with shared adversaries…’ Fancy that.”

            “There has not been a king since the First Court,” said the French lord. “And that’s not likely to change.”

            “Not likely,” said Teague, walking back to a chair and picking up a guitar while keeping an eye on the proceedings.

            “Why not?” said Elizabeth.

            “See, the pirate king is elected by popular vote,” said Gibbs.

            “And each pirate only ever votes for himself,” said Barbossa.

            “I call for a vote!” said Jack, not caring for all the pessimism.

            Everyone groaned.

            “I vote for Ammand the Corsair,” said one pirate lord.

            “Captain Chevaille, the penniless Frenchman,” said the French lord.

            I guess they really do vote for themselves, thought (Y/N).

            “Sri Sumbhajee votes for Sri Sumbhajee,” said his speaker.

            “Mistress Ching,” said the Chinese lord.

            “Gentlemen Jocard,” said the African lord.

            “Elizabeth Swann,” said Elizabeth.

            “Barbossa,” said Barbossa.

            “Vallenueva!” said the Spanish lord.

            The last one to speak was Jack, and everyone sat back as they waited for him to vote for himself.

            Jack grinned. “Elizabeth Swann.”

            “What?” said Elizabeth, and Barbossa’s face fell in shock that repeated around the room.

            “I know. Curious, isn’t it?” said Jack.

            He grinned at (Y/N), who smiled back. Whatever stupid deals he was involved in and would double-cross and then remake and then mess up again, at least he’d done this right. He had his moments, and that’s why (Y/N) was still fond of him and didn’t want to run him through themself.

            A clamor rose in the rest of the pirates. Several shouted at Jack to change his vote to be for them now that it was established one of them wouldn’t vote for themselves. Others were saying this was foolish and that the vote should be thrown out—mostly just outrage at not being the one picked to be Pirate King.

            (Y/N) crossed their arms in annoyance at the squabble. Were no pirates capable of shutting up and getting business done? “Are you all ignoring the code now?” Their eyes flicked to Teague, knowing that would get his attention.

            Sure enough, his head snapped up, and the guitar music broke off. Everyone stared at him, glanced at the pistol at his hip, and smartly decided to sit back down and shut up.

            “Oh, good, you’re listening,” said (Y/N), smiling with only the barest amount of pleasantry.

            “Very well,” said Ching. She looked at Elizabeth. “What say you, Captain Swann, King of the Brethren Court?”

            Elizabeth squared her shoulders, and a slightly smug glint appeared in her eyes. “Prepare every vessel that floats. At dawn…we’re at war.”

            Sri Subhajee rose and nodded. “And so we shall go to war.”

            (Y/N) smothered a laugh. Apparently, he only had someone speak for him because he had a ridiculous high-pitched voice. Everyone shouted in agreement and cheered.

            Jack faced Teague, who just stared at him evenly. “What? You’ve seen it all, done at all. You survived. That’s the trick, isn’t it? To survive?”

            “It’s not just about living forever, Jackie,” said Teague. “The trick is living with yourself forever.”

            Jack considered and nodded. “How’s Mum?”

            Teague held up a shrunken head.

            Jack coughed. “She looks great.” He offered a smile.

            “Jack, are you coming?” said (Y/N) as the pirates began to leave the courtroom.

            “Yes, onward to our possible deaths!” said Jack, smiling at them as they approached.

            “You. You’re the one who respected the code,” said Teague.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I suppose.”

            Teague nodded. “A proper pirate should.”

            Jack groaned. Great. Now his own father would like (Y/N) more than him. “Let’s go, Pearl.”

            “Alright,” said (Y/N), rolling with the name. It was clearly a compliment, so although they didn’t understand it, they wouldn’t question it.

l

            The fleet of pirate ships stared out at the fleet of British ships. All were silent. The scrappy ships of pirates seemed broken down compared to the pristine, efficiently crafted British ships, but the wildness of the pirates felt more at home on the sea. The British sought to control; the pirates went with the wild waves.

            “The enemy is here! Let’s take them!” shouted Marty, drawing his sword.

            Raucous cheers went up in the crowd of pirates, but the cheers died down as ship after ship appeared from the fog. They were clearly outnumbered by a lot.

            Jack cleared his throat. “Parley?”

l

            (Y/N), Jack, Elizabeth, and Barbossa stood on a small strip of sand across from Will, Beckett, and Jones (who stood in a bucket of seawater). (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. They were so disappointed in Will for going and making a deal with a man like Beckett, but it seemed everyone except for Elizabeth had no sense or intelligence, so (Y/N) had just thrown their hands up and accepted the shitshow.

            “You be the cur that led these wolves to our door,” said Barbossa.

            “Don’t blame Turner. He was merely the tool of your betrayal,” said Beckett smugly. “If you wish to see its grand architect, look to your left.”

            Elizabeth, Barbossa, and (Y/N) looked at Jack. (Y/N) furrowed their brow, unsure if Jack had sold them in particular out or not.

            “My hands are clean in this,” said Jack. Yes, he had been fine with the Dutchman getting close so he had a chance to kill Jones’s heart and gain immortality, but he wasn’t going to just hand (Y/N) over to Beckett. There were lines he wasn’t crossing. “

            “My actions were my own and to my own purpose,” said Will. “Jack had nothing to do with it.”

            Jack nodded. “Well spoke. Listen to the tool.” He had more planned, and Will was going along well.

            “Will, I’ve been aboard the Dutchman,” said Elizabeth. “I understand the burden you bear, but I fear the cause is lost.”

            “No cause is lost if there is but one fool left to fight for it,” said Will stubbornly.

            “If Turner wasn’t acting on your behalf, then how did he come to give me this?” remarked Beckett, holding up Jack’s compass. “You made a deal with me, Jack, to deliver the pirates. And here they are.”

            “He said ‘no’ to your deal, remember?” said (Y/N), crossing their arms. “Whatever mischief he’s up to, I doubt it has much to do with your bargain.”

            They expected him to double-cross Beckett, then Will, stab Jones’s heart, and sail off into the sunset before he was at risk of dying, but they also knew he had refused to hand them over to Beckett. He wanted (Y/N), and Jack had refused that as part of any deal. They may not have high expectations of Jack’s general loyalty, but they trusted him to not sell them out for whatever reason.

            Beckett sneered and threw the compass into the sand. Jack knelt and picked it up. “Yes, yes, he for some reason grew a conscious when it came to a silly creature like you.”

            “Someone has to make up for your lack of one,” said (Y/N), raising a brow.

            “His debt to me still must be satisfied,” snapped Jones, glaring at Jack. “One hundred years in servitude aboard the Dutchman. As a start."

            “That debt was paid, mate. With some help,” said Jack.

            “You escaped,” said Jones.

            “Technically,” shrugged Jack.

            “I propose an exchange,” said Elizabeth. “Will leaves with us, and you can take Jack.”

            “Done,” said Will.

            “I want the nereid,” said Beckett.

            “Go to hell,” said (Y/N).

            “They’re not part of the deal. Do you want Jack or not?” said Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes.

            Beckett was frustrated with the lack of control he had over that particular aspect of the situation. “Done,” he snapped.

            “Undone,” said Jack.

            “Done,” said Elizabeth again.

            “Jack’s one of the nine pirate lords. You have no right,” said Barbossa. He usually wanted Jack dead, but this felt like it went against the pirate code.

            “King,” said Elizabeth smugly.

            “Lizzie…” said (Y/N).

            “Jack can take care of himself if he wants to go around causing problems,” said Elizabeth.

            Jack made a playful, impertinent bow. “As you command, your nibs.”

            The insult was clear, and (Y/N) sighed and stepped back as Barbossa drew his sword. Jack was bringing trouble on himself.

            “You blackguard!” Barbossa sliced off the bead and silver coin in Jack’s hair. Jack the Monkey grabbed it while Barbossa walked up to Jack. “If ye have something to say, I might be saying something as well.”

            “First to the finish, eh?” said Jack.

            He walked towards Will, who walked towards him. They stared each other down as they switched places. (Y/N) gazed at Jack, and they nodded curtly at him before anyone could notice. Jack furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure quite what that meant, but some part of him hope that it meant what he thought it did—that (Y/N) wasn’t going to abandon him with Beckett.

            He was right. (Y/N) needed to have a good long conversation about trying to play 3D chess while being unable to play checkers, but they weren’t going to leave Jack at Jones’s disposal. They’d release him.

            …When they had a free moment (Jack had to stew in the consequences of his actions for a bit).

            Jones leaned towards Jack. “Do you fear death?”

            Jack cleared his throat. “You’ve no idea.”

            Beckett stepped forward. “Advise your Brethren, you can fight, and all of you will die. Or you can not fight, in which case only most of you will die.”

            “You murdered my father,” said Elizabeth, stepped towards Beckett. If (Y/N) had to choose, they’d say Elizabeth was scarier.

            “He chose his own fate,” said Beckett.

            “And you have chosen yours,” said Elizabeth. “We will fight. And you will die.” She turned away and stalked back towards their lifeboat. Will and Barbossa turned back with her.

            (Y/N) looked at Beckett evenly and smiled. “You’ve tried to control the sea. You’ll pay for it with your life.”

Taglist:

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[victusinveritas]

Trump administration considering suspending habeas corpus

So that's...bad.

From Rebecca Solnit:

Just remember that lots of stuff they say they will do is stuff they don't have the legal authority to do. Here's a legal expert on that. Steve Vladeck writes:

I know there’s a lot going on, and that Miller says lots of incendiary (and blatantly false) stuff. But this strikes me as raising the temperature to a whole new level—and thus meriting a brief explanation of all of the ways in which this statement is both (1) wrong; and (2) profoundly dangerous. Specifically, it seems worth making five basic points:

First, the Suspension Clause of the Constitution, which is in Article I, Section 9, Clause 2 is meant to limit the circumstances in which habeas can be foreclosed (Article I, Section 9 includes limits on Congress’s powers)—thereby ensuring that judicial review of detentions are otherwise available. (Note that it’s in the original Constitution—adopted before even the Bill of Rights.) I spent a good chunk of the first half of my career writing about habeas and its history, but the short version is that the Founders were hell-bent on limiting, to the most egregious emergencies, the circumstances in which courts could be cut out of the loop. To casually suggest that habeas might be suspended because courts have ruled against the executive branch in a handful of immigration cases is to turn the Suspension Clause entirely on its head.

Second, Miller is being slippery about the actual text of the Constitution (notwithstanding his claim that it is “clear”). The Suspension Clause does not say habeas can be suspended during any invasion; it says “The Privilege of the Writ of Habeas Corpus shall not be suspended, unless when in Cases of Rebellion or Invasion the public Safety may require it.” This last part, with my emphasis, is not just window-dressing; again, the whole point is that the default is for judicial review except when there is a specific national security emergency in which judicial review could itself exacerbate the emergency. The emergency itself isn’t enough. Releasing someone like Rümeysa Öztürk from immigration detention poses no threat to public safety—all the more so when the release is predicated on a judicial determination that Ozturk … poses no threat to public safety.

Third, even if the textual triggers for suspending habeas corpus were satisfied, Miller also doesn’t deign to mention that the near-universal consensus is that only Congress can suspend habeas corpus—and that unilateral suspensions by the President are per se unconstitutional. I’ve written before about the Merryman case at the outset of the Civil War, which provides perhaps the strongest possible counterexample: that the President might be able to claim a unilateral suspension power if Congress is out of session (as it was from the outset of the Civil War in 1861 until July 4). Whatever the merits of that argument, it clearly has no applicability at this moment.

Fourth, Miller is wrong, as a matter of fact, about the relationship between Article III courts (our usual federal courts) and immigration cases. It’s true that the Immigration and Nationality Act (especially as amended in 1996 and 2005) includes a series of “jurisdiction-stripping” provisions. But most of those provisions simply channel judicial review in immigration cases into immigration courts (which are part of the executive branch) in the first instance, with appeals to Article III courts. And as the district courts (and Second Circuit) have explained in cases like Khalil and Öztürk, even those provisions don’t categorically preclude any review by Article III courts prior to those appeals.

Toward the end of the video, Miller tries to make a specific point about whether revocations of “TPS” (temporary protected status) are subject to judicial review. Here, he appears to be talking about a California district court ruling in the TPS Alliance case, in which the Trump administration is currently asking the Supreme Court for a stay of the district court’s injunction (the appropriate remedy in case the district court erred). And as the plaintiffs’ response brief in the Supreme Court explains in detail, the district court had very good reasons for holding that it had the power to hear their case.

I don’t mean to overstate things; some of the questions raised by the INA’s (notoriously unclear) jurisdiction-stripping provisions can get very messy. But there’s a big difference, in my view, between reasonable disagreements over the language of complex jurisdictional statutes and Miller’s insinuation that Congress has categorically precluded judicial review in these cases. It just hasn’t.

Fifth, and finally, Miller gives away the game when he says “a lot of it depends on whether the courts do the right thing or not.” It’s not just the mafia-esque threat implicit in this statement (“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse”); it’s that he’s telling on himself: He’s suggesting that the administration would (unlawfully) suspend habeas corpus if (but apparently only if) it disagrees with how courts rule in these cases. In other words, it’s not the judicial review itself that’s imperiling national security; it’s the possibility that the government might lose. That’s not, and has never been, a viable argument for suspending habeas corpus. Were it otherwise, there’d be no point to having the writ in the first place—let alone to enshrining it in the Constitution.

If the goal is just to try to bully and intimidate federal judges into acquiescing in more unlawful activity by the Trump administration, that’s shameful enough. But suggesting that the President can unilaterally cut courts out of the loop solely because they’re disagreeing with him is suggesting that judicial review—indeed, that the Constitution itself—is just a convenience. Something tells me that even federal judges and justices who might otherwise be sympathetic to the government’s arguments on the merits in some of these cases will be troubled by the implication that their authority depends entirely upon the President’s beneficence.

***

It’s certainly possible that this doesn’t go anywhere. Indeed, I hope that turns out to be true. But Miller’s comments strike me as a rather serious ratcheting up of the anti-court rhetoric coming out of this administration—and an ill-conceived one at that.

[tarbuchyloewenthal]

Sabina's Duel - Secret St. Waidwen Gift Exchange

here's my @secret-st-waidwen-exchange gift - a fic for @sun-marie's Sabina & Eamoc (rest of the story after the break). i hope you enjoy! i love sabina and eamoc. they were so fun to write. i'm always nervous about writing someone else's OC, so i hope i did these two justice.

Sabina's Duel

Sabina started at the outlines of kith moving in the copper and adra cage. She hadn’t expected to find anyone at the Engwithan digsite alive, not after seeing the smattering of the now all-too-familiar ashy remains Eothas left in his wake. With every second, it seemed the shape of another kith would appear behind the adra and bunch up near the door. The copper on the cage began to rattle and voices cried out, too muffled to understand.

With hesitant steps, Sabina crept closer. She was still a bit on edge from a brine imp nearly getting the drop on her near the subterranean pool. Eamoc, on the other hand, couldn’t have been less bothered, sauntering up to one of the fallen animancers to give them a sniff.

“Eamoc!” Sabina yelled. The stag snapped his gaze to her. The effigy he’d been investigating crumbled into ash that dusted the top of his snout, drawing out a sneeze that sent him reeling back a couple steps. “Per complancanet! Stop smelling the deceased and come help with whatever’s in this cage.”

“Better smelling the dead than rummaging through my pack for my pipe weed,” Edér said. He sat on a supply box toward the edge of the arena with his pipe in hand, already lit, and watched Xoti saunter up to the dead shaking her lantern. 

“You’re not helping.”

“Figure I already helped plenty. Fighting wildlife. Dragging your soulless body aboard the ship.” The latter claim drew an irritated stamp of the hoof from Eamoc. Edér might have carried her onboard the Defiant, but Sabina’s animal companion had been the one to carry her across the Dyrwood in Eothas’ wake. Edér coughed up some smoke at the stag’s displeasure. “Now, I ain’t discounting all your work my animal friend.”

Sabina’s retort died on her tongue, cut off by muffled whispers behind the door of the animancers’ cage. “Hello! Is anyone out there?” a lone voice finally shouted from among the multitude. “Is it safe to come out? Those creatures are dead?”

“Si, si. The creatures are gone”

The door to the cage rattled around as those inside struggled to undo the latch. Eventually the door swung inward and a gaggle of kith stepped out, some with horror at seeing their ashen colleagues, others merely glad to be breathing fresh air. They were all Vailian, at least in dress. Fashionable, practical, yet completely inappropriate for the claustrophobically humid climate.

After the usual pleasantries, Sabina informed the animancers of the job she’d agreed to do for Governor Clario. If the revelation that the party had arrived only for Oderisi’s notes had shocked the woman, Benessa, leading the scholars, she did a remarkable job of hiding it, instead thinking a moment as if deciding what to do next might weigh heavily on her.

“If you are going inside the ruins, you should take Engferth with you,” said Benessa.

An elf who had been standing near the back of the crowd shuffled forward with his eyes pointed firmly toward the ground.

Edér gawked and nearly dropped his pipe on the ground. “Hey! He looks an awful lot like –”

Aloth, thought Sabina. Her heart skipped a beat. How long had it been? Two years? Three? 

“He knows a great many spells! He cast fire to chase away the panthers, but the tents nearly caught fire,” one of the animancers said.

“You mean he nearly burned the last of our provisions,” another added.

Sabina made eye contact with Aloth, her left eyebrow cocked, and a grin spread across her face. “Oh? Tell me more about Engferth.”

Aloth’s eyes grew wide in panic. A rosy hue bloomed on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“He came with a glowing recommendation from the Academy in Selona,” said Benessa.

“Is this really necessary? We should –”

“A glowing recommendation?”

The red blush on the poor elf’s face deepened. Anyone who so much as glanced at him would see just how flustered he was.

“‘A pupil of unnatural talent’, the letter said. Though apparently misunderstood and disregarded by his fellows.”

The animancer who complained about the nearly burned rations muttered, “I cannot imagine why.”

“Now that we’ve established my credentials, I think we should move on, don’t you? I’m sure this helpful stranger here would rather not tarry.”

“Of course, but you should know something about Engferth,” Sabina said to Benessa. All the color on Aloth’s face drained. His face now glistened with a cold sweat, and he pleaded to Sabina with his eyes. Sabina drew out the moment just a bit longer. The man was far too easy to rile up, and she missed doing so. “He’s more than welcome to join us.”

The tension Aloth had been carrying in his shoulders dissipated and he let out a long breath. 

“Be careful, Aimico,” said Benessa as she squeezed Aloth's hand. The two gazed at one another just long enough for the moment to grow awkward. And when Aloth moved to join Sabina’s party, Benessa’s hands were tugged along for a second before she let them slide back toward her.

The gesture was not lost on Sabina, and a peculiar knot grew in the pit of her stomach. She remembered there being something similar between her and Aloth, though she had been reticent to let her feelings be known. And Aloth sure as hell would never be the first to admit such. To see even this expression of fondness, and with an animancer of all the kith in Eora, had Sabina off kilter. It had been some time since they’d last seen one another, but she’d hoped that spark was still there.

Sabina did not have long to ponder this latest development before Aloth sidled up to her and whispered, “Thank you for your discretion, though I could have done without you making sweat so thoroughly.”

Sabina gathered herself. “Could you at least tell me how you ended up making friends with animancers?”

“I promise I’ll answer all your questions later. Not where there are ears to hear.”

Later. Between a rampaging god in an adra colossus, scurvy-addled pirates, and trading companies that reminded Sabina far too much of the warring dynasties in Old Vailia, who knew if there would even be a later?

Eamoc stared after the elf as he gathered his effects. When Sabina caught the stag’s eye, he gave her an irritated snort.

“Oh don’t be a postenago. Give him a chance. You’ll like him, I promise.”

It turned out chasing a god was exhausting, physically and spiritually. Sabina was glad to have a moment’s respite between fighting kith and creature and getting yanked to and fro in the inbetween and the beyond. Her and her companions sat around a large fire on the beach, sharing stories and rum while Clario and Ikawa’s people patched up the Voyager. Occasionally, she sang along to the worker’s songs. They weren’t the most sophisticated pieces of music, yet that only meant she had ample opportunity to add in her own flourishes.

Eamoc seemed to be the only one not in high spirits. He spent long periods of time glaring at Aloth and looking back at Sabina, though Sabina remained blissfully unaware of this as the evening progressed.

When a lull in the conversation hit, she looked across the flames at Aloth. He was thumbing through the pages of his grimoire, as he did near constantly out in the field, squinting at the runes in the faint light of the fire. The knot that had made itself at home in Sabina’s gut had not gone away. In fact, it seemed to announce itself with renewed vigor every time she saw him over these past few days. She needed to know where things stood, but she could not think of any way to broach the topic delicately. So instead she did what she always did - tease him.

“You should enchant your runes so they glow in the dark,” she said, sitting next to the wizard.

“I don’t think that’s possible, frankly. Otherwise I would, trust me.”

The two glanced at Edér excusing himself to find more whiteleaf to pack in his pipe. There was still plenty left in it, but it didn’t take a genius to see that Xoti had sidled up too close to the guy. 

“Well maybe you should write that enchantment. Aloth’s Incandescent Pages or something. Could get you into the Circle of Archmagi.”

“Please. As if I would debase myself by associating with those self-serving fools.”

“You seemed plenty eager to talk with Concelhaut before we made him our pet.”

“I did not!” Aloth sputtered. “I resent that description of events.”

“Then maybe instead you’ll finally tell me how you ended up as an undercover animancer.”

Aloth looked away at an indeterminate point down the beach. “It’s a bit of a story. One I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to tell.”

His avoidance only lent credence to the feeling that he’d moved on from Sabina. She needed something, anything, to distract herself or get the truth out of him as soon as possible. Scanning the beach, she spotted a pile of driftwood with plenty of thin, sword-length sticks, reminding her of the rapier duels they had on their travels through the Dyrwood.

“I’ll make you a deal, Signore Corfiser. I’m curious to see if your swordplay has improved, so let’s have a duel. Beat me, and you don’t have to say anything. Maybe I’ll even buy you a grimoire. But if I win, you tell me everything.”

“Surely you don’t mean a duel with our actual swords?”

Sabina stood and dusted the sand off her trousers. “And why not? We could duel to first blood,” she said, smirking.

“I could injure you! And I certainly hope you would not wish to injure me!”

“Aw, it won’t be that bad Aloth. Could be she just likes her men with scars and she’s lookin’ to decorate,” said Edér as he returned from finding his whiteleaf pouch.

“I think scars are awful fetching,” said Xoti.

“She wouldn’t!” Aloth turned to Sabina, who had made her way to the driftwood pile. “You wouldn’t, right?”

Sabina couldn’t help but let out a mirthful laugh. “You shouldn’t let Edér rile you up like that.”

“Edér? You’re the one who wants to stab me!”

“Calma. We duel with sticks.” 

Sabina tossed a stick to Aloth. He bobbled it between his hands a few times before it dropped to the sand.

“And if I don’t wish to duel?”

“If you don’t, it’ll be disappointing for Xoti ‘n me. I missed watching you crazy kids fight.”

Aloth rotated the stick in his hands. It wasn’t long before he caved to the pressure. “Oh alright.”

“Gellarde! En garde!”

Sabina wasted no time in thrusting her improvised weapon toward the elf. Even off balance and taken by surprise, he parried it easily. Sabina pressed the initiative, but Aloth quickly found his stance and moved to the offensive.

When the two dueled, it often felt like the beginning of a dance constantly being interrupted. Aloth, of course, had the dexterity typical of sceltrfolc to go with his education by the Aedyran gentry. Sabina was direct. The streets and back alleyways of Old Vailia were her teachers. The interplay created a staccato of movement. Flowing and abrupt. Delicate and brutish. Angry and dispassionate.

But it was an unexpected closing of the distance from Aloth that sent Sabina stumbling backward. He’d stepped into her cut and grabbed her hand. And when he missed the opportunity to strike with his weapon, he shoved her out of reach. She couldn’t tell whether it had been an actual mistake, or an intentional holding back on the part of her sparring partner.

Shit, he’s actually really improved. Or maybe Eothas stole the part of my soul that was good at fencing.

Scurrying backwards, Sabina was desperately close to losing the duel. And that was when Eamoc charged in and trundled Aloth to the ground. The stag stood over him, pawing a hoof into the sand.

It had taken everybody so by surprise that the only response was to laugh. Except for Aloth, who awaited a trampling with an undignified screech.

“Madiccho! Where did that come from?” Sabina said to Eamoc between her giggles as she stepped between him and Aloth. “Thank you for protecting me, but it was not necessary! Apologize to poor Aloth.”

Eamoc gave an irritated snort and retreated a few steps.

Aloth had scrambled away from Eamoc into the edge of the surf, his back now drenched. As he sat up, Sabina pointed her driftwood sword at his chest.

“I win!”

“You did not! Using the stag is cheating.”

“I guess we’ll just have to get a tie breaking vote. Edér!”

Edér, who had been doubled over laughing, straightened himself. “My vote is for the Watcher. Eamoc’s basically her other half nowadays, anyway.”

“Edér is not impartial. Of course he takes the animal’s side!”

“Too late, it’s been decided. Now let’s get you out of the water.”

Sabina took Aloth’s arm and nearly yanked him out of the sand. They ended up standing nose to nose. Sabina searched Aloth’s eyes for any hint of his feelings, desperate for any positive sign. To prove her catastrophizing wrong. His gaze was soft and his breath was warm on her face, but that could mean anything. Yet they lingered like that. Sabina couldn’t tell for how long. Was it longer than Aloth had held Benessa’s hand? When you’re smitten with someone it’s impossible to tell how long the small moments last. All she knew was that it felt like an eternity when she was living them.

“We’re ready to set sail with the tide, Cap’n!” Beodul yelled down from the forecastle.

With a short cough, Aloth let go of Sabina’s arm. “Thank you. If it really means so much to you, we can speak at length once we’re underway,” he said, shuffling off to grab his pack.

As she stared after him, she felt the knot she’d been carrying untie itself. She felt light, as though the entirety of Eora was before her.

Edér came up to her and slapped her on the back. “Just so you know, I woulda voted for you even if you’d taken a tumble at the end there. Never did like how Aedyrans do fencing.”

It wasn’t long before the Voyager was finally out to sea and bound for gleaming Neketaka. Sabina stood at the helm next to Eamoc and looked to the glittering expanse of the horizon. Distant ships disappeared beneath it, on their own routes to parts unknown. 

"Keep a close eye on the helm, boy. I'm heading below deck." At this Eamoc shook his head. "What? Don't give me that. Aloth's great. Just give it time."

Sabina hoped to make up for lost time. She'd worried she wouldn't have the chance to do so, but now. . . well, there was no time like the present.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In Hungary, couples are offered a one-off loan upon the birth of their first child, totaling £25,000. Its repayment is delayed if they bear a second child within six years and written off if they bear a third. In Russia, a “maternity capital” grant is made per child — around £6,000. In Poland, an ongoing benefit known as the Family 500+ allocates around £100 per child per month, after the second child. The results of these schemes have been — in demographic terms — unimpressive. Nonetheless, the Right across Europe and the world have praised them. In Italy, the government has mimicked these Eastern European initiatives in the form of the Family Act, a monthly allowance paid per child; in Greece the government has introduced a £1,000 baby bonus paid after birth.An individualized incentive to procreate has become the mainstay of right-wing pronatalist governments across Europe. In Italy and in Greece, the Right and center right have presented pronatalist policies as a response to the rapidly aging population. References to babies as the wage earners and taxpayers of the future is the acceptable face of pronatalism. It has provided a language with which Britain’s right, constrained by the generally liberal outlook of its fellow citizens, has felt comfortable associating itself. Referencing the falling tax revenue of the childless future, Cates said, “if you think things are underfunded now, just wait for what’s coming down the road.” But in Europe, pronatalism has frequently meant white supremacism. This connection has been made the most explicit in Viktor Orbán’s Hungary. At a demography conference in 2020, the far-right conspiracy theory of the “great replacement” was openly referenced by the prime minister and his associates. “There are,” Orbán claimed, “political forces in Europe who want a replacement of population for ideological or other reasons.” To ensure its survival, Europe must, his families’ minister argued, cease to be “the continent of the empty crib.” Cates also, more subtly, talks about the British population falling “below replacement levels,” one of several racist dog whistles in her National Conservatism primetime speech. Pronatalist polices — whether enacted or envisaged — tend to have a quiet twin: anti-immigration lawmaking. In all of Europe’s right-wing states, populist anti-immigration policies have led to militarized borders, ever-decreasing provision for asylum seekers, and the demonization of economic migrants. Poland’s prime minister put it explicitly: “In Germany, billions of euros are spent on support for immigrants, but here these billions of złotys are spent on Polish families.” Cates does so more indirectly: it is immigrants, she claims, who are to blame for the housing crisis leaving “British families” behind. Binding electoral concerns that have tended to speak to women and younger votes — children and homes — to the xenophobic populism of the swaggering masculinity of the Brexit campaign, pronatalism may be a vote winner for the Conservatives.

16 April 2024

[chimerasreach]

I just want to say I really love the concept and execution so far of this blog/ story, Greek mythology has been one of my earliest hyper fixations along with Warriors! The sacrifices part makes it so interesting

What sorts of occupations are available to the cats? I know we have Hearthkeeper, Soldier, and Scribe

Oh boy, this is gonna take a minute: it has involved me solidifying the roles I want, deciding what roles the city-state is missing since the war and the responsibilities of each.

Before I go further, something about training and occupations. Training is categorized into an occupation, yes, but each role is truthfully quite broad. One scribe could be dedicated to maintaining the history books while another considers themself a philosopher, understanding the world. It's more so a field of study that allows each member of the city-state to contribute to a certain set of tasks.

Unlike the humans of Greece, feline culture rejects a societal model of goods and services only going to those who can "pay". In feline city-states modeled off the grandeur of Artema, each working cat is guranteed a specific share of necessary provisions (food, shelter, medical care), with extra received through favors, the production of extra goods for trade, or the offering of services. Long story short, no apprentice is trained to expect pay for their services. They are trained to support their community and develop their own skills, should they desire more than the basics.

King/Queen/Monarch

Each city that forms the unified body of Chimera's Reach is ruled by a king/queen/monarch (the latter is used for olymp, better known as nonbinary, cats). Each city has a special crown for their ruler: Lion's Head has a taxidermized lion scalp, Goat's Head has a cap with curling horns, and Snake's Head has a spiked band with a snake wrapping around it. Upon gaining the throne, the ruler receives a divine audience from their patron god or goddess. This patron becomes an advisor for the ruler, frequently visiting when they are alone to guide the ruler's leadership in their image.

The ruler of the city is responsible for leading the city from their palace, where the city's Council meets. The Council is a body of cats who discuss important laws and issues and work toward a final decision under the ruler's approval and guidance. A ruler's spouse and legitimate children are guaranteed permanent spots on the Council, alongside permanent residence in the royal palace and other privileges. Sometimes a ruler's parents and siblings also get these rights, but this can vary. For example, Rockfleck's brother Merlinear is on the Snake's Head Council, but Orangemoon is not on the Goat's Head Council.

The three rulers and their heirs form the Reach Council, a body of six that dictates the shared customs, laws, and decisions of Chimera's Reach. Each ruler has an equal vote while their heirs are considered advisors.

Heir

The heir is the second-in-command of their city and the second-most senior voice on their city's Council. Despite the name of the position, an heir cannot be the child, spouse, parent, or sibling of the current ruler. This is a tradition from Artema, designed to encourage a wider range of voices and perspectives in the Council. Each heir also has a special accessory. The Lion's Head heir wears a lion's jawbone as a necklace. The Goat's Head heir has their own cap with smaller nubs for horns. Lastly, the Snake's Head heir has a snakeskin collar.

The heir helps the ruler run the daily affairs of the city and gets to live in a special room of the royal palace with their immediate family. The heir often manages the minutiae of leadership. They navigate issues, make sure tasks are handled, and act as a go-between for the ruler and their citizens.

Priest/Priestess

There is only ever one priest per city in Chimera's Reach. The spiritual matters of the city-state and the communication with the gods is considered too important a task to split among many. This means that the priest is highly protected. For harm to befall a priest means bringing danger to Chimera's Reach. It also makes apprenticeship unique. A priest can allow a kit to train as a priest once they've reached retirement age (10 years old). When the kit finishes training, the old priest must retire immediately, becoming a counselor.

Priests help the cats of their city worship the gods they want to worship in the proper ways. There are few gods considered taboo to worship, after all, and Chimera's Reach encourages worship of as many as feels practical to an individual. Priests interpret dreams, consult on the Council, and conduct most of the city's major events: ceremonies, sacrifices, rituals, festivals, and more. Many priests have special clairvoyant or prophetic powers: some get visions, some get prophecies, and some get visits from the gods themselves.

Healers

The physicians of Chimera's Reach, healers work from their clinics, which are built in the city walls and modeled after human Asclepieion, or temples to the god of medicine, Asclepius (called Vipercure by cats). Healers work and live within their clinics, with visits to those who don't need nest-space in the temple itself. Those with severe conditions who need a constant eye can stay in the clinic.

Healers often consult the city's priest due to the powerful spiritual connections of healing, but they have some spiritual training as well! One of the most common approaches to medicine involves incubation dreams, where the sick sleep within the clinic in order to learn the best treatment from Vipercure or his many daughters. Healers can interpret these dreams and determine the best medicines and surgeries to use.

While these dreams are important, healers are still very well trained on their own! They make medicine from plants and animal products, perform surgeries, and do many of the same medical procedures as their human peers.

Mediators

A well known role to those of you flocking here from classic Warrior Cats tales, mediators act as diplomats, negotiators, and trades-cats. A mediator's key job is to assist in relations between the three cities and to other settlements. They follow the will of the ruler and negotiate toward their goals. This often manifests as trade work. Mediators barter with one another using the city's resources and feline strengths, as cats detest money.

The other major factor to their work is managing disagreements and personal problems within the city itself. Cats should come to mediators to assist in complex arguments, and mediators should try to be called before guards, who will loop in aspects of law and punishment into what could be handled civilly.

Mediators can even assist cats in conflicts with themselves. They receive mild training alongside healers on psychoses, neuroses, and the ways the gods can inflict madness upon cats. They will help family members treat the mad at home, helping them right themselves in the eyes of the gods and come to grasp with their symptoms in ways us modern readers may understand better, such as an awareness of the body, connection to nature, and correction of faulty logic. This is the most stigmatized work of a mediator; some cats won’t go near a mediator following work with a mad patient (a catch-all phrase for mental illness in Chimera’s Reach) until they’ve been in a cleansing ritual.

Artists

A city is privileged when it can have artists. They keep Chimeric culture alive! Artists are dedicated to telling stories, playing music, and creating art in its multitude of forms. They are one of three production-oriented occupations alongside craftsmiths and hearthkeepers, and thus experience some training alongside them. An artist’s work, whether physical or performative, is highly valued and bartered for in trade, making them a major part of city diplomacy.

Artists will typically choose whether they specialize in physical or performative art. They’ll dip into both as needed, but are most valued for their beloved art forms. Performative artists work on storytelling, music, and various forms of direct entertainment for the city. They help with festival and party organization, keeping up morale. Physical artists, meanwhile, produce a wide range of artwork paw-in-paw with craftsmiths. Sculpture, murals, architecture, jewelry, all of that!

Craftsmiths

Craftsmiths are dedicated to the design and repair of tools, structures, and certain materials. They are often seen in forges and workshops, tinkering and smithing. Craftsmiths are trained to divide their work into three categories; artisan work, which partners with the artists; hearth work, partnering with hearthkeepers; and forge work, solely the domain of the craftsmiths. While the lines between categories can blur, especially with buildings and tools, knowing who you’re working with and the intention of the work is helpful.

Artisan work includes pottery, building design, jewelry, fashion, instrument maintenance, and more. Hearth work involves, among a few other things, construction, leather-making, and fabric production. Forge work, meanwhile, lets craftsmiths make tools such as surgical blades, pauldrons, pickaxes, and other items designed for feline use.

While craftsmithing is considered an important aspect of family culture, with strong ties to mollies and their children, craftsmiths work on the highest quality items in the greatest volume. Lion’s Head craftsmiths can make purple cloth, while Goat’s Head craftsmiths are the only ones in Chimera’s Reach who can make parchment rather than trade for it. The cities wouldn’t survive without craftsmiths.

Hearthkeepers

Hearthkeepers keep the city running. They are the last production occupation and focus on maintaining the city and its inhabitants. Their jobs focus on cooking, processing raw materials, maintaining hearths, building, and cleaning. They make dye from plants, strip leather off animals, and take everything they’re brought and turn it around into something usable. This focus on resources makes hearthkeepers the quartermasters of their cities. They keep track of the city’s shared possessions and those of individuals.

Hearthkeepers collectively decide what will be made for the city’s two meals, one at midday, the other at dusk. They take suggestions, yes, but they decide what everyone is eating. If you want something else, you need to make it yourself. This makes them the main cooks of Chimera’s Reach. They also go about and make sure hearths and other such fires stay lit. At the same time, they’ll clean streets and gardens and occasionally work on larger construction.

Seafarers

There is a great world beyond Chimera's Reach, beyond the descendants of the great city of Artema. Someone needs to visit those cities, to meet cats beyond Chimera's Reach and bring back treasures and new citizens. That is a seafarer's job.

Seafarers are trained to be self-sufficient away from the city. They hunt, fight, cook, repair tools, and learn important survival skills. They are to be ambassadors of Chimera's Reach to cats who may have never heard of the great city-state. Whether they head out across land or on a ship from the Chimeric Docks, seafarers leave for months upon months at a time, potentially never to return. When they do, their cities celebrate and collect the treasures they've brought home.

After returning home, a seafarer will typically spend a year recovering, retelling their adventures, and assisting around the city as needed. They are required to rest for at least a season, but some feel the call to adventure and decide to set off early. While seafarers are trained to leave on great quests and expeditions, they often bring other cats from Chimera's Reach with them.

Heralds

While only one herald (Aircatcher of Snake's Head) survived the war against Rizos, the herald position is important to city relations and the survival of Chimera's Reach as a whole. Heralds are the fastest cats in the city-state, responsible for delivering messages and announcements between cities. Unlike other cats, who must ask permission to enter a rival city, heralds can enter all the cities at any time, bringing guests with them. This makes heralds distinctly barred from any conflict that may arise within Chimera's Reach.

Heralds spend their days traveling between the cities with their announcements, documents, and fellow travelers, encouraging the trade and comradery that makes Chimera's Reach possible. A herald should not only be fast, but have a strong memory and good rhetoric ability.

Scribes

Scribes are considered the most intelligent cats in Chimera's Reach. They are philosophers, seeking to understand more about the world. They study the known sciences: mathematics, biology, ethics, rhetoric, aesthetics, astronomy, etc. They learn so that others can learn and thereby improve the technology and culture of Chimera's Reach. Scribes take their studies and their knowledge and try to find practical applications. They use math to better construct their world, biology to understand the nature of the food they eat, ethics to guide their laws, the list goes on. This may seem like a daunting task, but scribes record their information onto parchment and form scrolls, carefully stored and read. This allows them to specialize and reduce the stress of memorization.

The ability to read and write makes scribes the chief historians for Chimera's Reach. They record the happenings of the city for future generations to read and understand. There is always at least one scribe taking notes on important meetings and festivals. Their position as recordkeepers and historians take up the majority of their time, but when they can, they are able to utilize their knowledge to help invent many of the tools and techniques that make life in Chimera's Reach easier.

The last major role of the scribes is as quartermasters. They keep track of what is owned by the city and what is owned by individuals. This allows them to ration supplies and know just what the mediators can trade with.

Guards

Guards keep the peace within their city, monitoring for both external and internal threats alongside the soldiers. Guards do more than keep watch, however; they are responsible for implementing and upholding the laws decreed by the Council. They are highly knowledgeable in the law and investigating breaks in that law. Their daily duties are similar to those of soldiers until an issue involving city law is brought up.

Guards are trained in investigation, finding guilty parties through witness interviews, tracking, and sometimes divine assistance. Upon making an accusation, they arrest the suspect and guard them in the city jail. One guard will be an accuser, presenting the evidence of the crime. Another will defend the suspect at trial, arguing for innocence or lighter sentencing. These trials will be explored more at a later date, but they include a jury with the ruler acting as the judge.

Caretakers

Caretakers are responsible for managing the land claimed under their city’s jurisdiction. They monitor prey and predator populations, do a large share of the hunting, and manage gardens and crops. They are farmers as well as hunter-gatherers, which allows Chimera’s Reach to stay rooted in place and worry less about prey populations running dry. 

Caretakers manage the prey farms owned by each city. All three cities have mice farms as their major staple of easy meat, but across Chimera’s Reach, you can also find rabbit farms and chicken farms. These three animals are the easiest for cats to breed and raise. While herds of the great beasts of man, like cows, goats, and sheep, would be wonderful, cats are simply too small to manage them, and must rely on trade with humans in order to obtain those resources. With the recent war with Rizos, it will be some time before Chimera’s Reach is comfortable trading with mankind again.

Each city also grows its own crops and gardens, each tailored to what their land is most suited for. Greece as a whole can be tricky with agriculture, but caretakers manage rich orchards, fields of wheat and beans, and gardens of herbs, such as sage, mint, and the blessed opium poppy.

Rangers

There are no rangers left in Chimera’s Reach following the war, but the three cities have worked hard to retain knowledge of the rangers in their records, so future apprentices can restore the important profession.

Rangers are responsible for overseeing the wider lands of their city alongside the caretakers. Where caretakers focus their energy on tamed lands like the orchards and gardens, the rangers seek to maintain the natural order in the unharvested areas of their city. They monitor populations of wild prey, keep track of tree growth, note wildflowers and new herbs, and keep an eye out for intruders.

Rangers are also specially trained to hunt big game. This includes deer, elk, boars/pigs, large birds of prey, even some more dangerous predators that form a rare slice of Reach diet. Rangers work together, often with soldiers and caretakers, to track a given beast and take it down. These hunts are especially important in winter, as the rich resources from a single deer can save many lives. Rangers will sometimes prepare hunts against more tamed beasts like sheep and goats, but as these animals are usually part of a human's flock, they risk aggravating the most dangerous mortal predator they know in their hunt.

Nurses

The care of the young, the old, and the infirm can be as daunting a task as patrolling the land or tanning hides for leather. Yet Chimera’s Reach and the cats of Artema before them discovered that those who could not support themselves, who had to lean on the strength of their families, could still suffer as those families worked to support the rest of the city. Cats don’t force mollies to stay in the home like humans do; they may have their own gender expectations, but they never had such odd distinctions of purpose before Artemis’s gift, and find the whole thing rather absurd. As such, the human model of care, pressed upon the female of the home, could not work, and a solution had to be invented; the nurse.

Now, nurses are commonly mollies, largely due to their physical role of child-bearer and nurse (hence the terminology). Many mollies will often take up temporary nurse duties when they have kits so they can contribute to society while still watching over their kits. The position of a nurse is still gender neutral, however. 

Nurses look after kits in the city’s nursery while their parents work, teaching them the foundation of Reach culture and guiding them through development. When they reach apprenticeship, nurses assist in education and monitor the apprentices as a whole group, filling in the gaps their mentors couldn’t fill and helping them explore their passions. They tend to the counselors, making sure they have all they need in their old age, as their family connections pass on and their bodies fade. Lastly, nurses assist healers in caring for patients. Nurses will visit patients in their homes to check in on conditions and help them to the clinic as needed.

Soldiers

In the traditional universe of Clangen stories and the Warrior Cats fandom, these would be your typical warriors. However, as this universe is separated from both IPs in as many ways as possible, the soldiers of Chimera’s Reach are instead a well-organized force dedicated to the protection of their city and combat against all who threaten its interests. While all citizens of Chimera’s Reach are expected to defend themselves, with different positions given different levels of training, only soldiers receive the most advanced combat training, alongside unique tactical training that prepares them for all-out war.

A soldier’s daily responsibilities involve structured patrols along the borders of their land, using traditional scent markers and physical markers more akin to their developed technology, such as the occasional stone wall or travel marker. Other times, a soldier may be assigned walking patrols of the city alongside guards, just to keep the peace. They are trained to run to the defense of their fellow citizens at any moment, whether fighting a cat, a fox, a boar, a human, or some mythical beast. Soldiers form war patrols to deal with threats, stalking out with strategies and heightened combat techniques to defend and conquer. The city Council decides when war patrols are needed.

To both train themselves and entertain the city, soldiers perform in their city’s stadium as the gladiators, fighting off whatever foes will amuse their friends. Sometimes they are smaller predators the cats can capture, like rats or weasels. Other times, they fight one another in both wrestling matches and actual combat, drawing blood. Soldier apprentices rarely graduate without winning at least one gladiator match.

Apprentices

A litter of kits picks up an apprenticeship when they are half a year old. By this time, their minds and bodies are grown enough to handle the stress of training (although kits will often get lessons on skills they can perform in the city itself, encouraging their interests). They choose a field of interest and participate in an important religious ceremony to mark their acceptance into the three oikoi (“houses”/families) inherent to Greek feline culture. These are, in order of importance; the blood oikos, marking family members whom an individual draws resources, strength, and support from; the trade oikos, the other members of an occupation who share sleeping quarters and responsibilities; and the oikos of the city, the shared sense of community and power belonging to all citizens.

An apprentice is neither kit nor adult, but something transitional, dedicated to learning and growth. They move into the quarters of their occupation and take up training under their entire trade oikos. The senior member of the occupation acts as the key guiding figure and guardian for the apprentices of said occupation, but all members assist in the apprentice’s education as part of their familial culture.

Counselors

A citizen is allowed to retire from their responsibilities at the age of ten years. At this point, they become a counselor and live among their fellow seniors, although many will sleep alongside their kin in whatever quarters they wish. Counselors are to be respected and cared for, honored for the work they put in to their city.

All counselors are given a position on their city’s Council. They make up the bulk of it, but still treat the ruler and heir as their leaders. Counselors use their vast knowledge to advise on laws, orders, and diplomacy. These are not the only cats who make up the Council, however.

As said earlier, the ruler’s family is a permanent fixture of the Council, but there are other traditions followed with less consistency. The city priest and their apprentice are usually part of the Council, but if there is no religious importance to the discussion or any wisdom from the gods, they will often sit a session out. The senior most citizen of a given profession is also a common fixture of the Council, although they must be six years old at minimum. Some rulers bend that rule, while others hold it tight. After that, a Council position is given out by the ruler as they wish, and those positions can be taken away just as easily. A counselor’s right to advise is protected by law, however.

[aylen-san]

📜 A Statement by Finrod Felagund Topic: "On the Procedure for Establishing Interpersonal Relations, Their Taxation, Accounting, and Possible Disposal" (as amended from the Time of Arda to Ragnarok, including updates from the Second Age and subsequent psychoanalysis)

Section I. General Provisions

1.1. Interpersonal Relations (hereinafter — IPR) shall be defined as high-risk investments in unpredictable human (or Elvish, or—Eru help us—Dwarvish) capital.

1.2. The primary form of IPR shall be "having a five-minute chat and accidentally falling in love for the next 700 years." Additional forms include: — spontaneous affection; — baking bread together; — messaging at 3 a.m. with grammar worthy of the Valinor Academy; — and sudden hatred for no clear reason (see also Appendix “Exes and Demons”).

1.3. Should an IPR involve a subject voluntarily residing in a solitary tower, suffering from nobility, luminous melancholy, and chronic morality, the relationship shall be classified as particularly hazardous and subject to additional licensing.

Section II. Relationship Taxation

2.1. Each established IPR is subject to the following types of taxation:

Emotion Tax — 13% of all emotional experiences (including dreams, tears, irony, and sarcastic over-the-shoulder glances);

Trust Duty — payable upon attempting to have an honest conversation (amount depends on mutual understanding, typically zero);

Drama Levy — charged once per season, regardless of actual events;

Poetry License — mandatory for any letter exceeding three lines.

2.2. If one party to the IPR is a brooding elf with a philosophical bent, the tax rate doubles. If both parties qualify, a fine is imposed and Gandalf is summoned to remind everyone to calm down.

Section III. Record-Keeping and Reporting

3.1. All IPRs must be registered in the Unified Registry of Restless Hearts (URRH). Registration occurs upon any of the following: — a glance in the mist; — joint combat; — a conversation with subtext at the “you dropped your handkerchief, now I’ll suffer for a millennium” level.

3.2. Reports on IPRs must be filed quarterly in the form of: — diary entries; — subpar poetry; — songs performed with a lute in the rain; — and at least 40 minutes of melancholic stares into the sunset (less is subject to penalty).

Section IV. Liabilities of the Parties

4.1. For IPRs ruined due to personal stupidity (see Appendix “He Didn’t Get the Hints, and She Decided to Stay Silent”), administrative melancholy is imposed for up to seven years, with possible extension.

4.2. For excessive idealization of one’s partner, manipulation, passive aggression, and misquoting Finwë out of context — voluntary exile to the forests of Lórien until further notice.

4.3. In the rare event of complete mutual understanding, support, humor, love, and acceptance — the relationship shall be deemed illegal due to its impossibility within the conditions of Arda. Such cases shall be archived under “Wonders,” alongside myths of peace, order, and emotionally stable Fridays.

Final Provisions

5.1. All matters not regulated by this statement shall be resolved using conscience, common sense, and/or a bottle of wine (whichever is present at the time of conflict).

5.2. In case of disaster (betrayal, abandonment, tragic misunderstanding), it is recommended to follow a regime of self-irony, emotional detox, and mandatory exposure to daylight (or at least a tavern full of dwarves — their mug-based therapy is very effective).

5.3. Finrod Felagund accepts no liability, but offers moral support. Place your pain in the designated basket — it will be recycled into a song.

Light be with you. And emotional insurance, just in case. Yours, Finrod

[todaysdocument]

Act of June 19, 1934 (Federal Communications Commission Act)

Record Group 11: General Records of the United States GovernmentSeries: Enrolled Acts and Resolutions of Congress

S.3285

Public___No 416 73d CONGRESS

Seventy-third Congress of the United States of America;

At the Second Session.

Begun and held at the City of Washington on Wednesday, the third day of January, one thousand nine hundred and thirty-four.

AN ACT

To provide for the regulation of interstate and foreign communication by wire or radio, and for other purposes.

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in the Congress assembled,

Title I -- General Provisions

PURPOSES OF ACT; CREATION OF FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION

SECTION 1. For the purpose of regulating interstate and foreign commerce in communication by wire and radio so as to make available, so far as possible, to all people of the United States a rapid, efficient, Nation-wide, and world-wide wire and radio communication service with adequate facilities at reasonable charges, for the purpose of the national defense, and for the purpose of securing a more effective execution of this policy by centralizing authority heretofore granted by law to several agencies and by granting additional authority with respect to interstate and foreign commerce in wire and radio communication, there is hereby created a commission to be known as the "Federal Communications Commission", which shall be constituted as hereinafter provided, and which shall execute and enforce the previsions of this Act.

APPLICATIONS OF ACT

SEC.2. (a) The provisions of this Act shall apply to all interstate and foreign communication by wire or radio and all interstate and foreign transmission of energy by radio, which originates and/or is received within the United States, and to all persons engaged within the United States in such communication or transmission of energy by radio, and to the licensing and regulating of all radio stations as hereinafter provided; but it shall not apply to persons engaged in wire or radio communication or transmission in the Philippine Islands or Canal Zone, or to wire or radio communication or transmission wholly within the Philippine Islands or Canal Zone.

(b) Subject to the provisions of section 301, nothing in this Act shall be construed to apply or to give the Commission jurisdiction with respect to (1) charges, classifications, practices, services, facili-S.3285--55

by the Commission, and may cause the closing of any station for radio communication and removal therefrom of its apparatus and equipment, or he may authorize the use or control of any such station and/or its apparatus and equipment by any department of the Government under such regulations as he may prescribe, upon just compensation to the owners.

(d) The President shall ascertain the just compensation for such use or control and certify the amount ascertained to Congress for appropriation and payment to the person entitled thereto. If the amount so certified is unsatisfactory to the person entitled thereto, such person shall be paid only 75 per centum of the amount and shall be entitled to sue the United States to recover such further sum as added to such payment of 75 per centum will make such amount as will be just compensation for the use and control. Such suit shall be brought in the manner provided by paragraph 20 of section 24, or by section 145, of the Judicial Code, as amended.

EFFECTIVE DATE OF ACT

SEC. 607. This Act shall take effect upon the organization of the Commission, except that this section and sections 1 and 4 shall take effect July 1, 1934. The Commission shall be deemed to be organized upon such date as four members of the Commission have taken office.

SEPARABILITY CLAUSE

SEC. 607. If any provision of this Act or application thereof to any person or circumstance is held invalid, the remainder of the Act and the application of such provision to other persons or circumstances shall not be affected thereby.

SHORT TITLE

SEC. 609. This Act may be cited as the "Communications Act of 1934."

[signed] Henry T. Rainey

Speaker of the House of Representatives

[signed] Jno N. Garner

Vice President of the United States and President of the Senate

Approved

June 19 1934

[signed] Franklin D Roosevelt

[mariacallous]

On May 22, the House of Representatives passed legislation intended to meet reconciliation targets. The largest single component of savings in that legislation is a requirement that so-called “able-bodied” adults without dependent children engage in work or other community activities for 80 or more hours per month to remain enrolled in Medicaid benefits. The Congressional Budget Office (CBO) estimate for this measure indicated that this provision would generate more than $50 billion in annual savings by the end of the ten-year budget window. The legislation as a whole is projected to cause around 11 million people to become uninsured, among whom about 5.5 to 6.3 million are projected to lose Medicaid coverage through the work requirement.

Proponents of the work requirement provision have set out two notable objectives. The first is generating federal savings to partially offset the tax cuts included in the same bill. Second, proponents argue that the provision has a moral component—”People that are able-bodied, mentally healthy and all that should be working if you’re working age,” said one representative. As Speaker Mike Johnson put it, “You return the dignity of work to young men who need to be out working instead of playing video games all day.” Those who are able to work and do not do so are “defrauding the system.” In its design, the provision embodies this moral view: it explicitly excepts from the requirement (at section 44141(9)(A)(ii)(V)) populations whose absence from work is deemed acceptable, such as caregivers, people with substance use disorders, those with disabling mental health conditions, and those with impairments affecting activities of daily living. 

As we show below, these goals—reducing the deficit and sanctioning only purported slackers—are at odds. If the requirements work as intended, targeting only able-bodied adult Medicaid enrollees not engaged in the desired activities, they will save the federal government far less money than the CBO cost estimate projects. Speaker Johnson’s archetypal young men who hang out in basements playing video games are not as common as he may imagine, and just don’t use a lot of health care services. More generally, non-working Medicaid beneficiaries without activity limitations account for very little Medicaid spending and thus, disenrolling this group would generate only modest federal savings, far less than needed to offset a significant share of the bill’s tax cuts.

That means that if the provisions are to save substantial federal money, they will have to disenroll those they promise to protect: either by disenrolling many more low-cost beneficiaries, drawing from the large group who work more than the 80 hours a month threshold, or by disenrolling much more expensive beneficiaries, drawing from the group who report activity limitations but have not yet qualified for Supplemental Security Income (SSI). Both these scenarios have significant negative consequences. Beneficiaries who are already working and are disenrolled are likely to become uninsured, losing access to health care services that many need to remain healthy and to keep working. Beneficiaries with activity limitations have very high rates of utilization of mental health and substance use services; a significant minority are taking medications used to treat psychosis or bipolar disorder. Withdrawing care from this group may save money, but it will surely harm this very vulnerable group and is very unlikely to promote community engagement.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

“The one big thing nobody is talking about: Did Elon want to shut the government down because of his business deals with China?” That was the first line of Rep. Jim McGovern (D-Mass) multi-part statement Saturday posted on Elon Musk’s platform, X--ironically enough. A similar point was also made Friday by Rep. Rosa DeLauro (D-CT)—the ranking minority member of the House Appropriations Committee-in a detailed letter to leaders of the House and the Senate. What was the issue the two were flagging? As Rep. McGovern wrote: “The original funding bill (that he [Musk] killed) included what’s called an “outbound investment” provision—which would limit & screen U.S. money flowing to China. That would have made it easier to keep cutting-edge AI and quantum computing tech—as well as jobs—in America. But Elon had a problem.” DeLauro gave even more context to this provision vetting investments in China: “This outbound investment provision was agreed to after months of bipartisan, bicameral negotiations and years of advocacy from Members of Congress. It would have kept innovation and manufacturing in semiconductors, artificial intelligence (AI), quantum computing, and other cutting-edge technologies in the United States and prevented wealthy investors from continuing to offshore production and U.S. intellectual property into China – benefiting only their bottom lines and the Chinese Communist Party.” But Musk—per these two members of Congress—led the charge to block this proposed legislation because as McGovern accurately noted, Musk’s “second-largest market is China. He’s building huge factories there. His bottom line depends on staying in China’s good graces.” The result was that when the new budget deal was agreed upon Friday, guess what was missing? Yep, the provision that would’ve been bad for Musk’s business deals with the Chinese Communist Party—which is in essence Musk’s business partner as the NY Times detailed earlier this year in an article titled, “How Elon Musk Became ‘Kind of Pro-China.’” (Musk’s exact words.)

Rep. DeLauro explained in more detail the financial incentive behind Musk’s action to block this provision: “Musk’s car company, Tesla has poured billions of dollars into investments in China, particularly its “gigafactory” in Shanghai. The Shanghai plant is Tesla’s largest car manufacturing facility – the Chinese gigafactory produced about 50 percent of Tesla’s global automobile output over the last year.” DeLauro continued, “And in May of this year, Tesla broke ground on a new $200 million factory to manufacture large batteries critical to its electric vehicle supply chain…Notably, proponents of regulating U.S. investment in China have advocated for the inclusion of large battery manufacturing in the list of technologies subject to outbound investment screening.” Yep, these new law could’ve impacted Musk’s new business venture per DeLauro.

Rep. McGovern also raised concerns about Musk’s future business plans involving China, explaining Musk “wants to build an AI data center there too—which could endanger U.S. security.” Importantly, DeLauro detailed for all to see Musk’s documented personal relations with the Chinese Communist Party, noting, “Musk has ingratiated himself with Chinese Communist Party leadership.” For example, she cited Musk’s close ties with “Chinese premier Li Qiang, who helped rush the construction of Tesla’s Shanghai gigafactory.” DeLauro concluded her letter by writing, “It is extremely alarming that House Republican leadership, at the urging of an unelected billionaire, scrapped…this critical provision to protect American jobs and critical capabilities.” Adding, “This is particularly concerning given Elon Musk’s extensive investments in China in key sectors and his personal ties with Chinese Communist Party leadership, and calls into question the real reason for Musk’s opposition to the original funding deal.”

[...] In fact, even a well-known Republican raised alarm bells about Musk’s loyalty to Beijing. Vivek Ramaswamy--who Trump tapped with Musk to co-head the newly created Department of Government Efficiency--was publicly warning in 2023 that Musk was a puppet for the Chinese Communist Party. As CNN recently reported, Ramaswamy was concerned that “Tesla is increasingly beholden to China,” adding damningly, “I have no reason to think Elon won’t jump like a circus monkey when [China’s leader] Xi Jinping calls in the hour of need.” The GOP silence on Musk’s extensive ties to the Chinese Communist Party is beyond hypocritical given that for years Republicans have slammed China as a threat. For example, in January 2023, the House GOP created “The Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party” designed to address the “threat posed by the Chinese Communist Party and develop a plan of action to defend the American people, our economy, and our values.” Earlier this year, the House GOP led the charge to ban Tik Tok from having access to the United States--which was signed into law and goes into effect Jan. 19, 2025 unless the Chinese company that owns the social media platform sells it to a non-Chinese company. But when it comes to Musk, the GOP doesn’t care that he has documented ties to top Chinese Communist Party officials.

CCP puppet and de facto “President” Elon Musk helped block the original CR to protect his business deals with the Chinese government, because it had an “outbound investment” provision that would screen any US money sent to China.

[techav]

Revisiting Wrap030 Disk Access

I have more ideas for projects than time or budget to work on them. Already this year I've gone completely through the design process for two new large homebrew projects that are currently too large for my project budget, plus a few small ones I never got around to ordering. So rather than spend more than I should taking on a new project, I decided to revisit an existing one.

It's been over a year since I last worked on the original Wrap030 project — my old stack-of-boards MC68030 system. Its current configuration includes the main board with CPU, ROM, RAM, UART, & glue logic; a hand-wired breakout board to add a second UART; a custom video output board; and a mezzanine board with FPU and provision for an IDE disk that is not yet working. It has been functional in this configuration since last February.

My goal for this project from the beginning was to build something capable of running a proper operating system, like Unix System V or Linux. To do that though, I'm going to need to get disk access working.

I had started on disk access, but didn't quite have it functional when I turned my focus to integrating all of boards into the single Wrap030-ATX motherboard. I had added IDE cycles to the CPLD on the mezzanine board, and had added a few rough drafts of disk functions to my ROM. I set the project aside when I realized my function for checking dish presence was reporting a disk was present when there wasn't one.

I have worked with IDE before — my original 68000 project had an IDE port on it. I had gotten that project to the point where I could read a sector of data from the disk, but never could wrap my head around how to actually navigate even a simple file system like FAT16. It was this code that I had adapted for Wrap030, so when it didn't work, I assumed it was a problem with my logic.

Turns out I had just inadvertently clobbered a register in the disk check function. The logic worked just fine. I was able to write a couple quick BASIC programs to read a sector of data and even run code from the boot sector.

My assembly function for reading data from disk however was still not working.

I tried rewriting it.

I tried rewriting it in C instead of assembly.

I tried again, and again, and again. I added delays and loops and print statements and everything I could think of. I scoured datasheets, read though all the different release versions of the ATA specification, ported code from other projects, looked at every example of reading from an IDE disk I could find.

No matter what I did, I always got the same result.

This did not make any sense. Reading from an IDE disk involves setting up the sector address, the number of sectors to transfer, sending a read command, and then reading the IDE data port 256 times per sector. Each time the data port is read, the disk will give another 16-bit word of data. But for some reason, all I was getting was the first word of data returned 256 times.

There is nothing in the specification to explain this.

I knew there was nothing wrong with my logic, because I could read the data just fine with my BASIC program or by manually poking the right addresses using the monitor. Maybe there was some edge case affecting timing when running in assembly, but even adding delay loops and print statements didn't have any effect.

I reached out for help. I got great feedback on my read functions and my timing and how IDE and CompactFlash cards worked, but still could not solve this problem.

But then @ZephyrZ80 noticed something —

I had shared my code and was explaining that I had added some extra NOP instructions to enforce minimum time between IDE access cycles in PIO-0 mode. At 25MHz with cache enabled, the 68030 can complete an instruction in as little as 80ns, so a few NOPs would ensure enough time elapsed between cycles.

With cache enabled.

… cache enabled.

… cache.

The 68030 has 256 bytes of data cache. My disk read function is running in a tight loop that only really hits a few addresses; not nearly enough to invalidate and flush the entire 256 bytes of cache. The CPU does have a cache inhibit signal to use with peripherals that return new data on subsequent access to the same address, but it turns out I was only asserting it when accessing the UART on the main board.

It's a simple enough hypothesis to test. When I initially added support in my ROM for enabling cache at startup, I included user functions for enabling and disabling cache.

… It was cache all along.

Now I need to add some way to inhibit cache while accessing the IDE port, and then I can move on to trying to use the disk for loading programs.

[elderly-worm]

Okay so I haven't trawled the tag but a friend told me that a new short film is being touted as canonizing Spirk, and I felt the need to compile a quick... not rebuttal per se, but provision of some much-needed context.

Disclaimer 1: I do think that the same clip of film can mean different things when aired at different times, and in the social context of the 2020s the new clip, despite showing stuff we've seen from Kirk and Spock before, means something potentially gayer than what we've seen before, since authorial intent is a thing and like... 2020s writers know what they're doing when they do That.

Disclaimer 2: I'm not the biggest TOS guy in the world (DS9 is my home turf; I've seen all of TOS and the movies once each, plus a few rewatches of certain episodes), but I thought I'd make the post in case assertions that Spirk has gone reach people with even less TOS knowledge than me and start being taken at face value by folks who don't realize Just How Gay Kirk and Spock have always been.

So.

Before you, oh imagined tumblrite with interest in the canonicity of Spirk but little contextual knowledge, applaud the newfound canonicity of such an important ship, I beg of you to take the following four instances into account. [Keep in mind through all of this that some sources say that Vulcan spouses kiss one another by touching the tips of two fingers together]:

Season 2, Episode 1, "Amok Time", 1967. Spock believes himself to have killed Kirk and tries to resign from Starfleet only to have Kirk reveal that he is alive. https://archive.org/details/star.-trek.-tos.-s-02-e-01.-amok.-time. See timestamp 46:58-47:39.

Season 3, Episode 24, "Turnabout Intruder", 1969. Kirk, transferred into a woman's body, convinces Spock that, contrary to appearances, he is in fact himself. Spock tries to break him out and they hold hands for a second amid the turmoil as the woman who has stolen Kirk's body tries to stop them from regaining control. https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7q3l7t See timestamp 28:25-31:49.

"Star Trek: The Motion Picture", 1979. Spock, having briefly fused minds with an artificial intelligence named V'ger, is recovering from psychological overwhelm and tries to explain the experience. https://youtu.be/lxTaW8L_Pxo?feature=shared&t=113 The whole clip up to timestamp 2:50 is relevant, but note in particular 1:55-2:18.

"Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan", 1982. Spock sacrifices himself, dying of radiation poisoning to save the rest of the ship and crew. https://youtu.be/fHAOWLhrxhQ?feature=shared&t=101 See timestamp 1:40-4:56.

And finally, the new short film causing the uproar:

Now, by all means: draw your conclusions.