#one nation one ration card

[sagar-jaybhay]

One Nation One Ration Card Is Best 18 Nov 2023

New Post has been published on https://majornewshub.com/one-nation-one-ration-card-is-best-18-nov-2023/

One Nation One Ration Card Is Best 18 Nov 2023

एक राष्ट्र एक राशन कार्ड

विवरण

ओएनओआरसी योजना लोगों को उनके राशन कार्ड का उपयोग भारत में कहीं भी सस्ता भोजन प्राप्त करने में सहायता करती है। यह राष्ट्रीय खाद्य सुरक्षा अधिनियम का हिस्सा है। इस योजना के तहत, जो लोग सब्सिडीज़ की योजना के अंतर्गत आते हैं, वे देश के किसी भी हिस्से से अपना अधिकार प्राप्त कर सकते हैं।

इसे संभावित करने के लिए, भोजन देने वाले दुकानों पर ePoS नामक विशेष मशीनों का उपयोग होता है।

ये मशीनें एक प्रकार के जादू कंप्यूटर होते हैं जो आपके आधार नंबर को आपके राशन कार्ड से जोड़ते हैं।

इस तरह, जब आप दुकान पर जाते हैं, तो आप अपना राशन कार्ड नंबर या आधार नंबर दे सकते हैं ताकि आपको उस दुकान से वो खाद्य प्राप्त हो सके।

अगर आपके परिवार में कोई आधार नंबर को राशन कार्ड से जोड़ चुका है, तो वो भी खाद्य ले सकता है।

और यहां पर एक बेहतरीन बात है: आपको अपना कार्ड या आधार साथ नहीं लेकर जाना पड़ता है।

आप बस अपनी उंगलियों या आंखों का इस्तेमाल करके अपनी पहचान सिद्ध कर सकते हैं!

यह सहायक भोजन पासपोर्ट अगस्त 2019 में चार राज्यों में शुरू हुआ था। और ये बड़ी बात है: फरवरी 2022 तक, 35 राज्यों और केंद्र शासित प्रदेश इस शानदार सिस्टम का उपयोग कर रहे थे!

One Nation One Ration Card

One Nation One Ration Card Benefits

फ़ायदे

यह सिस्टम उन NFSA लाभार्थियों को योग्यता देता है, विशेष रूप से वहां के लोगों को जो अलग-अलग जगह जाते हैं, किसी भी फेयर प्राइस शॉप (FPS) से देशभर में खाद्यान्न दावा करने का।

वे अपने मौजूदा राशन कार्ड का बायोमेट्रिक या आधार सत्यापन करके इसका आसानी से इस्तेमाल कर सकते हैं।

यहां तक कि उनके घर में रहने वाले परिवार के सदस्य भी उसी कार्ड का उपयोग करके उन्हें बचा हुआ खाद्यान्न प्राप्त कर सकते हैं।

इसके अलावा, इस सिस्टम से लाभार्थियों को यह अवसर भी मिलता है कि वे अपने चाहने वाले डीलर को चुन सकें।

अगर किसी गलती की संभावना हो, जैसे सही मात्रा में खाद्यान्न न मिलना, तो वे तुरंत किसी दूसरे शॉप पर स्विच कर सकते हैं और जो चाहिए, वहां से प्राप्त कर सकते हैं।

Eligibility

पात्रता

राष्ट्रीय खाद्य सुरक्षा अधिनियम (एनएफएसए), 2013 के तहत कवर किए गए सभी पात्र राशन कार्डधारकों या लाभार्थियों को एक विकल्प प्रदान करने के लिए वन नेशन वन राशन कार्ड

Application Process

आवेदन प्रक्रिया

यदि आप इंटरेस्टेड हैं, तो निकटतम फेयर प्राइस शॉप पर राशन कार्ड के साथ जा सकते हैं।

लाभार्थी देश भर के किसी भी फेयर प्राइस शॉप डीलर को अपना राशन कार्ड नंबर या आधार नंबर दे सकते हैं।

राशन कार्ड में जिसका भी परिवार में आधार जुड़ा हो, वो उसे पहचान करा सकता है और राशन ले सकता है।

लाभार्थियों को अपना राशन कार्ड या आधार कार्ड डीलर के साथ शेयर या ले कर जाने की कोई आवश्यकता नहीं है।

लाभार्थी अपनी पहचान अंगुलियों या आंख के स्कैन से आधार सत्यापन करा सकते हैं।

Documents Required

आवश्यक दस्तावेज़

राशन कार्ड

आधार कार्ड (यदि राशन कार्ड से जुड़ा हो)

More About Schemes

#Modi Gov #One Nation One Ration Card

[poonamranius]

Ration card : इस तरह आपको अपना राशन कार्ड बनवाने के लिए ऑफिस नहीं जाना पड़ेगा, आप जल्दी घर पहुंच जाएंगे

Ration card : इस तरह आपको अपना राशन कार्ड बनवाने के लिए ऑफिस नहीं जाना पड़ेगा, आप जल्दी घर पहुंच जाएंगे

राशन कार्ड 2022 जनरेट करने के नियम: Ration card यहां आप पाएंगे कि राशन कार्ड किसे मिल सकता है, राशन कार्ड पात्रता नियम क्या हैं। सार्वजनिक वितरण प्रणाली (पीडीएस) के तहत कम कीमत पर चावल, गेहूं, चीनी, नमक आदि प्राप्त करने के लिए राशन कार्ड होना बहुत जरूरी है। लेकिन ये राशन कार्ड सभी को नहीं दिए जाते हैं। इसके साथ ही मेरिट के अनुसार राशन कार��ड जारी किए जाते हैं, ताकि उन्हें मेरिट के अनुसार लाभ मिल…

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#BPL Ration Card #new ration card online apply #one nation one ration card #Ration Card #ration card apply #ration card apply online #ration card kaise banega #ration card kaise check kare #ration card ke fayde #ration card list #ration card new rules #ration card new update #ration card news #ration card online #ration card online apply #ration card online apply 2022 #ration card online kaise karen #ration card status check #ration card update #smart ration card

[supernews]

'One Nation, One Ration Card' programme implemented across India

Assam has finally operationalised the ration card portability service and with this, the Centre's 'One Nation, One Ration Card' programme is implemented across the country, the food ministry said on Tuesday.

Under the ONORC (One Nation, One Ration Card), beneficiaries covered under the National Food Security Act, 2013 (NFSA) can get their quota of subsidised foodgrains from any electronic point of sale device (ePoS)-enabled fair price shops of their choice by using their existing ration cards with biometric authentication.

"Assam has become the 36th state/UT to implement ONORC," the ministry said in a statement.

With this, the ONORC programme has been successfully implemented in all states and Union Territories, making food security portable throughout the country, it said.

The implementation of ONORC was initiated in August 2019.

According to the ministry, ration card portability has significantly contributed in ensuring subsidised foodgrains to NFSA beneficiaries, especially migrant beneficiaries, during the last two years of COVID-19 pandemic.

Read more

#Ration card #Assam #One Nation One Ration Card #onorc #National Food Security Act

[twogyuu]

Alternative title: From 'Babygirl' to 'Wifey'

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

Synopsis:

“It’s time . . . wifey.”

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, heir!cheol, terrifyingly innocent!couple (but like ~5-7 years since university is when this set so they are grown grown now 🥺)

Warnings: Mentions of food, mild themes of jealousy, suggestive if you squint hard enough

A/N: Inspired by Chanyeol and Lee Hi's song, 'Yours' and Seokmin and Cheol's Allure photoshoot. Though the photos were sultry, this literally is not sexy at all LOL. Feelings were just being felt #triggered

masterlist (can be read as a stand alone!)

You weren’t sure how long you had been standing there for, eyes peering up and trained on the glossy magazine sitting on the top rack of the red-wired stand next to the register of the 7/11 down the street from your shared apartment. The ding of sliding door fell deaf on your ears, you paid no mind to the customers skirted around you – some not caring for your presence as they had a train to catch or rushing to grab a quick meal to make at home, a few throwing dubious glances in direction, the thought of a perhaps crazed fangirl of Choi Seungcheol debating whether or not she should recklessly buy the magazine with her hard earned money, running through their mind while they handed the cashier their card. 

The pad of your thumb repeatedly running over the perfectly cut edges of the clear, heavy stone sitting on the silver band wrapped around your fourth finger, you examined the magazine cover of your fiance. A month ago, he had told you he had a photoshoot coming up. As the newly announced CEO of Sebong Holdings in the next few years to come, he was a hot topic in the media. Naturally, there were a few printing presses that wanted him to be featured in their next magazine issue. 

When he had told you “photoshoot” you had thought it would be . . . professional. Black suit and tie, clean cut hair combed back, good posture, modest – covered.

You weren’t expecting him to be wearing a tight, unbuttoned, white shirt, sleazily covered with loose blazer and his hair to be wet and stylishly tousled and hanging over his pretty brown orbs that were covered by heavy lids. 

It was anything, but professional and modest. 

It was sultry and provocative. 

You liked it, but you also didn’t. 

This was your fiance – these kinds of photos should only be for your eyes. 

Why didn’t he tell you or show you them before now?

 With a small huff, you tore your eyes away from the cover, shaking your head to clear it of the green fogging your rationality. You knew it was dumb to be jealous – Seungcheol was a public figure, and a very attractive one at that. It was only natural for society to be swooned by his sharp yet gentle features, and on top of that, his pretty words. 

Wasn’t that the worst? He was charismatic – somewhere along the lines after university, he learned how to craft his speech to sway the general public. 

He was still the Seungcheol you knew from childhood, in university – just . . . refined. 

As popular as he was with the people, he was yours at the end of the day, and he always will be after slipping the engagement ring on your finger only two weeks ago. There was no reason to suspect otherwise – he was busy with the preparations for the transition, but Seungcheol always made time for you. 

You couldn’t be mad. 

You couldn’t be jealous. 

He was literally yours and there were millions of people across the country vying to be in your position now. 

Seungcheol couldn’t even be claimed as the nation’s most eligible bachelor anymore because he had announced in an interview prior that he was happily engaged to you – though, for your privacy and safety, your identity remained hidden for now. As the wedding preparations came along, the Choi’s would introduce you slowly to the public as the heir’s partner in crime. 

The buzzing of your phone interrupted your internal fuming. Out of guilt, your heart instantly sank, at the sight of his name. You were quick to swipe at the screen to see his message.

[Choi Seungcheol]: Coming home yet?

[Choi Seungcheol]: Should I come pick you up?

[Y/N]: I’ll be there soon – at the 7/11 🙂

[Choi Seungcheol]: . . . Did I forget to buy something? 😅

[Y/N]: LoL no – we’re just running low on paper towels. I’ll see you soon ♥️

[Choi Seungcheol]: Hurry~

[Y/N]: I can’t if you keep texting!

[Choi Seungcheol]: I miss you 🙁

[Y/N]: You’ll see me soon lolol

[Choi Seungcheol]: Not soon enough! Run if you have to!

[Choi Seungcheol]: Today I cooked too 😏

You let out a soft chortle, shaking your head at his message as you tucked your phone back into your purse, making your way to the paper towel aisle. 

Even if he was the Choi Seungcheol, there was solace in knowing there was a piece of your Choi Seungcheol that people won’t ever see – for better or for worse. He was clingy and he pouts more than Jihoon’s son, but he loved unconditionally and after all these years, he still doted you like you were when you fake dating.

The honeymoon phase was eternal with Seungcheol and you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Seungcheol noted as he tucked a clump of rice into his cheek. He looked at you from across the table, tilting his head to the side, much like Kkuma – the Maltese that Seungcheol inherited from his father a few years before. “What’s wrong?

You peered up from your tofu soup, wide-eyed and confused. “Hm? What would be wrong?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, leaning in and squinting from across the square dinner table as if it would give him the answer. “Something’s off.” He frowned suddenly, peering down at his soup. “It tastes bad, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you chuckled, pushing him away. “Just tired – and your soup tastes fine,” you swirled the broth before gulping down a spoonful to make a point. “You’re getting better.”

He wasn’t satisfied with your answer, but he’d let it go – for now. Seungcheol would get it out of you one way or another. 

And after being together for the better of the last five years, he’d do it fast. 

“How was 7/11?” he asked nonchalantly. 

You choked, pounding your chest. You looked up from your dinner, scowling as you reached for a napkin. 

He returned your look with a simple, but effective raise of his eyebrow. 

“Fine,” you replied hoarsely. You paused, dabbing the invisible liquid off your lips to buy yourself some time. “I . . . um . . . saw your magazine cover.”

“Ah,” Seungcheol sounded, his stature visibly relaxing. He was almost . . . . amused. “Did you like them?”

You refused to give him the satisfaction he was seeking in seeing you squirm, holding your posture stiff and eyes looking away from him. 

“They were interesting, to say the least,” you nodded. 

“You liked them,” he smirked. 

“You said it was a professional photoshoot,” you remarked. 

“And they were,” he shrugged. 

At this, you peered up at him once more, less happy with his smart and quick response. He gave you a shit-eating grin knowing he nailed what was bothering you and more. 

“I was expecting something . . . err, different,” you added. “More . . . modest.”

“Are you jealous, right now?” he chuckled. 

“N-no,” you whined, “Stop.”

“Aww,” he cooed, getting out of his seat to make his way over to you. A hearty laugh emanated from his chest as he wrapped you in a tight embrace. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Seungcheol!” you whined trying to push him away. 

“I love you,” he planted a peck on the crown of your head, continuing to smoosh you in between his arms. 

“Seungcheol – it’s fine! I’m fine now! You looked amazing! I know – we know!”

You know you stood no chance against him, quick to give in and settle into his chest, wrapping your own hands around his waist. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, your whines replaced with bouts of breathy laughter. 

You already knew you were being ridiculous earlier and even then, he was quick to reassure you.

A comfortable silence settled in, the both of you savoring the simple, but intimate moment. Seungcheol rubbed soothing circles into your back, your eyes fluttering shut at his touch. There were the occasional shared giggles and slap of his hand when his hand lingered a little too low for your liking, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Still on the topic of photoshoots,” Seungcheol mumbled into your shoulder. You felt him press his plush lips against your skin. 

“It’s been like . . . almost ten minutes since we dropped the topic,” you snickered. 

“Wanna do a professional photoshoot with me?” he ignored your comment and asked instead. His tone was ingenuous. 

Pulling back, arms slipping down his biceps, you stared at him owlishly, waiting for him to tell you he was kidding or pinch your nose and say ‘sike.’

Like his voice though, there wasn’t a hint of mischief in his expression. Only a gentle smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes glistening with hope as he patiently awaited your answer. 

Cupping his cheeks, you asked softly. “I think I need more details, Cheol.”

“It’s like one of those . . . engagement photoshoots, but fake – not our real ones that we’ll share for our wedding, but for the public,” he explained, gently reminding you about introducing you to the world as Seungcheol’s fiance. “Mr. Kang said my father has something set up – we just have to give them the signal that we’re a go.” Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he waited a beat before adding, “It’s time . . . wifey.”

“We’ve evolved from babygirl to wifey,” you joked to shake off the nerves of the request. You gave him a chaste kiss. 

“Are you ready though?” he asked earnestly. “If you’re not, we can wait a little longer.”

Were you? He was yours for the rest of time – whether it was today or another fifty years down the line, the public would find out. 

And what was there to be ashamed of? Afraid of?

The facts were simple and plain: he was yours and you were his. 

Though flashing cameras and watchful eyes of his world were overwhelming at times, it wasn’t anything the both of you couldn’t work through. 

“It’s okay, I’m . . . I’m ready,” you nodded. You raised a finger to his chest, pressing it against his sternum. “Hubby.”

At the drop of the word, you immediately crinkled your nose and shook your head. “That didn’t come out right.”

Seungcheol chortled, pulling you into another bear hug. “You’re right, it didn’t,” he patted the back of your head, “Seungcheol is just fine from you – alternatively, ‘babe’ or ‘sexy’ is also acceptable.”

You snorted. “On Jihoon’s death bed maybe.”

“You’re right, wifey.”

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios

[m4rdb]

An insight into the characters based on their approach to the “Allie problem”

If good writing means that every scene has the potential to say something about a character at their core, then the girls' attitude towards the "Allie problem" is an interesting example.

Taissa

The one who comes up with the very plan. This establishes her as ambitious and extremely rational, but it’s the type of rationality that without grounded moral principles could degenerate into violence and cruelty at any time. It’s what we see with adult Misty and Walter, who are both so practical-minded that resorting to murder is nothing more than a smart option to choose to them.

Like Jackie says, Taissa has so much fight in her. The way she handles the Allie situation shows that if she has a goal, she’ll do whatever she finds necessary to obtain it.

How does that translate into their time in the wilderness?

Taissa’s the first to make the call that they should leave the plane and find water. She’s the one who sleeps in the attic when everyone else wouldn’t, she’s the only one who tries to tell Jackie she shouldn’t leave. And in season two, she’s the one who says, “We need to find a way to stay alive, and it can’t be her [: Lottie]”.

Then we see them drawing cards. We’re not shown how they get to that very decision exactly, but it’s important that we know that the two things are tied. The hunt that follows, their first conscious hunt (let’s not forget about Travis), wasn’t supposed to happen—it’s rather the consequence of the designed sacrifice refusing to take on the role.

Though there’s an obvious religious aspect to it, drawing cards isn’t just letting fate/the wilderness decide in their place so that they don’t blame themselves. It’s also the girls’ attempt to give the ritual some semblance of logic and structure—on a normal day, they would draw cards to decide who gets which task. They’re using the same mechanism, except that they’re now deciding who should die and get eaten. And it starts with Taissa’s very rational and straightforward remark about needing to survive.

Natalie

She openly and passionately goes against Taissa’s plan. Despite being presented as the outsider who doesn’t really engage with the team and disregards rules by smoking and doing drugs, she’s the one who fights to play fairly. She most likely doesn’t care about Allie personally, but she’s a teammate, and they should treat her as such.

While Tai’s ultimate goal is winning at Nationals, Natalie doesn’t want to win more than she wants to be a team (T: What’s your plan, then? / N: I dunno, play like a fucking team and win? It’s worked so far.).

It’s quite ironic—yet not that surprising—how, despite being opposites, Natalie and Jackie share a similar mindset about this.

The scene establishes Natalie as a sympathetic character with grounded and noble moral principles, no matter the adversities. In the wilderness, she’s the first and possibly the only one who acknowledges Travis’ grief and sees through his unsufferable attitude and understands that, as much as questionable his methods are, he’s trying to make sure Javi gets over their father’s death and wants to live on.

It's also meaningful that Natalie’s not there when Jackie and Shauna fight and Jackie ends up leaving the cabin. The night earlier, Natalie was the one who let her out when Lottie and the others locked her in and went to hunt Travis down. Natalie basically saves the girl who just had sex with Travis being perfectly aware that it would hurt her, and she doesn’t even know. Viewers do know, though, and we’re instinctively led to think of her as even more noble and deserving of empathy.

Jackie’s death certainly comes from an irrational choice, but the deepest reason is the others’ lack of sympathy towards her at the end of the season. It could be delusional, but I can’t see Natalie turning a blind eye on the whole thing, had she been there.

Jackie was their captain when they had a normal life. Natalie becomes their leader thanks to the constant effort she’s put into the group ever since they landed there—and possibly, as the matter with Allie shows, even before that.

Lottie

Lottie’s phrasing for her refusal is telling. She says, “It doesn’t feel right.” It’s not that she thinks it is, or that it seems like it is. She feels like they’re not meant to go through with it. A simple yet fitting choice of words foreshadows Lottie’s spiritual nature and her connection to the wilderness as well as her role of prophet/messiah.

It’s also important that she’s not shown as particularly proactive. She does express her opinion, but she’s not as passionate as Natalie about it, who instead actively tries to convince them what a terrible idea it is and interferes with Taissa’s plan on the field. This shows how Lottie never cared be a leader, but rather follows where her feelings lead her.

Van

We’re not really shown Van’s reaction until they’re in the locker room after the scrimmage. We just learn that she’s impressionable, as she almost throws up at Nat’s mention of Allie’s bone being visible, and that she’s so devoted to Tai that she won’t let Shauna talk shit about her at the party.

Laura Lee

Of course, nobody would even dream of telling Laura Lee about an act of such misconduct. She would never go along with Taissa’s plan, she wouldn’t even fathom doing something like this. She’s more clueless than Jackie, because Jackie at least did notice something was off on the field. Even at the party, Laura Lee is the only one who still has no idea there were such tensions.

Her blissful ignorance keeps her kind and pure, apart from the ruthless tendencies of the team. It doesn’t change once they’re in the wilderness—Laura Lee dies trying to help her friends, and she fortunately never gets to witness their worst moments.

Shauna

Unsurprisingly, Shauna’s a tough one. Her attitude towards the Allie situation is as ambivalent as it will be for the rest of the story towards everything else.

Shauna keeps her thoughts for herself until Nat and Lottie leave and it’s just her and Tai, and even then, the first thing she says is, “Jackie’s not gonna like it.” The moment she’s asked to make a personal decision, she talks about what Jackie would think, and it’s not because she herself doesn’t know what to think, it’s just what she chooses to say outright. If anything, Shauna isn’t against Taissa’s plan entirely, and bringing up Jackie rather sounds like an excuse so that she doesn’t dwell on her own dark thoughts.

When Taissa says, “Then we probably shouldn’t tell her,” we expect that to upset Shauna—she wouldn’t keep things from Jackie, right? They’re best friends. While it does upset her, it still doesn’t stop her. We understand why later in the episode, when we discover that she’s no stranger to keeping secrets from Jackie, between her affair with Jeff and the admission letter to Brown (it also recontextualizes their first scene together in Shauna’s car, where Jackie addressed literally both).

On the field, when Taissa plays aggressive and forces Allie to play under pressure, Shauna tells her, “It’s not helping,” and once Allie’s on the ground, she’s one of the girls who runs to her first and tries to comfort her. Even though she didn’t openly disagree with Taissa’s plan, she didn’t want or expect things to escalate the way they did. She’ll make the same mistake when Jackie leaves the cabin, Taissa tells her to go talk to her, and Shauna just goes to sleep, underestimating the consequences of it.

Her ambivalence—if not hypocrisy—is shown later that night at the party, when she tries to pick a fight with Taissa while drunk. I think some part of her felt guilty to an extent, so she tries to fight with Tai out of remorse and because she wants to make her look like the only culprit, since she hates that she was so close to being complicit in it. Who calls her out when she defends Nat from Taissa’s slut-shaming at the party? Natalie herself slams in Shauna’s face that she is complicit.

If Shauna had told Jackie, she would’ve put a stop to it for sure. In the 2019 script for the pilot, Jackie says, “You should have told me about Taissa and Allie.” Shauna’s choice to keep the secret directly anticipates their falling out towards the end of the season. Shauna’s continuous lying drives Jackie mad until she explodes and they have that fatal fight.

Shauna’s the one who tries to act as a person who has it together but really doesn’t. She has the potential to be a good person, friend and mother, but she ends up flunking everything and she barely understands why.

Finally, she tells Tai that she’s “a fucking sociopath”, which, considering everything that happens later in the series, is sort of rich.

Jackie

Like Laura Lee, Jackie has no clue the whole “freeze Allie out” strategy is even happening. Shauna didn’t tell her, she was left out, and she doesn’t find out until Allie’s already hurt and there’s nothing she can do about it.

She watches the others as they rush to help and comfort her and handle the situation, but she doesn’t partake in it because she’s too shocked to move. After the scrimmage, she tries very hard to do as Coach Martinez told her—as captain, she’s meant to glue them together (“When it gets tough out there, these girls are going to be looking for someone to guide them. Can you handle that?”). It’s more than that, though—the way Coach put it, if Jackie can’t do that, then she isn’t really anything special. She’s not as fast as Shauna and her footwork isn’t as good as Lottie’s, and there’s something else that Taissa’s better at, too, though Jackie stops Coach before he can tell her that bit. But nobody seems to care about what she’s saying, and Natalie storms off.

Jackie’s inability to handle the Allie situation and lift the others’ spirits foreshadows her incompetence as well as her progressive loss of influence in the wilderness—in Lottie’s words, “You don’t matter anymore.”

Allie’s accident marks the beginning of Jackie’s downfall even before the plane crashes.

#yellowjackets #shauna shipman #taissa turner #natalie scatorccio #lottie matthews #jackie taylor #yellowjackets character analysis #allie stevens #jackieshauna #jackienat #taivan #can you tell who my favorite is #and why is it the one i diss the most in this #yes im talking about shauna #my meta

[mylight-png]

How do I explain to a very close friend that what is happening hurts me, an American Jew? That seeing people deny Jews as having a homeland in the area that is Israel reinforces antisemitic stereotypes and that stating there is an imbalance of power where the Jews/Israel have more power is inherently antisemitic. One of the things that hurt me the most was her inability to say that Jews had a right to live in Israel; she couldn't say what a solution would be, even when I have explained the idea of a two state solution, even when I would have been fine with some kind of generalized "I believe in a world without borders and everyone is equal". She played the "antizionism is not antisemitism" card. She kept stating "all the research I have done shows me x" but wouldn't say where that research was done. I care about this person deeply and in all other regards in politics she seems completely able to grasp the nuances and complexities of situations. What are some resources and ideas of how to start a conversation?

First and foremost, stay very up to date on what's happening. It is so so so important to understand that, a lot of the time, these awful views come from ignorance. These people are only seeing one side, the side Hamas wants them to see. Being informed, both on what they're seeing and what makes those things untrue, is central to battling misinformation.

Ask your friend if they would define the hatred for any other minority. Would they tell a Black person what anti-Black racism looks like? Would they explain to a queer person what is or isn't homophobic? Would they say that it's important to see the ableist's perspective to a disabled person? It's important to recognize and point out those double standards.

Also, what happened and is happening in Israel affects all of us around the world physically, mentally, and emotionally. I don't know whether you have any blood relatives in Israel, but I know you have family there. About seven million. We are all still in shock and mourning over what happened, and that is completely valid. But also, there has been a drastic spike in antisemitism globally. I know that as a Jewish college student living on campus, I am not safe. It's not just that I don't feel safe, I'm not safe. None of us can be safe or feel safe while Hamas propaganda is so rampant in our society. The fact that what is happening in Israel affects you as an American Jew is not just your opinion or perception or point of view. It's a fact. Anyone who denies it is ignorant and/or antisemitic.

The inability to recognize the indigenous heritage of Jews in relation to Israel has been so so so harmful in this issue. I highly recommend Rootsmetals on Instagram for learning more about these things, she makes very comprehensive informative posts.

Antizionism is antisemitism, because Zionism is a foundational Jewish value, and to deny it is to deny Jewish heritage and history. In the Torah we are referred to as one of two things. "B'nei Yisrael" and "Am Yisrael", children and nation of Israel, respectively. Every year after pesach we say "next year in Jerusalem" and this isn't new. This is an ancient tradition recognizing our roots there. During the Amidah prayer we turn to face Israel, yet again highlighting our connection to the land. The letters written on our Hanukkah dreidels vary depending on whether they were made in Israel or not. Heck, Hanukkah itself is a holiday about us reclaiming our homeland from Greek imperialism.

Also explain that Hamas's foundational goal is the genocide of Jews. Their charter is available on the internet, if your friend doesn't believe you she can read it herself. This isn't a war of land. This is a war of survival, and it is a war Israel did not start.

I'll be honest with you. All of the facts and rationality in the world will not be enough to change some people's minds. If that is, G-d forbid, the case with your friend, then it'll be up to you how you deal with that. There is no pressure to cut her out of your life if that doesn't seem like the right option to you, but you also shouldn't feel like you have to stay friends with her for any reason if that makes you uncomfortable.

Frankly, there are two questions that pose the ultimate test. How does she feel about the October 7th massacre, and can she confidently say that Hamas is a violent terrorist organization.

Failure to condemn both or even one of those is despicable and inherently antisemitic due to the goals of Hamas.

I'm sorry if this wasn't much help, but it's all I have to offer.

Am Yisrael chai, stay strong.

#Israel #am yisrael chai #jumblr #jewish #judaism #antizionism is antisemitism #antisemitism has no place here #fuck antisemitism #fuck hamas #discussion #advice

[theharddeck]

out of the blue, clear sky (chapter one) // Jake Seresin x Reader

Pairing: hangman x fem!reader (no y/n)

Synopsis: what's a bit of state rivalry between pilots? You and Hangman see each other in a new light after a late night at a dive bar, and this started as a one shot, then suddenly it was 2k words of country karaoke, and now I want to write a fluffy love story

Warnings: 18+, minors please DNI -- this is a 5 chapter deal and this one is pretty PG, but it'll ratchet up to E in a later chapter, and I don't want to mislead anyone. In the interim, there's swearing, but yeah mostly flagging this because something smutty this way comes

Length: 3.2k

A/N: This is self-indulgent to the max, and payoff is late in coming, but I hope y’all enjoy it lol. I regret to inform you that Sold (The Grundy Country Auction Incident) is required listening before reading; it’s just important to note that it’s a fun/funny song, not a sultry one. Jake’s song is “Carried Away” by George Strait, also a delight, but that one is sweet.

tagging the usuals: @peakyrogers@winterrebel04 @blue-aconite and the folks who convinced me to post: @bioodforbiood @et-homephone

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five

Should you have been out this late, the night before you had drills in this morning? No.

Should you be taking anything anyone said at this hour seriously? No. 

Should you be taking anything anyone said at this hour seriously? No. 

Were you all still going to be defensive when Bradley decided to be coastal elitist about something? Absolutely, yes.

“Man, we were having such a good night,” Fanboy muttered, as you, Bob, and Hangman were immediately up in arms.  

“You can just say you don’t like when women have feelings, Bradford,” you said. (A grossly reductive accusation, to be sure, but if Rooster was going to generalize, you weren’t going to take the high road.)

Coyote snorted, taking another pull of his beer as Phoenix came back to the table, kicking her feet up on Bob’s lap.

“God, that felt good,” she sighed, holding out a hand and waiting for someone to put a drink into it. “Who’s next?” 

“Presumably Hangman,” Bob said, handing her a glass, “to redeem the genre of country music.”

“Nah, I don’t sing,” Jake waved a hand airily, and you knew better than to look at him, but you did anyways. 

Normally, you were sober enough to ignore any sorts of feelings that fluttered, unprovoked, in your stomach when you looked at Jake Seresin. He was a pilot like you, you were in the same detachment, it wasn’t going to be something you acted on, you were far from his type anyways…you had a million little rationalizations as to why a crush was impractical, but it persisted nonetheless. 

Crushes were inconvenient like that.

This deep into the night, “normally” did not apply. 

So you looked at him, sternly reminding yourself to not do anything so dramatic as let your breath catch, or pulse leap. 

He didn’t seem nearly as deep in his cups as the rest of the group.

No, of course, he and Phoenix seemed to be the only ones whose eyes were still clear and faces weren’t flushed. In fact, he had the audacity to look as unfairly attractive as he did in the daytime in his uniform, even though you’d all been awake for close to twenty hours now. His blonde hair was mussed, and looked softer than normal, like he’d carded his fingers through it enough that any styling products had relinquished their hold, and it was a damn good look. 

You frowned down at your drink, the deep umber liquid not seeming any lower, though you’d been nursing it for half an hour. 

“It’s okay,” you said, to distract yourself, more than anything. “Texas doesn’t really count as Country, anyways.”

Mickey tittered, and you felt Jake’s eyes on you, but didn’t trust yourself to look up to meet them.

“Damn straight,” Jake huffed. “Texas was actually–”

“Its own country,” Reuben interrupted, longsuffering.

“For seven whole years,” Bradley continued, “an independent nation all of their own, called…”

“The Republic of Texas,” Javy lifted his glass. “And they were called Texians, actually, not Texans.”

The three of them clinked their glasses together in a cheers, and Jake held up his hands.

“Okay, okay,” he shrugged, nonplussed. “So, I’ve got a lot of state pride, sue me.”

“That’s okay,” Phoenix said, before winking almost imperceptibly at you. “Not like there’s any good country artists from Texas.”

Jake froze. “Okay, now, hang on–”

“Ah, you’re right,” you sighed, grateful for distraction of goading Hangman into singing. “Beyonce took all the musical talent, regardless of genre, and there’s no one left.”

Jake set his bottle down on the table. “That’s bold, coming from someone from Kentucky.”

“I can’t hear you over the sound of Kentucky-born legend Loretta Lynn,” you said calmly.

Jake sputtered. “Loretta–”

“Patty Loveless, too,” Bob said helpfully, and you didn’t know how he knew that, but you were grateful for the WSO’s encyclopedic memory. “And Chris Stapleton, if modern’s your thing.”

Jake gaped at the two of you, then held up a hand to count on his fingers. “Willie Nelson, Garth Brooks, George Strait–”

“Who?” you interrupted, innocently. Your dad had a George Strait cassette he’d played until the tape wore out, but Jake’s eyes widened almost comically. 

“Please,” he asked, in the most serious tone you’d heard from him all night, “please, tell me you’re joking.” 

Behind him, Reuben had a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh, and you managed to keep your expression wide-eyed and blank, shrugging lightly. 

Jake stared at you for a long moment, then he stood up, sharply.

“Cretins,” Jake declared, pointing at you, then around at the group. “All of you!”

And he huffed his way up to the stage. 

Phoenix leaned back in her chair to hold out her hand to you, palm up, which you high fived unashamedly as Jake aggressively flipped through the song book. 

He punched a code into the machine on the edge of the stage, then dragged a stool to the middle of the stage.

“Evening, everyone,” he said into a mic, and you rolled your eyes as every female spine in the bar straightened, looking towards the stage. It wasn’t lost on you that he’d turned his accent up, as well as donning an air of “aw, shucks,” humility as he settled onto the barstool.

A couple cat calls echoed around the bar, as contemplative guitar strings plucked over the sound system. 

“Notttt what I was expecting,” Coyote said under his breath, and Hangman cleared his throat before he started singing.

“I don’t take my whisky to extremes,” Jake sang, looking pointedly at the group of you, with the near empty bottle on the table, and Rooster flipped him off. “I don’t believe in chasing crazy dreams…”

As his voice ran around the bar, tables fell quiet, turning back to the stage. Hangman’s voice, normally more callous than decadent, seemed softer, and the simple lyrics of the song rang like a promise.

“My feet are planted firmly on the ground,” Jake crooned, and that really was the only word for it, an effortless spell none of you had been expecting, “but darlin’, when you come around…”

“Well shit,” Fanboy muttered to the group as Jake went all-in on the chorus, “how are we supposed to make fun of him when he’s actually good?”

Shit indeed.

Because he sounded like someone sweet who would promise forever to a girl on the way back from a Friday Night football game, someone who'd give you their jacket and get you home by 9pm. Some sound tech was conspiring against you, because they dimmed the lights in the bar, a soft spotlight falling onto Jake. And he should’ve looked worse like that, in the dramatic lighting, but it made his jaw seem sharper, his eyes brighter, and if you listened closely, you could hear the sound of every woman in this bar falling a little in love. 

They cheered when he finished the chorus, and Hangman was eating it up, wiping his palms on his jeans, and pushing to his feet.

“This has backfired,” Phoenix mumbled, when Jake hopped off the stage, weaving his way through the tables, starting on the next verse.

“We have created a monster,” you agreed.

“No ‘we’ about it,” Javy muttered. “This is all you guys.”

And you supposed it was. 

Jake was making his way over to your table, and you steeled yourself for his arrogance, but were still unprepared.

He smirked as he siddled over to Phoenix, and she rolled her eyes but when he held out a hand, she extended hers, and the rest of the audience squealed when he brushed a kiss over the edges of her knuckles.

You winced internally, why did he have to be so handsome?? He got away with stuff like this, and you couldn’t even be mad at him–

He turned to you.

It had to be the whisky, that’s why you felt the weight of his eyes so heavily. The green of them glittered in the spotlight, and a part of you was loyally muttering “asshole” but another part of you felt like giggling with the rest of the bar.

And then he walked towards you. 

“I get carried away by the look, by the light in your eyes,” he sang, holding eye contact in a way that had to be indecent. You needed to look away so you could remember how to breathe, but you couldn’t back down, so you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

Which, of course, he took as a challenge.

“Before I even realize the ride I’m on, baby, I’m long gone,” Jake sang, stepping closer. 

He reached for your hand, and if Phoenix could do it, you could too–but he didn’t kiss your hand. No, he lifted it, prompting you to stand and spinning you, like prom. The spotlight had followed him, and you felt it brightening the air around you as he pulled you into it. 

“I get carried away, nothing matters, but being with you,” he sang, and instead of letting you wilt back into your seat and out of the light, he dropped your hand around the back of his neck, between the ends of his hair and the top of his shirt, eyes smirking with the challenge, as he continued. “Like a feather flying high up in the sky, on a windy day, I get carried away.”

There was more of the song, you knew that.

But in another, very real sense, you were closer to Hangman than you ever remembered being, close enough to notice his green eyes had flecks of gold in them, and that he had the smallest indentations in the skin along the edges of his eyes, from where his face held the memory of past smiles. And now you knew what his hair felt like between your fingers, and that it wasn’t cologne, he just smelled good.

“I get carried away,” Jake repeated, stepping just a step closer to you, and maybe it made you a coward, but you took a step back. He smirked, victorious, and turned, letting your hand fall back to your side as the spotlight followed him back up to the stage.

Mickey opened his mouth and you glared at him. “Not a word, Fanboy.”

He closed his mouth with a snap, but the rest of the group looked entirely too amused for your comfort. 

“Thank you, ladies and gents,” Jake was saying on the stage, dropping into a deep bow and putting the microphone back. “And, uh, Kentucky?”

You looked up at the stage, annoyed to find Jake’s eyes already on you, even through the glare of the spotlight. 

“Would love,” he grinned, all teeth, “to see you top that.”

You heard Rooster chuckle, and that, more than anything, had you pushing out of your chair up to the stage. 

Jake offered you a hand as you got closer, to help you up the steps and you glowered at him as you took it.

“Thanks, darlin’,” you muttered.

“Anytime, sugar,” he shot back, and you hated that his voice sounded way more unaffected than yours. 

You were flipping through the songbook before you realized how impossible this was about to be. 

Natasha had already trotted out the ‘fuck all men’ Carrie Underwood play, and Jake had taken the soft and sweet option; you had to do something different. Something in the ‘Chicken Fried’ vein would be funny, but it would also prove Bradley's point; Gretchen Wilson would do the trick, but she wasn’t from Kentucky… 

Your eyes fell on a John Michael Montgomery song and you smiled to yourself. 

Perfect.

“Hiya, folks,” you said cheerily, going for cutesy rather than borrowing Jake’s bashful routine. A couple girls were glaring at you, having seen Jake serenade you and misinterpreting that familiarity, but you ignored them. 

“You’ve got this, babe!” Phoenix called, and you heard Payback and Fanboy clapping loudly. 

You gave them a mock curtsy, and waited for the song to pick up. 

And boy howdy, did it. 

A banjo, loud and proud, curled through the bar and Bob’s eyes lit up, even as Jake’s jaw dropped.

If you could land this, it would be epic. 

You heard recognition ripple through the room and someone in the front row started clapping along to the beat. You smiled at them gratefully as the fast tempo whirled around you.

“Well, I went down to the Grundy county auction,” you sang, at an auctioneer’s pace, hopping off the stage and wandering through the crowd like Jake had, “where I saw something I just had to have.”

You’d upped your accent too, and it wasn’t smooth the way Jake’s was, but you knew it didn’t sound half bad in the tenor key. 

“My mind told me I should proceed with caution,” you sang, getting closer to your table, and holding out a hand to Natasha, like Jake had, “but my heart said go ahead and place a bid on that.”

She stood, highly amused, and you twirled her into you so her back was pressed against the front of your body. Her hand slid up your legs as she put on a show, loyal like you knew she would be, and you could focus on the rapid fire lyrics as the bar cheered for Nat’s dancing skills. 

"And I said, “Hey pretty lady, won't you give me a sign? I'd give anything to make you mine o' mine; I'll do your biddin' and be at your beck and call."

Natasha was laughing, you could feel her upper body shaking but she rolled her hips and you went with her and was Coyote miming throwing money at the two of you, so you leaned into it. 

You finished the chorus in a rush, people whooped, the sultry mood Jake had said absolutely decimated by the ridiculous patter.

You spun Phoenix back out and she sank gracefully back into a seat as you walked around the group of your friends, their boots stomping supportively. As you sang the next verse, you avoided looking at Jake, knowing you needed to keep your momentum and circling back to kneel in front of Bob dramatically. 

The sweet WSO blushed at the attention, and the bar whooped when you crooked a finger under his chin to tilt his face up to you, before pointing out his ‘ruby red lips, blonde hair, blue eyes’ that matched the line in chorus. 

“If you know it, sing along,” you yelled into the mic before pointing it to the ceiling as you weaved your way back to the stage, relieved beyond belief when the rest of the inebriated crowd joined you in singing the last chorus.

It was a mercy, because you needed to breathe. 

You stepped back up onto the stage, having caught your breath, and ending the song on a yodel that had everyone laughing. Were they in love with you—no. But they seemed entertained, and you’d take that; you bowed deeply as the bar cheered, blowing a smug kiss at Hangman when you came back up.  

Which was a mistake.

Because the look on his face was something you hadn’t expected to see, an expression that wavered between respect and something you didn’t recognize, and you weren’t prepared to find out. A moment later, it was gone, chased away by a dimpled smile and the tipping of an imaginary hat as Jake broke his gaze away from you. 

What the hell was that? 

You fiddled with the mic, stepping down off the stage and nodding to a couple folks who lifted their drinks as you made your way back to the group. They cheered for you good naturedly, and gave another curtsy as you found your seat. 

“Who knew she had pipes?” Payback teased, uncapping a fresh beer and passing it to you. 

“Anything for the virtue of the Bluegrass state,” you demured, taking the beer gratefully. 

Someone from another group was up on the stage, you heard a phone ring distantly, and the normal din of the bar creeped back in as the adrenaline seeped out of your system. 

You were sure you were all going to regret this, in the morning. 

Well, most of you.

Natasha still looked fine and Jake…

Jake wasn’t at the table. 

You frowned slightly, trying to keep your expression neutral as you leaned forward in your seat, looking around the room to find the Texan. He wasn’t in your row, he wasn’t at the bar getting an order…

Your eyes found him by the bar’s entrance, holding his phone to his head with one hand, the other blocking his ear. He was pacing, and when he turned back towards the group of you, his forehead was wrinkled in an uncharacteristic frown. 

His eyes met yours.

For the second time tonight, you read something in his face that you knew you hadn’t been meant to see.

Jake’s jaw tightened and he turned away, pacing again. When he got closer to the door, he reached for it, but a moment later, his hand was back by his ear, blocking out sound as he listened intently. You saw him start for the door again, but each time needed to pull back to listen more closely to whoever was on the other end of the line.

You didn’t plan to head towards him, but your feet had you halfway across the bar before you realized you weren’t in your row. As you got closer, you could feel the tension radiating off of him in waves, even if you couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

When you opened the door for him, Jake’s gaze felt searching. 

You held the heavy door, pressing yourself against the wall of the bar so Jake could go by. As he edged by you, his eyes flitted back to yours briefly. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed, and he waited for your chin to dip in a nod of acknowledgement before he was turning, jogging towards his truck. You watched him struggle with his keys in the dim parking lot light, and then pinch the bridge of his nose as he realized he couldn’t drive, not like this. He turned towards the intersection, waving as a cab came into view. 

“What was that about?”

You jumped at the question, surprised to find Bob standing next to you.

“I don’t know,” you said, uncertainly. A cab pulled up to the curb and Jake folded his long body into it, the phone still pressed to his ear.

You realized Bob was holding the door for you, having quietly leaned up against it to take some of the weight so you didn’t have to.  

“We should probably head back, right?” you asked, and Bob nodded, slowly.

“Early morning, all that,” he agreed.

You drew in a quick breath, before smiling automatically, following Bob back inside. As you gathered your things, closed at your portion of the tab, and fielded compliments from strangers, you weren’t certain if it was the night air or the expression on Hangman’s face as he’d left so quickly that had you feeling suddenly sober.

Chapter Two

#jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #as always my tag list is v small so if you want to be on/off it lmk #how are we feeling about a chapter fic??? never posted on here instead of ao3 #so that's nervewracking #ahhhh pls tell me if you like it haha #misskielwrites

[leoascendente]

Pluto through zodiac signs in history ☄️

Hi my loves!💕 Today I bring something a litte bit different than usual, myfrustrated career was historian like my mum but end up being the witch of the family, so let's combine and explore today two of my favorite things: astrology and history. Pluto is now entering the sign of Aquarius after more than 200 years and we can see it's effects starting in society. Pluto takes between 12 to 32 years to transit a sign so it creates a generational and collective energy to deal with.

Pluto is the planet of transformation and renewal, it brings destruction to the old and useless and he does it in an explossive and dramatic way, so if you take a look through history with the "astrologer glasses" you can see how pluto works in every sign and his impact in every generation.

If you want to know more about Pluto archetype I'll leave a link to my post about it here

Pluto in Pisces- From 1798 to 1823

The old empires were falling down opening the road for the Napoleonic empire, a complete opposite form of goverment than what there was before. People were open to accept other people outside of prejudices, well... it was still 19th century, at least they weren't cutting heads anymore so let's give them a chance 🤷‍♀️. Socialism was implanted in Europe through these decades and started the Romantic artistc movement too, there were also huge progress in medicine and the study of nature. Edgar Allan Poe was born with this placement.

Pluto in Aries - From 1821 to 1852

Well... If you know a little about astrology you might expect this. This Pluto transit is the generation of pioneers and revolucionaries, through these years is easy to see a lot of independence movements, mostly in America like the independence of Mexico from Spain the 24th of february of 1824. In this season, regions under the control of unfair leaders started fighting for their rights and their recognition, they were looking for freedom from their opressive politics, on Europe started the spring of nations giving way to a series of riots and revolutions . There was a massive industrial developmentn and as a random fact there were also brutal vocanic explossions.

Pluto in Taurus - From 1853 to 1884

This was a time for a process of unify and stabilize, the people from this transit started to explode the resources that the earth had to provide us, the famous "gold fever" was very strong through these decades. The new politic movements that started with Pluto in Aries begins to solidify and get a more stable structure, there was an amazing economical growth and many agrarial and industrial reforms. There were also a lot of earthquakes that left terrible consequences like the one that happened in Japan on November 11th. These times also promoted materialism and the personal enjoyment, self benefit over the common good.

Pluto in Gemini - From 1882 to 1914

This was a generation for the intellect, new ways of communication and travel began to see the light. In terms of knowledge people wanted to look deeper in the meaning of things, the was a lot of new discoveries and progress about science and psychology. We also had the beginings of the sufragist movement looking for the right of women for education. There was a rise on realism artistic movement over the previous romantisism. In 1888 we had the unfamous Jack the ripper on England and his creepy cards to the police, I see this like the worst face of Pluto in Gemini, that terrible man rejoicing himself in his destructive behaviors (Plutonian) through cards making fun of the police (I always associate writting to Gemini or air signs in general). In general, through this Pluto's transit peopple gave more importance to intellect and rational fact over emotions.

Pluto in Cancer - From 1914 to 1939

The right of women to vote in Luxemburg or the vote for the universal sufragge in Belgium in 1919 are good examples for me of this placement. Cncer is Divine Femenine energy and through these decades the role of women in society is forced to be recognized, not just by the feminist movement but because they are needed for working after the loss of many men that were in World War I. There were also a lot of pacific movements like Ghandi and his hunger strike in India ( I don't like this man but at least he did something important avoiding armed conflicts). This was a time where family roots and homeland had a lot of importance in society and this gives also importance to nationalist political movements. Have in mind that people from this transit had very difficult circumstances, WW1 started on 1914 and WW2 started on 1939, many dictatorships started to form through these years.

Pluto in Leo - From 1937 to 1958

Obviously this Pluto's transit brought up a lot of megalomaniac dictators, charismatic leaders that looked like the answer to the problems of the population and ended up being extremly dangerous, starving for power and dominance over the weak and minorities. I'm not going to talk about the man we all know from WW2, I'm going to talk about the Spanish one that was terrible too. In Spain was imposed franco regime, this man orchestrated a coup d`état (<-sorry that was what google translator told me) that led to a civil war where he told to kill a lot of people that were againts him through that war and when he was ruling the country (search about Federico Garcia Lorca, he was an incredible writer with an awesome future, he was killed by Franco´s order). He was the dictator of Spain for a lot of years, he heelped Mossolini and Hitler on some ocasions, as a random fact, some says that when Hitler met Franco he said he would do anything to never spend again a minute with Franco. To end up this transit right lets say that we also had a lot of iconic stars like Marilyn or Elvis, they are literal icons even today.

Pluto in Virgo - From 1956 to 1972

Like Virgo always does, Pluto in this sign tried to clean out the disasters of it's previous transit and put a little order to the chaos. On this transit appeared a lot of reforms and remodeling to clear up the situation and see what really works for population, after years of fear and chaos people were yearning for some social order and peace. The bad part about this... segregation and the start of cold war. Goverments tried to recollect information to use it againts other goverments, the race for the space and all the mechanichal improvements, but also there was a change in the population`s habits giving more importance to health and diet, recognizing that tools and resources that everybody used had toxic or harmful components, for many people with this placement bad aspected I've seen they have a weird but effective way of taking care of their body. Also there was a rise for careers related to health or mechanics through these years.

Pluto in Libra - From 1971 to 1984

This was a time for recognizing human rights and fight againts unjustice, society was involved in too many conflicts and this generation tried to redirect the focus to peace and diplomacy. New agreements related to marriage and divorce, in some countries divorce was illegal, so this also helped to break some toxic traits related to the expectations about marriage, in general there were new ways to understand realtionships. There was also a revalorization of art and recognition to some artist that were left aside. People started to unify as a collective to fight against the unfair and began to give more importance to equal rights, also to the beauty of nature like in Sempember of 1978, that year Quito, the capital of Ecuador became the first place to be into the World heritage.

Pluto in Scorpio - From 1983 to 1995

Our millennial generation! We have a lot to thank to this generation tbh. This Pluto transit appeared to break with many society taboos, making people emphathize with the ones who didn't had a voice before. In this transit people started to loose fear about death and sex, mostly for women who had been repressed the years before. Of course, there were sexual transmitions diseases but in this time people started to give it the proper importance to these kind of issues. Pluto is related to nuclear energy and in 1986 the world had to see Chernobyl and it's disastrous consequences, but remember too that many countries on those decades were making nuclear tests that also left terrible ressults for humanity. (if you like to there's a documentary on Netflix called 'dark tourist', in one of the episodes they go to a lake made out of an atomic explosion). As a random fact, through this transit appeared a lot of serial killers with sexual overtones.

Pluto in Sagittarius - From 1995 to 2008

How are you my fellows Sag Plutos? This transit came with massive existencial crisis where people stopped believing what others said it was good or bad, even more if that good or bad was written thousands of years ago. This generation learned to live life by their own philosophy instead of following religious beliefs, experience as a way of understanding. People from this generation are more open and prone to look for answers in different places because of the dissapointment with the previous beliefs systems. Through these years we can also see a decline in the main religions, people are not willing anymore to accept other's imposed truths without looking for the logic, but we have to say that it also brought religious radicalism. People from this generation are more open to new ways of experience spirituality and give human existence a meaning, this generation is open to things like meditation, astrology, chakras... The worst aspect of this transit would be that everyone wants to be heard but just a little are willing to listen.

Pluto in Capricorn - From 2008 to 2023

Well, this transit started hard with the global economical crisis of 2008, scandals about corruption in politics and banks, our sight of authority figures is not the same as before because all these scandals and the ones in the past, basicaly we don't fully trust our authority figures. People through this transit got a little obsessed about power, money and their social position but it also brought a lot of new jobs and ways of earning money and fame never seen before. Have you noticed how extremes has politics become lately? Also, public cancellations could have something to do with this transit? Like cancelling, somehow destroying (pluto) someone publicly ( Cap also rules our public image) Idk, let me know what you think about this because Capricorn is complex 🤔. Something curious about this placement is that people are trying to be their own bosses and work for themselves instead of working for others.

Pluto in Aquarius - From 1778 to 1798 (2023 to 2044 aprox)

Pluto is now on Aquarius, the last time it was there we had the French revolution, this year we have riots in France again. French revolution started because of unjustice and inequality, while the royalty were surrounded by luxury normal people were struggling to supply their basic needs, maybe a little like now?. Pluto also entered Aquarius in 2020 and we had a global crisis too. The good thing about this transit was that the century of the lights started with it, Pluto in Aquarius helped to develop critical sense and thinking, the circumstances made them focus on their unfair reality and how they could improve it for the common good. On 1791 Olympe de Gouges published the declaration of the rights of women as a response to the declaration of the right of men on 1789, defying the male supremacy of that time (she was a Taurus sun btw). We know what happened then, we'll see what it has for us now.

Please, feel free to add any other historic event and their pluto's transit, I would love to know what you think.

Let me know if you would like to know more about long transit planets and its impact in society through history.

Thank you

~ Lala 💖

Do not copy or repost

© Leo ascendente

#witchblr #leoascendente #astrology #astroblr #astrology pluto #western astrology #pluto signs #horoscope #zodiac signs #pluto placements #astro notes #astrology notes

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

A big week!  ::  April 17, 2023

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

APR 17, 2023

         The week beginning Monday, April 17, 2023, will be filled with important stories competing for our attention. Tonight, I will attempt to frame those stories in a way to bring some order out of seeming chaos. Which, by the way, is the point of MAGA extremists who are pushing culture war issues across multiple fronts in a deliberate effort to exhaust us. Don’t let them.

         Their façade is cracking, and MAGA extremists are turning on one another over strategy, tactics, money, and power. It is an inevitable turn of events for the reactionary wing of American politics. When nothing matters except power, it is every person for themselves in MAGA-land. Sadly, innocent Americans are collateral damage in MAGA’s race to the bottom. Signs abound that most Americans are tiring of the MAGA cult of death and spectacle of hate—as should be expected in a rational world where most people want only to raise their families in peace, security, and freedom. Let’s take a look.

Mass shooting in Alabama.

         Like a weekly ritual, we begin the new week with news of another mass shooting. Details are scarce—possibly deliberately so—as local officials appear to treat the most recent mass shooting as a public relations problem. They have been charitably described as “tight-lipped,” refusing to provide key details as of late Sunday afternoon. See Washington Post, Dadeville shooting: 4 dead at Alabama teen’s birthday party. At least four were killed and two dozen injured. There was so much blood at the scene that a fire tanker was enlisted to wash the blood off the sidewalks with firehoses on Sunday morning. Such was the tragic ending to a Sweet 16 birthday party.

         Alabama was the first state to pass “permitless carry” of concealed firearms (in March 2022). Since then, twenty-four more states have passed similar legislation, meaning that in half the states in America, you should assume everyone you are speaking to is carrying a concealed weapon. It would be foolish not to.

         The legislators in those twenty-five states are morally responsible for the deaths of innocent children, workers, and bystanders. They have bidden a world in which gun ownership is easier than applying for a job, obtaining a driver’s license, or using a credit card. There is blood on their hands, and no amount of power washing the blood from sidewalks will remove the stain.

         The most dangerous cities in America overlap almost entirely with the map of permitless carry (although there are outliers: e.g., Oakland, Philadelphia). Alabama lays claim to two of the most dangerous cities in America. The Safest Cities in America | MoneyGeek.com More guns have made citizens of Alabama less safe, not more so.

         Americans are fed up. A recent survey by the Navigator Group finds a dramatic increase in the number of Americans who believe gun violence is a top national priority. For tragic reasons, concern over guns is now the third-ranking priority among Americans—behind only inflation and jobs. Strong majorities of Democrats and Independents believe that gun laws should be strengthened—as do 38% of Republicans.

         The numbers are turning against Republicans on the gun issue. Combined with reproductive liberty, the climate crisis, and attacks on LGBTQ rights, MAGA extremists have picked the wrong side of nearly every major social and political issue challenging America. Although they can control legislation through gerrymandered legislatures, that is a losing game over time. Democrats can win at the statewide and national level—where they can block G.O.P. lawlessness and enact gun reform.

         We have a path forward—through grass-roots politics. It will be long and arduous, but we have a path forward. Let’s take it.

The Supreme Court will issue a ruling on mifepristone withdrawal on Wednesday.

         Barring an unforeseen development, the U.S. Supreme Court will issue a ruling by 11:59 PM on Wednesday. The Court’s ruling will signal just how far the Court is willing to extend the constitutional injury inflicted in Dobbs. Any reasonable Court would dismiss the case for lack of standing or, at the very least, stay the order revoking the F.D.A.’s approval of mifepristone until the Fifth Circuit and Supreme Court can hear the appeal from Judge Kacsmaryk’s order on full briefing.

         But . . .if the Court allows any part of Judge Kacsmaryk’s order to remain in place, it will have facilitated a judicial revolution of staggering proportions. Though conservatives routinely rail against “judicial activism,” Judge Kacsmaryk’s order is judicial activism on jet fuel. He presumes to himself the scientific knowledge to second-guess a congressionally mandated arbiter of drug safety and efficacy. The F.D.A. has thousands of scientists with thousands of years of combined experience testing drugs, but Judge Kacsmaryk believes that his religious principles are sufficient to overcome that experience.

         If the Supreme Court fails to block Judge Kacsmaryk’s order in its entirety, we are entering a new era of jurisprudence in which the federal judiciary will become the “super-regulator” of medicines, products, and services currently regulated by agencies created by Congress. That would be an astonishing result, but we cannot underestimate the religious fervor motivating justices Alito, Kavanaugh, Barrett, Thomas, and Gorsuch—all Catholics who have allowed their faith to overrule their loyalty to the Constitution. (Yes, I know that Gorsuch has joined his wife’s Episcopalian congregation where his children attend school.)

         Republicans are not happy about Kacsmaryk’s ruling—because they are not talking about it. See HuffPo, Republicans Are Silent On The Abortion Pill Ruling, Despite Confirming The Judge Behind It. Or rather, those Republicans who are talking about it are telling the anti-choice extremists in their ranks to “knock it off” and “quit while you are ahead.” Even Senators who are usually willing to back extreme positions (Cruz, Hawley) have declined comment.

         Another signal that Republican extremism on reproductive liberty has offended conservative Republicans was the announcement by a prominent DeSantis backer that he was “pausing” his support for DeSantis because the governor signed a six-week abortion ban. When Republican megadonors begin to flee leading Republican candidates for the 2024 nomination, you know that the G.O.P. has lost touch with the American people.

         I cannot leave this topic without noting the corruption that surrounded Judge Kacsmaryk’s confirmation hearing. Like all nominees, he was required to advise the Senate of all publications. When he was nominated, an article he authored had been accepted for publication by The Texas Review of Law and Politics. Rather than disclose the article to the Senate as required, he called the law journal and asked that the journal remove his name—as sole author—and substitute two different people as authors.

There is no other word to describe Kacsmaryk’s action except “fraud.” An article written by Kacsmaryk and accepted for publication was published under another person’s name for the purpose of concealing Kacsmaryk’s authorship. See WaPo, The controversial article Matthew Kacsmaryk did not disclose to the Senate. When Democrats again control the House, they should consider impeaching Kacsmaryk for lying to the Senate.

More on Justice Thomas’s corruption.

         Like clockwork, we have learned of another misrepresentation in Justice Thomas’s financial disclosure forms. It turns out that Thomas has been reporting income from a defunct entity for nearly a decade. See Bloomberg, Justice Thomas Reported Income From Defunct Firm (reporting on a WaPo story). While the error may have been inadvertent, the oversight is reckless. By attributing income to a non-existent entity, Thomas could have concealed the true source of his income. Whether he did deserves to be investigated.

         There is no doubt that Justice Thomas violated the statute that governs his disclosure obligations (5 U.S.C. app. 104), which imposes civil and criminal liability for omitting required information or misstating included information. (Section 104 applies to the Chief Justice and Associate Justices of the Supreme Court. See 5a U.S. Code § 109.) Thomas has both omitted required information and misstated included information. It is up to Merrick Garland and John Roberts to investigate. See Chris Geidner, Clarence Thomas's problems are also a John Roberts problem (lawdork.com)

[MORE]

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

#News #political #Robert B. Hubbel Newsletter #Robert B. Hubbell #Justice Thomas #Corrupt SCOTUS #Judge Kacsmaryk #women's rights #abortion rights #reproductive rights #gun violence #gun control #ban assault weapons

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 6 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 5.3k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Library

Chapter 6 - It’s Just The Time for Dancing

The next few days pass quietly for you. Which is a good thing, really. Your lip still hurts from biting it so hard. Luckily, it didn’t swell much. You need a few days to get back into your daily routine, making sure you are where you are supposed to be, and you’re seen by the people who need to see you. The tram driver on your morning route, the lady at the bakery on the corner, your co-workers as you clock in, the security guard reading the newspaper under his desk—everything is normal, everything is routine, everything is as it should be.

Except for the American pilot you have hiding in the loft. But no one needs to know about that.

You exhale heavily, puffing out your cheeks as you look at the wet streaks your mop leaves on the marble floor. Finally back on the evening shift, you spend the hours after dark mopping floors, dusting shelves, wiping down desks, swiping ration books, polishing brass doorknobs, collecting forgotten cups, forging two new identity cards, dusting shelves and taking out the trash.

It’s an unpopular shift for many reasons. On a bad day, you’re cleaning until midnight. And it’s generally a creepy place. The Ministry of Interior is housed in an imposing, modern-looking building that, at best, looms ominously over the city from its position on top of one of the hills surrounding the river valley. And at night, when the building sits deserted, a chill sets over the place. Many of your coworkers speak of strange sounds, like the ghostly ticking of typewriters echoing through the halls and strange shadows moving in locked rooms.

You don’t mind, though. Possibly because you were the source of those phenomena. The national police and gendarmerie are headquartered here, and for all the reorganization for efficiency in the last few years, civil servants will always be too overworked to really notice (or care) about small discrepancies in the paperwork. Or they are crooked, which makes getting ration books near child’s play. Plenty of crooked cops sell them on the black market, so they usually keep a stack stashed away somewhere—a somewhere you’re bound to find as a cleaner—and it’s not like they can report them missing. 

And it’s really nice of them to have all the forms prepared like that—it saves you a lot of time filling in travel permission forms, adding a stamp here, making a file disappear there, and creating two new identities with legit personal numbers.

Because all the forms are the same and most people working here fill them in on autopilot, they most likely can’t recall which they actually did, or which might have been slipped into there by you. The efficiency of the system has made it so monotonous that it dumbed everyone involved down, ironically.

It’s the day shift that generally gives you the shivers. When the place is filled with men and women with sour faces and their ill-fitting suits, complaining about the workload, dutifully submitting their reports on people and signing off on another arrest, another cog in the machine of the regime. 

No, you’ll take ghosts over those beasts any day.

Carefully reaching under your tabard apron, you adjust the ration books tucked between the waistband of your skirt, making sure your sweater is covering them. First, you have to finish mopping this hallway, and then you will wipe down the desks in the offices on this floor, paying extra attention to the desk of the officer handling identity cards. 

You take your time mopping. It’s natural to want to work fast as the adrenaline starts pumping in anticipation of… well, committing a crime. Even if you believe it’s for the greater good, identity fraud is not a small crime. Besides, the more people filter out of the building, not wanting to spend a minute more here than necessary, the less noise there is. 

The empty, almost gaping halls and cold marble floors might feel might be spooky in the way they eerily echo the smallest sounds, but they also make it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on you.

Slowly, lowly humming, you work your way down the hall. The dirty water sloshes in the metal bucket as you carry it into the stairwell, leaning your mop against the wall. You wait for a moment, listening for any sounds from the other floors. It’s quiet. Good. Fishing a dusting rag from your apron. Time to get those desks cleaned.

By the time you reach your destination, your heart starts beating harder. You force yourself to breathe calmly—don’t let fear rule you. You’re going to need a steady hand.

You wait a moment in front of the office door. Still not a sound.

Now you hurry. With quick movements, you pull out registration forms from different folders, so the ID numbers are not consecutive, and therefore will be easier to… lose in the filing system. Sitting down at the desk, you stretch and flex your fingers. 

Calm. 

You start diligently filling out the forms on the typewriter—the quicker, the better, because this is the noisy part. New names, new birthdays—new people. Carefully, you unscrew the cap of the too-fancy fountain pen, hesitating for a small second before copying the signature from one of the other papers on the table with a flourish. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t look quite perfect—actually, it’s better. It bears every mark of a hastily processed form by an overworked civil servant trying to get home at the end of the day, the authentication stamp smudging the still-wet ink, mindlessly filed away in the wrong folder. Everything just deliberate enough to make it look indistinguishable from regular incompetence.

You hesitate to remember when your brain switched gears like this, always looking to find a loophole, always looking to find a way around other people and essentially exploit their behavior. In high school, you once cheated on a biology test by peeking at your deskmate’s test paper. It was an inconsequential pop quiz. The deskmate in question was your best friend Eva, who would later get into med school. But still. You barely slept for the rest of the week until you got your grade because you were so scared the teacher knew and was going to fail you publicly. 

It feels strange. Foreign. Like that fear you felt so profoundly at 16 was only a pebble skipping in the pond. You mull over the hollow feeling as you start filling in identity cards with a neat looping script, where it feels like that same pebble has been sinking deeper and deeper into dark dread. Every time you think you might have found the bottom of your greatest fears, something inevitably happens that pulls out the rug from under you. 

Like Rooster.

His very presence feels like another rug pull. 

And to your growing annoyance, despite every problem he poses, instead of working on some sort of solution, your mind wanders to that warm skin, that crooked, cocky smile—and god, that broad chest, those powerful arms, how comfortably close he seems to get to you and how some part of your brain is itching for more.

Just as you finish up, leaning your elbows on the polished wood as you resolutely screw the cap back onto the fountain pen, almost as if you’re hoping to screw a top onto your wandering thoughts. 

You hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps, that are too close for comfort. You were so lost in thought you didn’t notice. Shit.

 As you shoot up from the chair, swiping the identity cards from the desk and stuffing them into the waistband of your skirt, you hastily straighten your apron. In a flurry of movements, swiping the forms off the desk and stuffing them in the back of the first open file drawer, you go to grab your dusting rag, but with that, knock the fancy fountain pen off the table.

As the black pen with the fancy gold trim clangs loudly against the marble floor, you see the cap pop off in an almost comical, slow-motion way. The black ink splatters out over your shoes and socks. You curse, wide-eyed, ducking behind the desk, desperately trying to mitigate some of the horrendous mess you just got yourself into. The ink is staining your fingers and palms as you try to hide the absolute massacre you just caused. Your blood is rushing in your ears so hard you cannot even hear the footsteps anymore, and you can only hope that they passed you by now, that they didn’t need to be where you are, and they didn’t see you in the first place.

“Is someone in here?”

You are pretty sure you can feel the blood physically drain from your face—the deafening rush is suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable silence. The security guard, who is usually halfway down a bottle of cheap liquor at this hour and somewhere off in dreamland, has decided tonight to actually do his job.

Slowly, you get up, clutching the pen between your ink-stained fingers. You want to look up and see how the guard reacts, but you force yourself to keep your gaze trained on the toes of your dirty shoes. 

You are known as the slowest cleaner. Kind of clumsy. That’s why you’re typically the last to leave. You don’t discourage the rumor—even though it stings. Sometimes you lean into it. Every time you feel a little bit less like yourself.

“Miss Anna?” The guard doesn’t even seem surprised. His voice sounds like brittle paper—he is an old man, after all. Back bent and fingers almost pulled into claws from a lifetime of heavy labor, his uniform seems to hang off his wiry form. You don’t actually know his name—the rest of the staff just refers to him as the gamekeeper, after the brand of cheap herbal brandy he seems to favor to keep him company on the night shift. 

“I’m sorry sir, I…” You trail off, jerking your hands slightly in a graceless motion, drawing attention to them. “I just wanted to take a look.”

“Oh, you unlucky girl,” The guard sighs, part empathetic, part exasperated. “Clean up, you are going to miss your last tram.”

You nod, hurriedly starting to clean the mess with your dust rag.

“Is your bucket in the hall?” The guard asks, not unkindly. “You can mop up the mess quicker.” Nodding, you start moving towards the door, where the guard is still standing. He looks up and down at you, clicking his tongue as his gaze lands on your splattered shoes. “Just a bit of vinegar when you get home, and blot it out carefully.” He offers, in an almost fatherly tone. 

“Thank you, I didn’t know that,” You smile awkwardly. “I thought I just ruined these.”

Water and soap work just as well, you know, but it’s best just not to say.

“Run along now.” He dismisses you as he starts down the hall, the other way from you. “People might get suspicious if you hang around too long.” The gamekeeper croaks, not looking back at you.

Your luck is up for tonight.

***

Bradley is bored. 

Never in his life has he been this bored. In school, in detention, church on Sunday, every endless ocean crossing, where there’s no land in sight, and he’s just surrounded by a wide expanse of nothing on the horizon. Because at least there are always people around. 

In his plane, up in the sky, he is pretty much alone. But even there, he can see his fellow aviators whiz by, he can hear their chatter on the radio. Even up there, he is never truly alone.

He doesn���t like being alone.

He also doesn’t like being bored. But the small room under the roof has little in the way of entertainment for his lonely days. Finally, he has a place where he can recuperate in peace at least. 

It’s been over a week now.

Recuperating means laying in bed mostly, starting at the ceiling. The pain is getting less, but his energy is falling too. Sometimes Bradley moves through the room, leaning out of the small window, smoking. There’s not much to see but other rooftops, a few church spires on the horizon, and the blue sky. 

He tries to stretch his sore muscles carefully, almost scared he’ll lose every part of his health (and vainly, physique) if he stays idle too long. There’s nothing much he can do about his ribs, the dull ache gets a little less every day, but they take a long time to heal. He has time in spades, he thinks bitterly. Bradley’s ankle was a different story. It looked horrendous in the first days he got to the safe house: swollen, hot, blue-ish bruises forming under the skin. 

As your cool fingers graze over his ankle, you tell him to keep it elevated. If it doesn’t get better in a few days, you’ll find someone to help. Bradley doesn’t want his ankle to be broken, but he likes your soft and kind touch. He craves more of your touch. It’s in such stark difference to your serious expression and earnest tone.

When he’s alone again, sometimes he thinks of home, allowing himself to finally dwell on some thoughts he buried a long time ago. It’s strange—Bradley traveled many places with the Navy, never feeling particularly homesick. Probably because deep down, he was always convinced he’d return. He had to, right? It’s bad luck to dwell on death, but it’s foolish not to fear it. But now… now he’s dwelling on it. The thought of never seeing his home again, never visiting his parent’s grave again leaves him feeling hollow. 

And guilty.

He meant to visit the grave site before he shipped out to Britain, but a particular blonde and bourbon caught his eye and he decided to wallow in that, rather than his own grief. Now there is no blonde, no bourbon, just him.

And sometimes you.

You are like a breath of fresh air.

Sure, you still don’t smile much—not as much as Bradley would like any way, and he entertains himself by getting a reaction out of you. But he looks forward to the moment when he hears your footsteps coming up the stairs. It’s been only a week and something, but Bradley is pretty sure he could pick out you padding up the stairs—gracefully, determined—in his dreams.

You bring him books to pass the time. They are old, dog-eared copies, some passages highlighted with a pencil, little notes in the margins in neat script, sometimes long-winded, sometimes no more than an exclamation mark or little cross. Bradley spends almost as much time reading as half daydreaming about you sitting at a desk, or sprawled out on a sofa, tapping a pencil against your lips, mouthing the words on the page. There is nothing particularly scandalous about those daydreams, if anything they feel strangely homely. Comforting. You’ve spent hours with these books, and they’re keeping him company now. A little bit like some part of you is with him all day. He likes that.

It’s small comforts until he hears your footsteps come up the stairs—sometimes you come around dusk, other times you keep him company in the morning. 

You never tell him anything about what you do, or where anything comes from, dismissively waving your hand in reply, face unreadable. Food appears at his door every day like clockwork, but you stay mum on how it gets there.

When Bradley looks over your ink-stained fingers one late morning, catching them as you wave them through the air in that practiced nonchalant manner, he runs the pad of his thumb over the faded ink and red skin—you’ve clearly tried to scrub it off unsuccessfully—a beat of silence passes between you.

You can feel it in your bones.

Bradley notices how your palm flexes under his touch like you want to touch him back. You’re looking at him, lips parted ever slightly, breathing shallow.

“What did you do?” He asks softly, inadvertently breaking the spell. Bradley tries to ignore the sting as you immediately drop your hand from his, averting your gaze. Every time he thinks he might have found a way in with you, like he just about manages to catch a glimpse of what you are like underneath all the bits of untruth, diversion, and armor you seem to have wrapped around you, you seem to pull up your walls even higher.

The next few times you come to visit, you keep your distance from him. You ask about his ankle, but your hands stay put.

“It’s getting better.” He looks at you pointedly, sitting up in the bed. You don’t move from the chair at the small table on the other side of the room. “The swelling is as good as gone, and it doesn’t hurt when I walk.”

“That’s good.” You sound at least a little bit relieved. But you still don’t move from your spot.

That’s okay, Bradley tells himself. The why has him conflicted. Is it okay because you are his handler, and more interested in staying alive than him? He respects that, even if he’d still like to tease you a bit anyway.

A darker side chimes in: it’s okay. He can wait—snug on his perch. He’s a patient man.

And they always come to him in the end.

You will come to him.

Guilty, he shakes off the thought as soon as it rises. That’s not fair. It’s not a drunken tryst in a bar where he doesn’t have to think about what makes you tick, what makes him tick, and it’s mutually understood that that moment will be all it’ll ever be.

This is different. He depends on you. He can’t get a grip on you. 

And quite frankly? 

It scares the everloving shit out of him. 

It exhilarates him.

“You look pretty nimble on your feet now.” You comment as you come into his small room one early evening. It’s sometime in late February, meaning Bradley has been missing in action for a month.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready to dance again.” He smirks, playfully extending his hand to you. Of course, you skillfully parry his gesture. There’s a playful glint in your eye as you shoot him a stern look. Undeterred, Bradley tucks his hand back into his pocket casually, as he watches you move around the small room. 

“I got you something, Rooster.” You start, a little hesitantly. That catches Bradley’s attention. You are rarely hesitant when you speak to him—if you don’t want to answer or talk, you usually just don’t. “A few somethings, really.”

Somewhat bashfully, you hand him a large can of peaches. Fruits in winter wartime are somewhat of a rare treat, and typically when you happen upon some you use them for trading. It’s good to be in people’s good graces, or even better, have them owe you a favor. But this time, you figured Bradley might appreciate them. And you kind of want some yourself.

That’s the reason you kept the peaches. Right? You kind of want them, but you’d feel bad not sharing. And Bradley is the one cooped up in a safe house for weeks now. You’d be going stir-crazy in his position. Even though he appears as annoyingly positive as ever when you see him.

“Nice, where’d you get these?” He weighs the large can in his hand, his eyes keenly following your fingers as you unbutton your coat and unpin your hat, gently putting them away on the neatly made bed. You meet his gaze, before you force yourself to look away again.

“I brought two forks.” You reply instead. “You have a can opener here, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s on the table.” As he puts the can down, he frowns for a moment. “Do you ever get tired of deflecting every other question?” 

It comes out a bit sharper than Bradley wanted it to, and judging from the surprised look on your face, it cut a bit deeper than he had wanted it to. Your eyebrows raised, mouth open like you’re about to say something, but you seem to have frozen in the moment.

Tired? You think. Try utterly exhausted. Not one version of your life is authentic or complete—the handler, the roommate, the cleaner, the neighbor, the coworker, the friend, the daughter—you keep secrets from everyone everywhere, tell so many lies that it’s like you’re living all these different lives, and by god, you so desperately want to talk to someone about everything. But you can’t. You can’t even bring yourself to answer the most basic questions anymore without going down a list in your head if it’s safe to share that information or if it’s just easier to let a lie roll down your tongue instead.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you actually rendered speechless,” Bradley jokes lightly, breaking the too-long silence, trying to inject some levity back into the situation, almost nervously looking away from you and focussing on opening the can. You blink slowly and lick your lips. You want to tell Bradley about everything, what you really think, what you really feel, so there’s one person on this goddamn earth who will actually know you. But you bite your tongue and shrug instead.

“I would have actually answered you this time.” You reply, trying to match his joking tone. Bradley grins at you, as he places the opened can in the middle of the small table, and pulls out one of the chairs, gesturing you to sit down. Unable to keep a smile from tugging on your lips, you sit down, and Bradley pushes your chair in.

You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your stomach. 

Sitting across from each other, fishing slices of peach out of the opened tin, Bradley can’t help but study you. You look relaxed—chin resting on your palm, foot tucked under your leg on the chair, taking a small bite from the peach slice on your fork. Bradley is leaning on his elbow, bent slightly forwards, toward you as he casually lifts another slice out of the can. He is dressed so casually, his white shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. He seems perfectly unbothered to sit around with his undershirt on display—you can’t even complain. You’re just glad he isn’t going around shirtless. Right?

It’s one of those strangely intimate moments, that if it weren’t for the reality of the situation, could be… almost romantic. At a table together, sharing a dessert (of sorts), and talking about the books Bradley has been reading. You try not to have your mind addled by the notion that this is the closest thing to a date you’ve been on in almost two years. You try not to let the flutter in your stomach grow every time he says your name in that deep, velvety voice. You try to keep your heart from jumping in your throat every time he catches your eye with that lopsided grin on his face to see if his joke landed.

“There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Best to get back to business. “Now that you’ve healed enough to walk again-” “And dance again.” Bradley interjects playfully, leaning just that little bit closer to you over the small table.

“...and dance again.” You deadpan, the soft look in your eyes taking the sting out of your words. You sigh lightly before you continue. “You need to learn your way about the city. Where to go, where the escape routes are, and look like you belong when you walk around. We might get into a situation where there’s no one to take you, so you need to be able to do this by yourself.”

Bradley frowns. “What do you mean, if there’s no one to take me? Aren’t you supposed to be my handler until…” 

He trails off, seeing the pained look on your face. You don’t say anything, and Bradley is actually grateful for that right now. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat a bit awkwardly.

“So, uhm -” You shift in your chair, sitting up a bit straighter. “I brought you some things. A map—wait, let me get it.” You get up, feeling strangely anxious. You grab your purse off the bed and take it back with you to the table. “So, here’s the map. It has the most important things, like the train stations and major roads marked.” “Thanks.” Bradley nods as he takes the map from you. He recognizes your neat script on the map, marking several landmarks. “Anything I should pay special attention to?” 

You feel relieved Bradley is not joking right now. 

“Mostly these two train stations and the surrounding areas. Either of these will most likely be part of your escape route.” You bend a bit further over the table, finger tracing the two marked points on the paper. Bradley feels like he should move back a bit, as he already knows that if he looks up now, your face will be close to his. He isn’t sure you are all that aware, focus on the map between you. He should really be a gentleman about this, but he’s also enjoying your proximity to him, and he’d like to enjoy it a little bit longer. 

In the end, you make the decision for him, leaning back again.

“How quickly do you need me to have this memorized?” Bradley asks, looking up at you. You avoid his gaze. “We’ll start with the first route to the main train station tomorrow, so the sooner, the better.” You reply, still not looking at him, but rather at your own hands as you fidget. It’s strange to see you nervous, and Bradley wonders what is making you so anxious right now.

“I also got you new papers.” You push a small booklet toward him. 

“Oh, you got me like a fake identity and everything?” Bradley curiously leafs through the booklet.

“Yeah, it’s legit as far as most police will be willing to look.” 

“So what’s my cover story?” He asks curiously, a smile playing over his face again. 

“It’s nothing special, so don’t read too much into it,” You shrug, trying to stop yourself from talking too fast. “It’s best to stay close to the truth anyway. When we go out, you still can’t talk, so I got you veteran status. We should be able to chalk it up to shell shock or something if we get stopped.” 

You pause as Bradley nods.

“Also we’re married now.” You blurt out. Bradley’s head shoots up, eyes wide.  “I - I mean our fake identities are married.” You amend, lamely.

You cringe, it seemed like such a good idea when you forged the identification cards, but now you’ve said it out loud, it almost feels like an admission of… something. To your mortification, Bradley just starts laughing. Of course. It’s preposterous, after all. He only likes to tease you, and you deluded yourself into thinking he might actually have any feelings for you. This means you must admit that you’ve developed feelings of your own.

Preposterous, indeed.

“Well, I suppose I could do a lot worse than you, sweetheart.” He is still laughing. You have difficulty wiping the hurt frown off your face, so you just look away. There’s absolutely no reason you should be taking this so personally, but you are embarrassed that Bradley laughing actually… hurts. It feels like you’re being rejected.

“I do have one question.” He adds, as he stops laughing, voice a lot more serious. You scrape together the courage to look at him, mouth set in a hard line. Bradley has a completely serious look on his face. “Why, pray tell, are we married, Anya?” 

You take a breath, trying really hard to keep the hurt and embarrassment from creeping into your voice. “Because it looks weird for a man and woman to walk together without talking. No one will buy we’re friends—let alone dating—if we walk around mutely.”

“Fair,” Bradley admits. “But we have a bad marriage, then?” 

“What?”  

Bradley is momentarily taken aback by your sharp reaction, but grins at you anyway. It seems like this whole situation has you a little off-kilter, and he wants to rock your boat just a little more to bring the spitfire out. You look so offended, lip curled up in disgust, that the suggestion that your marriage must be bad. It’s adorable.

“We don’t talk, so our marriage must be bad, right?” He questions, doing his best to be serious.

“You think not constantly talking equates to a bad marriage, Rooster?” You question him back, a cutting edge to your words. Bradley loves how riled up you suddenly are.

“I think communication is important, Anya.” He replies smirking, leaning forward again. He’s pretty sure he just saw your eyebrow twitch.

“I agree, but being comfortable in silence together doesn’t mean there’s bad communication.” You retort in a low voice. You have no idea how you got to discussing what entails a good marriage instead of exit routes, but it has your stomach in twists. Bradley seems all too comfortable. Ass.

“Of course, and there are plenty of other ways to communicate.” If at all possible, Bradley’s smirk grows. The implication of his words hangs heavily between you. You should pull back now and end this conversation. This is probably what he always does, you think bitterly. There’s just no one else to focus his attention on. But you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting to you like that.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough how compatible we are, Rooster.” The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. You close your eyes for a moment to stave off the crushing embarrassment, before resolutely getting up, smoothing down your skirt, absolutely not wanting to sit here while Bradley laughs at you again. 

There’s no use in editing your words, backpedaling that that was really not what you meant—it will only make it worse, and you will inevitably dig yourself into a deeper hole with him. Bradley gets up from the table at the same time, grabbing you by the elbow as you move past him. You inhale sharply as his large warm hand wraps around your arm.

You tug your arm sharply, but you don’t really stand a chance against Bradley’s grip. He’s not even holding onto you that tightly.

“Let me go, please.” Your voice is flat, words measured carefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Rooster. But I’d like to go home now.” 

Bradley’s heart sinks a little bit. There it is again, your walls pulled up higher than ever before.

“It was just a bit of fun, Anya.” He tells you softly. 

“Of course.” There’s a forced airiness to your tone. You jerk your elbow again, and he lets you go this time. You move past him, grabbing your coat and hat off the bed, before turning on your heel and going straight for the door. You snatch your purse off the table as you try to keep yourself from sprinting to the door.  

Hand on the doorknob, you stop for a moment. Letting out a deep sigh, you turn around. You are overreacting.

“Sleep well, Rooster.” You tell him genuinely. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, face concerned. When your eyes meet, his lips quirk back up into a smile. A nice smile this time. You feel your own lips pull into a smile in response as you turn away again. 

Everything about him is so magnetic, it’s pulling you out of orbit. You know it’s because you’re allowing yourself to become too comfortable around him. But he makes it so easy.

“Sleep well, Anya.” He tells you in that same deep voice that makes your insides quake as you slip out of the door.

note | It's been a while~ sorry <3 more will be coming soon.

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

[i-got-no-creativity-at-all]

(even more)Info under the cut!

General Info

Full Name: Agatha Celestina Devlin-Halloran

Do They Like Their Name: Yes, not the last name though.

Nicknames:

Birth Date: Wednesday, September 27, 1972

Nationality: Irish

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

MBTI: INFJ

Blood Status: Pure blood

House: Slytherin

Patronus: Crow

Animagus Form: Also a crow

Amortentia smells like: The forest, lavender, chocolate, Penny's perfume

Appearance

Height: 183cm

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Dark brown

Skin Color: White

Height(as an adult): 182cm

Distinguishing features: She has freckles on her face, shoulders and back, she has a hooked nose, she always wears leather gloves and never takes them off (don't ask her why its a waste of time)

Personality

Although Agatha may come of as cold and distant most of the time, she is actually a really kind and sensitive person who cares deeply about her friends even if she doesn't ever show it at all. She is very clever and comes off as being rude most of the time for her snarky remarks and sarcastic comments, and even though she prefers to avoid fighting and doesn't usually lose her temper you definitely don't want to get in her bad side.

She is very introverted and prefers to not be the center of attention, but somehow she always ends up being there anyways. She is protective of her friends and occasionally hexes some people here and there when they have tried to hurt them(may or may have not given Emily Tyler a Fungiface potion).

Good Traits: Adaptable, ambitious, clever, cunning, confident, curious, empathetic, patient, selfless, thoughtful,rational, cautious, observant, wise.

Bad Traits: Rude, dishonest, stubborn, paranoid, evasive about personal subjects, self-sacrificial, doesn't like to accept others help, workaholic to the point of forgetting to take care of herself.

Hobbies: Quidditch, plays piano and guitar, duelling club, hippogriff club, sphinx club, dragon club, and getting involved in things that are none of her business.

Ambitions: Finding Jacob, becoming a magizoologist, getting outstanding results in all her potions exams to piss off Snape, have a magical creatures reserve of her own, to be on a chocolate frog card one day, to destroy R so she can finally have some peace after so many years of their nonsense.

Fun Facts

Agatha has a sweet tooth and cannot stand sour things at all

She wears gloves and jackets or coats all the time

She has a few scars on her face but uses a charm to hide them

She has 4 pets(not counting magical creatures) A cat named Gulliver, a toad named Naveen, an owl named Owlbert, and a snake named Mr. Noodle

She's allergic to pineapple

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #jacob's sibling #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm mc

[girlactionfigure]

Dutch Resistance Hero: Diet Eman

She felt it was her duty as a Christian.

Diet Eman was a Dutch Resistance hero who, at 22 years old, risked her life to save dozens of Jews during the Nazi occupation of Holland.

Born in The Hague in 1920, Diet grew up in a loving Christian family. Her father’s design business was hit hard by the Depression and the family had very little money, but it was a happy childhood. For Diet, the war began on May 10, 1940, when Hitler invaded the Netherlands. Diet’s brother-in-law was killed that first day. Inspired by their strong Christian faith, Diet and her fiancee Hein Sietsma immediately formed a resistance group and enlisted their friends and family to join the fight.

They began by listening to banned BBC war news broadcasts, and sharing the information with everybody they knew. When the Nazi invaders began enacting anti-Semitic legislation, Diet’s work became more important and more dangerous. She found a house for her terrified Jewish friend Herman, who was marked for deportation. Hein, who had read Hitler’s autobiography Mein Kampf, knew what was in store for Jews in Holland. Together Diet and Hein found farmers to shelter Herman, as well as his sister, his fiancee and her mother. They continued their efforts and found safe houses for 60 Dutch Jews, saving them from almost certain death at Auschwitz or Sobibor. Some of the Jews were placed in cities, others in small villages or rural farm areas.There were so many Jews in need of help that Diet spent most of every day and night on her bicycle, delivering false ID papers and ration cards to people in hiding. Diet later said, “In the beginning you have no idea what risk you are taking. Then, you’re so deep in it, you can’t go back.”

The Gestapo raided a safe house and found Diet’s diary. Knowing she was about to be arrested, Diet fled from her home and moved in with a family on a remote dairy farm. She took on a new identity, and continued her resistance work from the farm, tracking the movements of German troops and supplies.

On April 26, 1944, Hein was arrested. Knowing she was next, Diet once again changed her identity and base of operations. Continuing her work with the resistance, Diet traveled by train with illegal documents to distribute. On the train, Nazi officers asked to see her ID, but it was clearly fake. She was forcibly removed from the train for questioning. Diet knew that once the Nazis found the fake documents, she would most likely be executed on the spot. But there was no chance to get rid of the documents, until a stroke of luck she later attributed to Divine intervention. One of the officers had a new plastic raincoat, a brand-new invention, and the others were so fascinated by the coat that Diet was able to toss the documents into a nearby trash can without being noticed.

Diet was arrested for the fake ID and sent to a concentration camp. She was employed in the laundry, where her job was to wash bloodstains off clothing worn by executed prisoners. The work was so difficult that she suffered an emotional breakdown. At her trial, Diet did such a good impersonation of a dim-witted housemaid that she was released. She continued her brave work delivering false documents, endangering her life with every trip by bicycle or train.

After the war, she learned that her beloved Hein had died at Dachau. Diet moved to America, where she got married and raised two children. She didn’t speak about her wartime heroism until 1978, when she spoke at a “Suffering and Survival” conference. People were so interested in her story that she began writing her memoir, “Things We Couldn’t Say,” which was published in 1994. “It Is Well,” a ballet about Diet’s actions during the war, was performed for Dutch King Willem-Alexander on a royal visit to Michigan in 2015.

Diet received thanks from many world leaders including General Eisenhower in 1946 and President Reagan in 1982. She was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem in 1998. Diet died on September 3, 2019, in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She was 99 years old.

#Thursday Hero

[poonamranius]

न्यू अपडेट वन नेशन वन राशन कार्ड के लिए अब ऐसे करें आवेदन 2022- New Update One Nation One Ration Card online apply

न्यू अपडेट वन नेशन वन राशन कार्ड के लिए अब ऐसे करें आवेदन 2022- New Update One Nation One Ration Card online apply

One Nation One Ration Card : पहले जब आपके पास राशन कार्ड रहता था। वह केवल आपके ही क्षेत्रों में काम करता था जो केवल उसी जगह से ही राशन कार्ड के मदद से राशन प्राप्त किया जा सकता था। और पहले के समय में आपका राशन कार्ड बहुत ही आसानी से बन जाता था। जो आपके परिवार के सभी सदस्यों के नाम को शामिल किया जाता था। लेकिन अब आपको राशन कार्ड बनाने के लिए कुछ शर्ते और नियमों का पालन करना होगा। जैसे राशन कार्ड…

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[tulipic]

tarot for my distant love (teruhashi kokomi x fem. reader)

(unrequited angst for the sad sapphic nation )

"Um, excuse me, but does this say maiming?"

Teruhashi squints. "And miscellaneous torture acts? And seafood allergies?" The fortuneteller grins in delight and gestures to the rest of the contract Teruhashi's holding.

"It sure does, young lady, though I've had to cut back a little due to... legal technicalities because of," the fortuneteller pauses and shakes her head. "But, I believe you're seeking a love-related prediction." Teruhashi blushes a little at the emphasis of "love".

"Yes, ma'am," Teruhashi says, brushing her sweaty palms off on her skirt. When she saw the mysterious, deep blue tent from the road, the heart-shaped sign caught her attention. It gave her margin of hope that her angelic-like luck was telling her something. But now...

She's considering asking for a refund. "Place your palm on the card that appeal to you the most." Teruhashi looks down at the two cards placed in front of her.

Each embellished with shiny foil and translucent paper, one card is purple and the other is pink. She hovers an uneasy hand between both. The fortuneteller taps her nails against the wooden surface of her desk. Tap! Teruhashi shuts her eyes tight. Tap! She lands her palm firmly down a card. Tap!

She chooses the purple one.

Somewhere, far away, a girl heavily sighs and lays her tired head to rest on a pillow.

You rummage through your cluttered wardrobe. The one event you managed to care about and you're going to be late. But, if you've successfully spent enough time in the closet, you should be well-dressed. That counts for something, right?

A light pink cardigan catches your eye. You feel the thick, cotton fabric between your fingers. Memories of carnival music and the sweet smell of funnel cakes pass through your head. She got this for you. When you ate too much cotton candy and sat in the corner of the mirror house crying, she draped it over your shoulders and said:

"I know it's the color of what got you sick, but it's a pretty color," She showed off that angelic smile. "Kinda like you!" Woah.

What really got you? What pulled you in and killed your pathetic crying ass? When her angelic, little smile melted into a humorous, big grin; you couldn't help but stop crying. She was trying way too hard to be the nice girl. It was all saccharine and overplayed.

Then, why did you look up at her face and let your heart grow a little fonder?

You grumble and pull the cardigan off the hanger. You button it up while gathering your things. A small giftbox, wrapped in ribbon stares at you from the kitchen island. "It's just a thank-you gift," you rationalize, picking it up.

"That's all." You feel yourself become less affirmed, but you walk out the door anyway.

Aiura meets you by the ice cream cart. She holding wrapped popsicles and tosses one at you. "How's the love business treating you?"

You unwrap your ice cream. "Read my mind." You're about to walk off, but she holds your arm.

She grins at you, unfazed. "Come on, let me show you something." You're dragged across the pavement against your will. Eh, you've been in worse.

Loud brass instruments from the marching band drown out any thoughts you could manage. Like: where is she taking me? Will I get to finish my ice cream? How- Wait is that her?

You pull away from Aiura and stand in place, feeling a sudden chill. Suddenly, the sleeves of your jacket feel uncomfortable; the coziness of the soft threads withers away. You cast your eyes to the ground, feeling small.

Teruhashi softly laughs while squeezing Saiki's arm. Her eyes reflect... pure infatuation, wonder, and even desperation. Because while she's so enamoured with him: he's looking the opposite way. She's relentless, though, asking him questions and looking up at him with those shining eyes. It's easy to tell she got all dressed up for him, careful attention put towards her hair and makeup.

You turn around, take a deep breath, and go off to find Aiura.

"I didn't encounter anything like you said, no 'charm of purple', no 'great sadness', just nothing..."

"Perhaps you should be more patient. Especially since I don't do reimbursement." Teruhashi held her head in her hands, elbows propped up on the desk. She'd spent all of this week's allowance on this place. Were she and Saiki really so Yin and Yang?

So different that their opposites couldn't attract?

"What if I bought the boy I like a purple shirt? Could that work?" Teruhashi mused, smiling sadly at the table. The fortune teller clicked her tongue. She reshuffled her cards and laid them out again.

She lightly touched Teruhashi's hand. "That's not how divination comes about, you know. It's all about fate and auras," the fortuneteller says, trying to be comforting.

Teruhashi sinks further into her chair. Maybe tonight she'd be able to dream her troubles away, get lost in a world of whimsical romantic fantasy. One where she'd never get it wrong. She'd have someone realer than fanboys and more tangible than Saiki to hold.

The only question was: Who?

Somewhere, far away, a girl wipes her eyes and slowly unwraps a giftbox. Inside, there's a little flower keychain. A cute, albeit plain, purple flower. She opens her desk drawer and lays the item there, spending a moment to stare at it. She heavily sighs and lays her tired head to rest on a pillow.

It seems it's for the best.

#kokomi teruhashi #fem reader #kokomi teruhashi x reader #angst #x reader #anime oneshot #saiki k fanfiction #saiki k x reader #my loveletter to sad heartbreaking fics <33333 #unrequited feelings are the only angst factor here #i'm a little sissy #is pretty girl x her sad simp a trope?

[dostoyevsky-official]

In the Bolsheviks’ Marxist ideology, class divisions were paramount, and society was divided into so-called class-friendly and class-hostile elements as well as certain wavering or neutral classes. A large set of class-hostile elements were grouped together under the label of “former people” (in Russian, byvshie); that is, individuals who were associated intimately with the old regime: industrialists, landlords, clergy, Tsarist officials, policemen, army officers, White Army volunteers. These “former people” were deprived of their civil rights. They could not vote; they were denied ration cards, housing, access to education; and they were subject to a variety of formal and informal harassment. For the Mennonites, the most important of these categories was the clergy, who formed a crucial part of their leadership elite.

The part of Bolshevik class ideology of most direct relevance to the Mennonites was a three-fold division of the rural population into rich peasants (or kulaks), middle peasants, and poor peasants. The kulaks, who were estimated to make up between three and five percent of the rural population, were portrayed as terrible exploiters of their fellow villagers. It is difficult to convey how strongly the Bolsheviks stigmatized the kulaks, but the following quotation from Lenin in 1918 perhaps gives a good sense:

“Comrades! The uprising of the five kulak districts should be mercilessly suppressed. The interests of the entire revolution requires this, because now “the last decisive battle” with the kulaks is under way everywhere. One must give an example.” [emphasis in original]

Who exactly were these kulaks? Like most metaphysical enemies, they could not be clearly identified. Their most typical trait was the use of hired labor. There were no clear economic criteria for defining the kulak, but the possession of several horses, eight to ten head of cattle, and twenty to thirty acres would almost always be sufficient to qualify.

In other words, a substantial part of the Mennonite rural community before 1914 could have been characterized as kulak. In fact, among the local peasantry and local Bolsheviks in south Ukraine (and elsewhere) – many of whom came from the local peasantry and had supported or even participated in the Makhno movement – the Mennonites were seen as a kulak community. [...] Here, oddly, Bolshevik class ideology had a positive consequence for the Mennonites. For the Bolsheviks, there could be no kulak community as a whole. All communities were divided by the same class categories. Poor Mennonite peasants, therefore, just like poor Russian and Ukrainian peasants, were the Bolsheviks’ natural supporters; if they did not realize this immediately, they would eventually be convinced of it.

[...] A third prism through which the Bolshevik regime viewed the Mennonites was religion. Here one would have expected that the Mennonites’ intense religiosity, which the Bolsheviks did observe and lament, might have made them a special target for persecution. But due to a quirk of Bolshevik religious policy, it did not. However, their extreme religious hatred is better understood as resentment of the Russian Orthodox Church’s close alliance with the Tsarist state rather than a hatred of religion per se. The Bolsheviks were, for this reason, most hostile to state churches: the Orthodox church above all, but also Islam, Catholicism, Lutheranism. They had much more sympathy for the sectarians – Dukhobors, Molokans, Baptists, Evangelicals, Tolstoyans – who had been brutally repressed by the Tsarist regime and its state church. These sectarians were viewed by the Bolsheviks as potential allies, especially since many of the sects practiced some form of communal property. Thus in the 1920s, these religious groups were given state land to form agricultural communes.

[...] A still more important factor than religion was nationality. Bolshevik policy explicitly defined the Soviet Union as a multiethnic state. It condemned Russian chauvinism as a greater danger than non-Russian nationalism. It called for granting all nationalities, regardless of their size, their own national territories, the use of their national language, and the staffing of administrative and educational institutes with members of their own nationality. It did not allow for ethno-religious nationalities.

[...] A fifth and final prism through which the Bolsheviks viewed the Mennonites was their foreign ties, the fact that they were a diaspora community. In the long term, this would prove fatal for the Mennonites. [...] However, in the short term, foreign ties surely helped the Mennonites. The Soviets were eager for foreign financial help and concerned about potential foreign embarrassments. Mennonite famine relief efforts demonstrated their ability to direct financial assistance to the Soviet Union. Likewise, the Mennonites had foreign political connections who could publicize any persecution undertaken against them.

#nationalities policy #terry martin

[corruptballin]

do you mind sharing your thoughts on clayhoun ( and other figures and ships from the period?)

woof..! okay a girl can try! i fear i am everything but educated in most historical subjects and i instead just toy with these figures like doll’s on my floor like im seven years old. i actually, genuinely, hated us history all throughout middle-high school and then i awoken one day in janurary like a sleeper agent and went oh… i get it. as far as collected thoughts go.. well I’ll try. if anything i say is inaccurate pls keep in mind im a just a girl

clayhoun: clayhoun for me is almost this push and pull dynamic, where as we have Clay, who is openly a charismatic charmer, who (quite literally) plays poker: he can be dealt a hand of cards and will figure out a way to win, in this almost fantastical sense, and we see Calhoun enter in the early 1810’s

and fall inline with Clay’s rational as a war hawk, with Jeffersonian ideas licked and reinforced into him, and we see in his early years this sense of nationalism that pairs well with Clay. I love these early years, as they lay the basis and foundation for their relationship. I especially love that, when Calhoun was challenged to a duel with Grosverenor, we see this push/pull: calhoun is set on defending his honor, with high ambitions, and openly defends his actions so early in his tenure. He, of course, asks Clay to be his second, and before the duel commences it’s resolved by Clay.

Here you see my entire dynamic and fun laid out: that, Calhoun is bent on the reflection of his honor in a metaphorical sense that is reflective of Americas, because if he cannot defend his own personal honor, then what of America’s honor in 1812? What the entire war is practically based upon. It’s a whole debacle I toy with. And here is Clay trying to rise in his own ambitions, with his own charms, while also keeping the fraying union together as it progresses.

I think it’s also fun, of course, during 1824 & later Jacksonian politics we see Clay attempt to climb this political ladder— over and over he attempts to become President, become something— and here is Calhoun, who’s ambitious, who’s outspoken, and the ballot falls upon his lap and he’s made VP. And we see this turn from nationalism, from a strong federal goverment into state’s rights, and we have Clay who watches his dissent, who watches his ability to rise. Utter jealousy, is what I would feel if I was Clay. Here is a man around 5 years my junior who I considered my friend, who I saved from death, who rises and continues to rise and I cannot. Just absolute chef’s kiss. Clay revolves around this big precense, this show-man ship and here is Calhoun with his humility and stoicism who rises. Literally listen to the song w.a.m.s by fall out boy. please.

I sadly do find myself intrigued by Calhoun, as it’s simply my nature, but I in no means endorse either of them. Quite frankly I don’t even like modern politics inside the US since they all shift wayyyyyy too conservative/right-wing for my liking, but ahhh well what can I do but hope to lay the foundations for future generations, but that is me being side tracked. I simply and genuinely just find his turn and complete 180 and abandonment— or rather, return to southern ideas— fascinating. My clayhoun songs I leave to you as an emo: w.a.m.s for 1824-1828-ish with Calhoun’s rise ofc, PAVLOVE!!!!!!, our lawyer made us change the name our song for corrupt bargain / calhouns rise… i simply think calhouns rise that is ultimate paired with his descent sooo juicy and the way they used to be friends. Braunrot.

rapid-fire for the rest: clay/webster ultimate failed prank on biddle re:charting of the second bank. they fight for joint custody with jackson over who keeps the orphan biddle 💀mvb is hilarious to me and can be described as a giant bunny in my head. just silly and fat and magical.

ty for ur indulgence on these very pressing matters… my friends have absolutely no idea what i mean when i talk abt these things so its fun to be let out of my enclosure.

#‘why is mvb a rat and not a bunny like you said’ look at it. #the og set had a top hat too #someone said he was irrelevant and i crode and said he’s funny to MEEE!!! #follie a duex