#i had it last month in berkeley

[tooquirkytolose]

Softly filtered dead wife in movie montage but of the sandwich I had one time and can't stop thinking about

#it was...so good #i had it last month in berkeley #a vegan pastrami on rye with vegan swiss and saurkraut and grilled onions....

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 8 - A nightingale sang

Pinterest Board | Series Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

eigth chapter synopsis: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. cried writing this but this is apparently something that will happens with every chapter so... go hear a nightingale sang in berkeley square. look i am just a sensitive girl in a difficult world, this is straight up murdering you with love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆Ellon: Male elf┆

Forests are secrets in themselves. They hide things. That is what they do, their primordial essense. A forest without a secret is a human without a soul, a planet without a star, a mother without her child. That is the real language of the woods.

You knew all the meadow’s secrets in Rivendell. You knew where the sprouts flourished, where the clearing started, where the trees fall after storms. You knew all its secrets, until you did not.

Because in kind places a forest hides wisteria and sage sprouts. In cruel ones it hides wargs and warm blood. And for those who are lucky enough it hides suspended gardens.

Stone pillars, embedded on gold, supported all seven floors. It would already be a beautiful sight, light reflecting in waves of warmth through Greenwood, but the ascending series of tiered gardens above each floor turned it into a paradise. Each specimen from the wide variet of trees, flowers and vines were part of this mountain constructed of golden bricks.

“I got goosebumps,” you whispered. Even the air was different there. It smelled like honey and daisies. If Thranduil told you that daylight comes from that place, you would have believed him. “Why did you hide this place from me!?”

Strangers had been born and buried and their lifetime would be nothing compared to all the time the Elvenking spend on the suspended gardens. And still, looking into your moist eyes, Thranduil discovered a new sort of beauty in this place.

The green of the vines, more verdant. The gold of the pillars, more golden. The pink of the flowers, more rosy. The whole world was brighter. Wind whispering against the autumn leaves, birds flocking, river crashing against stones: the world became a song. Such a beautiful, intricate symphony. One that he never noticed before.

It must be fate. That was meant to be. Since the world was first created and the stars were put into place. For what other reason did he survived this far, if not to admire you admiring the world his ancestors build? For what reason did Thranduil endure this far, if not to be alone in this world with you?

Your eyes glowed, and Thranduil wondered if Varda put her light into them. Into you.

The Elvenking gestured towards the gardens. “Shall we, idril?”

Thranduil watched as you prepared a raspberry pie in silence, which was better than when he tried to make you let someone else finish it. As if it was offensive for you to get your hands dirty. Your last job was to take care of horses. What is a pie compared to that?

Cleaning your hands, you almost could not believe your ears when the invitation came. It was strange of him to have free time during the day. He never had before, not once since you first got in his realm. But you were not the one to remind a king of his duties.

Not when that can take him away from you.

So this time, when Thranduil suggest you to let someone else bake it, you accept it.

“You really should stop doing that,” you continued along the paved way, and Thranduil followed your eager steps. Turning to look at him instead of facing the path, a delicate smile showed you did not meant what you were saying. “Calling me words I do not know.”

“Yet,” Thranduil completed. “Do not know yet.”

On the first floor, you understood that the construction did not matter. Its halls were simple, with long open arches and practically empty except for the occasional sculptures. Anyone there would only have eyes for the gardens, and whoever built it knew that no amount of gold or jewels would ever compete with nature.

Quince flowers draped over the walls, pears were almost to the point of crop. Thranduil showed you almond flowers, his long fingers brushing against the tiny buds. You did not even knew almonds came from flowers.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, you brushed your hands against the rough trunk of a pistachio tree. “Do you fear birds?” Thranduil looked concerned.

“Definitely no.”

Following throught the halls, you could see the garden suspended over the first floor. Butterflies and bees flew around the almond flowers, which made you speed up the pace. You heard Thranduil laughing, and he only did not heard you complaining because you were too scared that maybe a bee would enter your mouth.

A swallow landed on your hair, and you tried your best to not move so Thranduil would see it too. When he stopped in front of you, Thranduil’s eyes seemed so… calm.

You knew he was tired and worried. That he had much to do, to understand, to protect. In Rivendell people believe that Sauron is gone, but here they have more than faith to prove the contrary. But now Thranduil look so peaceful.

As if nothing bad had ever happened to him.

“A little one mistook you by a tree,” Thranduil stretched a finger towards your hair. You felt the swallow moving, pulling your hair along, and saw it on his ring finger. Such a small thing, with greenish down.

Your smile went wider when you looked into his face.

“And you by a flower.” In his wood crown, butterflies found a new home. “If you pay attention, you really look like a sunflower kind of person,” you used your hands to cover your laugh. “Always smiling, never yelling at anyone.”

Thranduil’s response was to roll his eyes.

On the third floor, you passed through ebony, cedar and rosewood. You told Thranduil how most of the trees surrounding Aerin’s inn are ash trees, and how sad it is that most of the stories you read use them as metaphor for dead things. Thranduil shared a poem about a willow tree.

It surprised you how he recited it from memory.

Junipers were new for you. Never before you heard about them. But myrrh was not. You told Thranduil that Luthien gave you a bottle of its oil and practically ordered you to use it on your shoulder. His peacefulness oscilated for a second, but it appeared again.

The floor with fruits were your favorite one. Thranduil split open a pomegranate, revealing clusters of seeds inside it. You both shared it, eating slowly while watching the sun reflecting upon Greenwood. You took a tangerine from its branch, and gave him half of it. With half of a fresh fig on your hands, you were more interest on plum flowers than on its fruit.

There is something about sharing a fruit with someone that just makes it feel holy. The way Thranduil cut the fig in half. How you cleaned the tangerine. Your fingers brushing against one another to take another seed. It just felt better than eating one alone.

You brushed your fingers against ferns and orchids. Cherry blossoms floated, washing you both upon pink petals. A few got stucked on your hair. A few that Thranduil did not warned you about.

On the last floor, there were tables and chairs made of wood, but what really mattered to you was the view. From up there, you could see everything. Greenwood, every floor and its suspended garden, a flowing river on distance. Once again, goosebumps explored your body.

“A step back,” said Thranduil when he saw you too close from the edge. It may have been a warning, it may have been an order, but you took one either. He sat, observing carefully. “Your fall is not worth the landscape.”

“Do not be affraid. That will not happen,” your eyes locked on a bird flying away. You think it was a nightingale. He was so small, and yet he knew a type of freedom you would never. How must it be to fly? It happened for you to fall from places that made you feel like you were flying, until you met the ground. Does it works the other way around? You imagine so. “You do not need to worry about me.”

“How could I not?” replied Thranduil. “You reign in my mind. It is my duty to worry about your safety and happiness.”

Your mouth went dry. “It was never my intention to make you worry about my safety or my happiness,” your voice was barely a whisper. “Or about me, at all.”

Words, when commonly used, tend to lose their initial meaning. It dissolves, disappears with each repetition, until the word is just a ghost of what it once was. Of what their meaning once was. So many man use love almost as a greeting, but not a ellon. Never a ellon.

Love for a elve is more than just a word. It is not something that happens several times. It happens once in a lifetime, and it last forever and evermore. Only one person can own a elve’s heart, just their half, and they will never trust it to someone else.

Thranduil never thought of himself as someone lucky, but now he knows he is. In such a dangerous world, Thranduil found you. His friend, his confidant, his love. His one and only. Your heart belong with his. Thranduil can wait however long it takes for you to believe in that too.

“I never said it was.”

The silence pierced your mind. His words… Why Thranduil keep on doing this? Why he keep on saying those sweet, toothaching sweet things? Thranduil is so beautiful, and everytime he opens his mouth you get more sure that his heart is just as pretty. If you could open his skull and study his brain, you would.

“Still,” you licked your lips. “I am not falling.”

Thranduil nodded. You came back to watch the sky, mostly because you did not knew what else to do. It was rosy. A breeze made chills go down your spine, and a petal fell from your hair right into your hands. Your caressed it, and moved it closer to your nose.

“Who created this place?” You sniffed it. “They must be so proud.”

Lost on you, Thranduil did not saw a reason to lie. “It was my father.”

That warm feeling spreading into you faded away. He never talked to you about his father before, but you knew that there was only one way for a prince to become a king. What you do not know is how much does it hurt. It must be a lot. Usually things that we love hurt way too much.

Without a ounce of shame, you walked towards Thranduil. The way he made your thoughts hazy did not matter anymore. You pulled yourself a chair, and dragged it until it was right beside him. Thranduil chuckled at the act.

“He must have been really creative,” you told him. “How was he?”

That surprised Thranduil. People never ask things about his father. They only say that they are sorry, that they feel so much, that it must be so difficult. They never talk about Oropher. They always remind Thranduil that he is dead, but they never talk about him.

“Wise,” said Thranduil. With just one word, he already felt that it was so easier to breath. Sometimes it feels like Oropher only lives on his memory. Like there is this unsurmountable weight on his shoulders, one that none can see or help to carry. It felt nice to share. “And ruthless. He was the strongest until the very end.”

You tried to picture Oropher. The king who died too soon. The warrior that led his people against Sauron, and saw his knights falling down. You picture someone that knew the weight of a sword dipped in blood, the sound of a last breath, the rotteness of a dying land. You pictured this person, and then imagined him daydreaming about suspended gardens. Architecting a palace, designing irrigation, choosing seeds.

Oropher sounds like someone that was worth knowing.

Your fingers dipped into your watery dress, and you bit back a smile. You imagine that Thranduil have the same effect on people. That they will heard how he protect his land and his people, and then get amazed about how he can recite poems about a willow tree. At least he has that effect on you.

“And how was him to you? Was he good?”

“Not ruthless,” Thranduil smiled at the memories in hindsight. You could not help but to do the same. “He was gentle and… When I was just a little ellon, I used to not understand when it was time to shut up. Now I see how awful I was, but he always listened to me. He never made me feel like I should remain silent.”

You held his hand, it was so cold. Stroking his delicate skin, you felt a warmth inside you. Something different from anything you ever felt. You felt… not alone.

“I bet Oropher would be proud of you,” the words escaped your mouth. “I know I am. You are good. You are also great, but you are good.”

Somehow, Thranduil understood exactly what you meant. There are so many great people in this world. So many great poets, great warriors, great rulers. But good… Oh, it appears that the world is always lacking people that are good.

People who will discuss with dragons because their friends deserve their home back. People that will cross a continent to destroy a ring simply because someone needs to. People that will lit beacons without permission, that will use helmets to hide the fact that they are a woman, that will fight even as arrows pierce their chest.

“You think I am good?” Thranduil felt his eyes burning. “You really do?”

“Of course, my king.” You intertwined his fingers with yours. It felt right. Like they were made to complement eachother. A sly smirk replaced your genuine smile. “You think I would put up with you if I did not?

Thranduil looked at the horizon, hoping you would not notice the redness of his eyes. He reciprocated your touch, squeezing your hand lightly. Maybe it was the sunset, maybe it was the autumn leaves, but everything felt golden.

Everything felt just fine.

“You are good,” murmured Thranduil. “Is it because of your parents?”

You let go of his hand, and Thranduil felt the sky getting darker. Your colors also faded, as if it was robbed from your skin. “It is getting late,” you told him. You were quick to get up. Quick to lie. Badly. “I should come back.”

“I am sorry. I really am,” Thranduil ignored everything you said. There was no need for him to pretend to fall for your bad lies. He stand, just as fast as you. “But you are not a good liar, idril. I will not force you to say the truth, nor do I wish for you to speak when you do not want to, but you do not need to lie. Not to me. We are friends. You do not need to perform around me.”

You threw yourself onto the chair, without any energy to argue. You watched the horizon, the changing colors of the sky, and tried to ignore the pressure on your chest. “I am sorry.”

“No need to,” Thranduil sat too. He tried to be silent, but something told him that maybe you also had a unsurmountable weight on your shoulders. That maybe you also needed to share it. “Were they not good?”

“Maybe yes, maybe not,” you huffled. You responded right away, so Thranduil assumd he made the right decision. “That is the problem.”

With your eyelids closed, you turned your head to Thranduil. When courage made its way into your chest, you looked at him. Was he going to judge you? To see you as too much of a problem? A part of you feared that he would. The other half thought it was mean to think of him that way.

“I have no memories of them.”

He let you talk. About how you have no memories of parents, of any family, of growing or sharing meals or going to school or learning to read. About how for you it is like you were born during a thunderstorm, then wandered until you found Aerin. You told him everything.

After you rant, his silence came. He breathe in, and you could feel his body getting tense. “No one ever looked for you?” Thranduil finally said something.

You denied. “Do you think I am crazy?”

“I think…”

For Thranduil, now everything makes sense. The way you tend to pretend not to see when Aerin treated you badly. Or how people insisted on not calling you by your name. Why you would have felt bad if you did nothing. The gentleness of your heart. How your intelligence have a touch of naivety.

But it also made him even more intrigued about why you and Gandalf are friends. Does he have any interest on your memories coming back? Is he the reason why they faded? Can you really see him as a friend?

Thranduil never liked those pilgrim wizards, and Gandalf tend to be the one creating more problems for him. If he is right about who betrayed the free people, then maybe you have something to do with it.

He is glad you are away from him. Thranduil does not trust him.

Thranduil licked his lips. “I think you are so unlucky.”

That made you burst into laugh. For a whole minute. You belly hurt, your cheeks burned, your head spin. It was loud and ugly and true. “I… I agree.”

When silence came, it was natural. It was welcomed. You stared into his watery eyes, and decided that you would never try to hide things from Thranduil. It is just not worth the effort, now when he reacts this way. Not when he is so sweet.

“You still want to go back home?” Thranduil whispered. There was simply no need to, but he wanted to. It felt right to.

You inhale. “Not really,” you admitted. You turned your gaze to the sky, and it was on that marvelous moment when it is not day and it is not night. Thranduil did the same as you. “This place feels like a summer dream.”

A nightingale sang that night. Not that you both heard it, since your voices were louder. But it sang, and it still mattered.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #autumn thunderstorm #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil fanfic #thrandaddy #thranduil oropherion #thranduil headcanon #thranduil of mirkwood #oropher #mirkwood #middle earth #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #gandalf

[lacontroller1991]

I See You (Ernest Lawrence x F!Reader)

Main Master List || MISC Master List

Requested by @mariaarlert : I really love your work, so if it's possible, could you please write a ff for Ernest in which the reader is as talented in physics as Oppie, but really enjoys reading and painting? And also struggles with depression.

Discloser: This is based on Josh Hartnett's EOL. If you're not a fan, please continue on with your day :)

Warnings: Mentions of depression

Word Count: 1.5k

-----------

He sees you. He knows that he probably shouldn’t, but from the moment he met you, he was enraptured. He remembers the first time he met you months ago. You had walked into his lab at Oppenheimer’s side, eyes wide and beauty that rivals Hollywood’s famous movie stars. Lawrence couldn’t deny that he was jealous when he saw a gorgeous woman like you with Oppenheimer, who is still talking to his flavor of the month, but his jealousy quickly subsided when he found out that you were to be Oppie’s TA. 

Since that day, Lawrence would watch you from the sides and even from the shadows as you work day and night, correcting Oppenheimer’s work and grading his students’ work. Judging by how he always manages to see you at random times throughout the day and night, Lawrence assumes that you have no life outside of school. And he was right for the most part. It wasn’t until he decided to ask you out that he found out that you do have a life. After a couple months of dating, he found out that you have a passion for art and reading. He would often come over to your apartment after a long day in the lab only to find you cuddled by a fireplace, book in your lap. Or some days he would find you lost in your paintings. Needless to say, he never would’ve thought that those were your hobbies based on your knowledge in quantum physics. 

The rain patters against the windows of the library as Lawrence leans back in his chair. He doesn’t typically come to the library, especially when he has his own office and lab, yet something about sitting in a library reminds him of his undergrad days. The clock beside him reads well past 11:30 and he’s probably the only one in the library at that time. Deciding enough was enough, he grabs his books filled with notes for the next week of lectures and turns off the light, encasing him in darkness. Just as he reaches for the door a light humming sound catches his attention. Looking around the library he doesn’t spot another person, especially because he was the last one to come in, but still, something is making a sound and he wants to know what it is. 

Deciding to investigate, Ernest cautiously walks down the halls of Bancroft Library until he spots a room tucked away in the corner with the light on. Picking up his pace, he pokes his head through the door and is taken aback seeing you in the room, humming to yourself and painting. 

“(Y/N)?” His voice causes you to jump in your seat and quickly turn around, rubbing a hand across your puffy red eyes.

“Ernest? What are you doing here? I didn’t think anyone else was in here except me,” you sniffle, trying to dry your eyes and put on a smile but Ernest can see right through it. Shuffling into the room, he sets his briefcase down on the table and pulls out a seat, wanting to comfort you but not knowing how. “Sorry for my appearance, I wasn’t expecting anybody to be here.”

“No, it’s okay. Are you okay? Why are you crying?” You turn away from him and continue with your painting, the colors clashing against each other to make out a shape that Ernest can’t decipher. The painting isn’t like your normal paintings. Normally your paintings consist of your environments, like Berkeley’s campus or San Francisco, but this? It’s a storm of colors and Ernest wonders why this painting is so different from your typical ones.

“I’m fine.” It’s a short sentence but he knows you’re not fine. If there’s one thing that Ernest hates above all else, it’s lying, especially when it’s obvious. 

“Don’t lie. You can talk to me, you know?” He watches as you seem to think for a moment before setting down your brush and turning back to him, clutching onto your body while the rain continues to pour on the outside. 

“I’m just tired of not being seen.” The words take Ernest aback. “I’m tired of not being seen for myself. I’m tired of no one taking notice of the things I like. Anytime I try to introduce myself or make friends, they automatically guard themselves around me and try to impress me so they can get in with Dr. Oppenheimer, but they don’t see me. I know I’m smart. I’m extremely smart. I just wish I was normal. I’m tired of just being “Dr. Oppenheimer’s pet”.” Ernest sits in silence for a minute as he processes your words. He never would’ve guessed that you’re so unhappy. How could you seriously think this way? Is it something he did? Did he mess up? Sure, he spends a lot of time in the lab, but he thought that you understood why. Even if he is part of the issue, you never confronted him and he doubts that you would just brush it off. 

Leaning back in his seat, he runs a hand across his face before it falls back to his lap. “Have you talked to Robert about this?”

“He just pats me on the back and says ‘you’ll be fine’, news flash, I’m far from fine. I want to go back home and I wish I never came here.” The words hurt Ernest deep as your tears start flowing again and you place your head in your hands, your body shaking from the sobs that escape your mouth. Reaching out to you, Ernest easily drags you from your seat and places you in his lap, holding you close as you quiet down. “I’m just tired of this. I want to be seen for something other than my brain.” 

His hand slowly pets your hair as he thinks of something to say. Had he picked up on this a while ago, he would’ve confronted you about it and maybe the feelings you’re feeling now wouldn’t be as strong. Ernest can’t help but to beat himself up about it. He should’ve noticed that you’re struggling. “I see you, you know?” His soft words cause you to lift your face and gaze up at him. “I see you as more than ‘Oppie’s pet’. I see you as (Y/N) (Y/L/N). A brilliant scientist in the making. A gorgeous, caring, funny, and beyond talented woman that I can see myself with for the rest of my life.” He can tell that his admission stuns you and he knows that it’s probably too early into a relationship to be making those claims, but when you know you know, even if it’s only been 5 months. 

“Ernest?” You get off his lap and stare at him and he can’t read past your stonewall. Letting out a sigh, he runs his hand through his hair, disrupting his perfectly parted hair to where a few strands fall in front of his face. 

“It’s true. I know we’ve only been dating for less than half a year and I know that I’m always working and you’re always working, but every time I see you, my heart skips a beat. I can’t go a single minute without thinking about you. That’s why I’m always in the lab. I can’t get any work done because you’re always on my mind. I see you, (Y/N). I have always seen you,” he takes a stride forward and gently cusps your face in his hands, staring down at you through his glasses. “I will always see you.” Ernest leans forward and places a feather soft kiss to your forehead and it’s all you need before you’re surging into his arms, clutching onto his suit jacket and breaking down. Wrapping his arms around you, Ernest gently guides you down to the floor while he lets you cry it out. 

After a few minutes, your tears start to subside and hiccups replace them while Ernest gently pats your back. It’s almost midnight now and he can’t deny that he’s emotionally and physically tired but he wouldn’t dare comment about it. “I’m sorry that you had to see me like this,” your words are quiet, but he heard them nonetheless. 

“I hope you know that I meant what I said. When I said I see myself with you for the rest of my life I meant it. I want everything about you. Tears and all,” he lightly pokes your side causing you to laugh softly. 

“It’s still silly.” Ernest reaches for your face and uses his thumb to wipe away your tears before helping you up.

“I don’t think so,” he replies, taking off his suit jacket and placing it around your shoulders, “you’re entitled to feel things and I can’t imagine the stress you’re under.” You shoot him a glare as if asking ‘are you serious’ but he doesn’t care. “Ok so maybe I do, but it doesn’t take away from your feelings.” He watches as you pack up your art supplies, tossing them haphazardly into a bag and slinging it over your shoulder before taking the canvas and tossing it in the trash. “Why are yo-”

“I throw them away when I no longer need them.” 

-----------

Author's Note: I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! Sorry its so much shorter than others

#ernest lawrence #reader insert #oppenheimer #josh hartnett #Ernest Lawrence x reader #Ernest Lawrence x you #lacontroller1991

[collapsedsquid]

I had never before attended a business conference with a 28 percent chance of an orgy. But those were the official orgy odds when I arrived at Manifest, a self-described “gathering of forecasting nerds” that the forecasting start-up Manifold Markets put on last month in Berkeley, Calif. By the second day of the conference, the odds had risen to 47 percent. And on the third day, they reached 100 percent — because there had, in fact, been an orgy. (No, I was not invited.)

shameful prediction accuracy there

[theculturedmarxist]

If you talk to an ordinary American, or, in my experience, if you talk to an average Israeli, for that matter, they don’t know anything about who the Palestinians are. They don’t know where they come from, they don’t know how they live, what they believe, and they don’t want to. Right? Because that just complicates things… – historian Sam Biagetti.

Last month, The New York Times conducted a series of interviews with a number of American Jewish families and the way they have been dealing with what the paper calls a “generational divide over Israel.”

The Times notes a trend that has been developing for a long time—younger American Jews becoming markedly more critical of, sometimes downright hostile to, Israel than their elders. The piece looks at “more than a dozen young people…[who] described feeling estranged from the version of Jewish identity they were raised with, which was often anchored in pro-Israel education.”

One such person is Louisa Kornblatt. She is the daughter of liberal Jewish parents, who grew up experiencing the cruelties of anti-Semitism in suburban New Jersey. Her grandmother “had fled Austria in 1938, just as the Nazis were taking over.” Partly as a result of this legacy, Louisa Kornblatt “shared her parents’ belief that the safety of Jewish people depended on a Jewish state” as a child.

However, her views began to shift once “she started attending a graduate program in social work at U.C. Berkeley in 2017.” As she recalls it, “classmates and friends challenged her thinking,” with some telling her that she was “on the wrong side of history.”

While in graduate school, “she read Audre Lorde, Mariame Kaba, Ruth Wilson Gilmore and other Black feminist thinkers,” who further made her re-think ingrained assumptions. Eventually, “Kornblatt came to feel that her emotional ties to Jewish statehood undermined her vision for ‘collective liberation.’”

“Over the last year, she became increasingly involved in pro-Palestine activism, including through Jewish Voice for Peace, an anti-Zionist activist group, and the If Not Now movement.” She now goes so far as to assert, “I don’t think the state of Israel should ever have been established,” because “It’s based on this idea of Jewish supremacy. And I’m not on board with that.”

Also interviewed are the parents of Jackson Schwartz, a senior at Columbia University whose education there has significantly altered his outlook on Israel:

“The parents of Mr. Schwartz…said they listen to him with open minds when he tells them about documentaries he has seen or things he has learned from professors like Rashid Khalidi, a prominent Palestinian intellectual who is a professor of modern Arab studies at Columbia. Dan Schwartz said his son helped him understand the Palestinian perspective on Israel’s founding, which was accompanied by a huge displacement of population that Palestinians call the Nakba, using the Arabic word for catastrophe.”

“It wasn’t until Jackson went to Columbia and took classes that I ever heard the word Nakba,” Dan Schwartz said.

These interviews are hugely instructive for two reasons. For one thing, they demonstrate very clearly why power centers are so critical of higher education, especially in the humanities: They are afraid young people might actually—horror of horrors—learn something, particularly something that challenges the status quo.

American culture overflows with accusations from parents that their kids went off to college only to be “indoctrinated.” But at least in these instances, the opposite is what happened—far from being brainwashed, the kids read books and learned history, and were forced to think hard about the implications. In other words, higher education did exactly what it is supposed to do—forced students to encounter and engage with perspectives and thinkers they otherwise never would have.

In reality, most parents (and certainly media outlets) who complain of indoctrination are actually worried about education—that is, that their children will develop more nuanced, critical and informed views of the world after engaging with unfamiliar viewpoints. Such aggrieved elders don’t see it this way, of course, largely because they themselves never shook off the propaganda of their youth. Indeed, they likely are not even capable of perceiving it as such. But that is what it is.

The interviews from the Times piece also demonstrate what Sam Biagetti refers to in the quote that sits atop this article: the phenomenon of older Americans who profess attachment to (and presumably knowledge of) Israel, displaying aggressive—no, fanatic—ignorance about basic Israeli/Middle East history.

That Mr. Schwartz had never heard of the Nakba until his son learned about it from Rashid Khalidi speaks volumes about the way young people in this country are “taught” about Israel, as well as how much their parents actually “know” about it. It is the equivalent of a German father professing fierce attachment to the German nation-state, but never hearing the word “Holocaust” until his child tells him about it after learning the history from a Jewish professor.

The new documentary Israelism explores this issue of younger Jewish people raised to reflexively identify with Israel and to view it as a “Jewish Disneyland,” but who changed their minds (and behavior) upon encountering the brutal realities of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza.

It is a powerful film, one that takes a look at the too-often ignored indoctrination regarding Israel taking place in many Jewish day schools, the way younger people are starting to de-program themselves from it, and where they go from there.

Directed by first-time filmmakers Erin Axelman and Sam Eilertsen, Israelism largely follows two protagonists whose experiences mirror those of the filmmakers.

The first protagonist, Eitan (whose last name is never revealed), grew up in a conservative Jewish home in Atlanta. Typical of such an upbringing, he was steeped in pro-Israel PR.

He recounts that “Israel was a central part of everything we did in school.” His high school routinely sent delegations to AIPAC (the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, also known as the “Israel lobby”) conferences.

Outside of school, the PR continued. He describes going to Jewish summer camp, where each year the staff included a group of Israeli counselors, brought in “to connect American Jews to Israeli culture.”

This included having the children playing games designed to simulate being in the Israeli military, including the use of actual Israeli military commands.

The film intersperses interviews of its protagonists with interviews of prominent individuals who promote this Israeli PR.

For instance, Rabbi Bennett Miller, the then-National Chair of the Association of Reform Zionists of America, asks with a laugh, “does [my] average congregant understand that I’m teaching them to become Zionists? Probably not, but it is part of my madness, so to speak.”

Enamored with what he saw as the glory of military service, Eitan told his parents that he was going to join the Israeli military rather than go to college. He had always thought of Israel as “my country,” and learned from numerous childhood visits there that he “fit in” better in Israel than in the United States.

During basic training with the IDF, he was trained as a “heavy machine gunnist” [sic] with an emphasis on urban warfare. After seven months of this, he was deployed to the West Bank. His life in the IDF involved operating the various checkpoints which comprise the apartheid system, as well as patrolling Palestinian villages on foot in full gear with a bulletproof vests. He recounts that on such patrols, the mission of his unit was to make their presence felt, in order “to let them know that we were watching.”

His encounter with the occupation changed him forever. “Even though Israel was a central part of everything we did in school,” he recalls, “we never really discussed the Palestinians. It was presented to us that Israel was basically an empty wasteland when the Jews arrived. ‘There were some Arabs there,’ they said, but there was no organized people; they had really treated the land poorly. Yeah, there are Palestinians, [but] they just want to kill us all…” Furthermore, “It was always presented to us that the Arabs only know terrorism.”

His role as an occupier made him see things rather differently. He witnessed IDF soldiers needlessly abusing captives, who were blindfolded and handcuffed, thrown to the ground, kicked and beaten. He despairs that he “didn’t even speak up,” something he is visibly still struggling with. And, he says, “that’s just one of many stories that I have from my time in the West Bank. It took many years to really come to terms with my part in it. Only after I got out of the army did I begin to realize that the stuff that I did [from] day to day, just working in checkpoints, patrolling villages—that in itself was immoral.”

After great difficulty, Eitan has begun to publicly speak out about his experiences, though he notes that it took a long time, and that on his first attempt, he was not able to make it through without crying excessively. Since then, he has gotten better, and continues to pursue this necessary work.

Israelism’s second protagonist is Simone Zimmerman. Zimmerman’s grandfather settled in Israel; he and his immediate family were some of her only relatives to escape the Holocaust. Zimmerman herself was raised in a staunchly pro-Israel household, attending Hebrew school from kindergarten through high school. While in high school she lived in Israel for a period as part of an exchange program, which was just one of many visits.

These organized stays in Israel routinely involved her and her friends dressing up in Israeli army uniforms and pretending to be in the IDF. She participated in Jewish youth groups and summer camps which, like Eitan, immersed her in a steady diet of pro-Israel propaganda. Summing up her childhood experience, Zimmerman explains that “Israel was just treated like a core part of being a Jew. So, you did prayers, and you did Israel.”

Like Eitan, she was familiar with AIPAC: “AIPAC is just the thing that you do. Like, going to the AIPAC conference is just sort of seen as a community event.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, almost ten percent of her high school graduating class ended up joining the Israeli army, and many of her summer camp and youth group friends did as well. This is the power of effective propaganda instilled from a young age, Zimmerman observes. “The indoctrination is so severe, it’s almost hard to have a conversation about it. It’s heartbreaking.”

Israelism contains footage of this indoctrination in action inside Hebrew schools.

Scenes of teachers excitedly asking classes of young children, “do you want to go to Israel too?” and the children screaming back, “YEAH!!!” are reminiscent of the similarly nauseating kinds of religious indoctrination made famous in an earlier era by films like Jesus Camp.

Some of these scenes can be glimpsed in the trailer for the film. Older students are seen reading copies of Alan Dershowitz’s book The Case for Israel, which was famously exposed as a fraud by Norman Finkelstein years ago. Zimmerman herself gets to look at some of her old worksheets and art projects from her elementary school days, all of which in some way revolved around the Israeli state.

Other than enlisting in the IDF, Zimmerman had been told that the other major way to be “a good supporter of the Jewish people” was to become an “Israel advocate.” Choosing the latter path, Zimmerman became involved with Hillel, the largest Jewish campus organization in the world, when she began attending the University of California at Berkeley. Hillel, too, worked very hard to instill pro-Israel beliefs in her. She describes being trained in how to rebut “the ‘lies’ that other people [were] saying” about Israel.

The film explores the nature of Hillel’s work fostering pro-Israel activism at college campuses across the country. Tom Barkan, a former IDF soldier and “Israel fellow” at the University of Connecticut’s Hillel chapter, says, “name a university in America, we probably have a person there.” Barkan’s mission is to turn Jewish college students into either Israel advocates or military recruits. While he warns eager students that joining the IDF will not be easy, he wistfully tells them that it will be “the most meaningful experience that you ever go through.”

Former Jewish day school teacher Jacqui Schulefand works with Barkan in her role as Director of Engagement and Programs at UConn’s Hillel branch. Her love for the State of Israel is inseparable from her identity as a Jewish person, which she proudly explains. “Can you separate Israel and Judaism? I don’t know—I can’t. You know, some people I think can. To me, it’s the same. Yeah, you can’t separate it. Israel is Judaism and Judaism is Israel. And that is who I am, and that is my identity. And I think every single thing that I experienced along my life has melded into that, like there was never, you know, a divide for me.”

Schulefand describes joining the Israeli armed forces as “the greatest gift you can give,” and notes that “we actually have had quite a few of our former students join the IDF—amazing!” But her demeanor sours when she is asked about criticisms of the country. In a tone combining incomprehension with a hint of disgust, she laments that “somehow, ‘pro-Palestinian’ has become ‘pro-social justice.’”

It was this sort of pro-Israel advocacy network that organized Simone Zimmerman and other students to oppose what they perceived to be “anti-Semitic” activities such as student government legislation favoring the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement against Israeli occupation, and other measures critical of Israel.

To prepare for such confrontations, she was handed talking points that told her what to say—accuse critics of being anti-Semitic, of having a double standard, of making Jewish students feel unsafe, etc. Describing her feelings about BDS and the Palestinian cause at the time, Zimmerman says that “I just knew that it was this bad thing that I had to fight.” She remembers literally reading off the cards when it came time for her to make the case for Israel.

However, such work inevitably brought her into contact with people who challenged her views. She encountered terms like apartheid, ethnic cleansing, and illegal occupation. “I thought I knew so much about Israel, but I didn’t really know what anybody was talking about when they were talking about all these things,” she said.

Growing up, she was barely taught anything about Palestinians, much like Eitan: “The idea that there were native inhabitants who lived there [when settlers began to arrive] was not even part of my frame of reference.”[1] To the extent that her upbringing provided her with any conception of what a Palestinian was, it was that a Palestinian was someone “who kills Jews, or wants to kill Jews.” But now she was dealing with actual Palestinian students and their non-Palestinian allies, who told her things she found alarming.

Zimmerman went back to Hillel, embarrassed that she and the other pro-Israel advocates were not doing a good job refuting the information they had been confronted with. When Zimmerman asked what the proper responses were to specific criticisms directed at Israel—other than shouting “double standard” or “anti-Semitic”—no one provided her with any. “That was really disturbing for me,” she says. She was flabbergasted that “there are these people called Palestinians who think that Israel wields all this power over their lives and don’t have rights, don’t have water. What is this? How do I respond to it?” “How is it that I am the best the Jewish community has to offer—I’ve been to all the trainings, all the summer camps—and I don’t know what the settlements are, or what the occupation is?”

This anguish led Zimmerman to see the occupation for herself, the summer after her freshman year. This was her first time “crossing the line” into the West Bank. The film movingly details her experiences there. She listened to Palestinian families describe routine instances of being beaten by the IDF, and the harsh realities of life under military rule.

She befriends Sami Awad, Executive Director of the Holy Land Trust, who works to give Americans tours of the territory. An American citizen born in the U.S., Awad describes encounters with American kids who have joined the IDF, people “who just moved here to be part of an army to play cowboys and Indians.” He remarks on the absurdity that “Somebody…comes here from New York or from Chicago, and [claims] that this land is theirs.”

Awad’s family was originally from Jerusalem. His grandfather was shot by an Israeli sniper in 1948, and the rest of his family were evicted by Israeli forces soon after during the Nakba. They have never been allowed to return, and have lived under occupation ever since. Nevertheless, Awad is an extraordinarily empathetic person, having made a career out of trying to teach Westerners what life is like in the West Bank, in the hopes that they will use what they learn to effect positive change. He recounts visiting Auschwitz, and says that the experience gave him an insight into “inherited trauma” and how it shapes the conflict today. In the film he comes across as optimistic:

“I really believe that there is an emerging awakening within the American Jewish community…From American Jews, coming here, and listening to us, and hearing us, and seeing our humanity, and understanding that we are not just out sitting in bunkers, planning the next attack against Israelis, that we do have a desire to live in peace, and to have our freedom, and to walk in our streets, and to eat in our restaurants, and like we – I mean it’s crazy that I have to say this, that we are real human beings that just want to survive and live, like all other people in this world.”

Zimmerman also meets Baha Hilo, an English speaker who works as a tour guide with To Be There, another group that helps people understand the reality that Israel imposes on the West Bank. His family was expelled from Jaffa in 1948 during the Nakba. They were forced to settle in Bethlehem, sadly believing that they would eventually be able to return to their homes.

Hilo discusses his frustration that Israelis get to live under civil law, whereas Palestinians like him must live under the humiliating military law of the occupation: “When an American goes to the West Bank, he has more rights there than I have had my entire life!” The film takes care to note that Americans play a major role in such realities: “Of the roughly 450,000 [illegal] Israeli settlers living in the occupied West Bank, 60,000 are American Jews.” Some readers may recall the famous viral video of an Israeli named Yakub unashamedly stealing Palestinian homes while conveying a breathtaking sense of entitlement.

Hilo laments that, “From the day you are born, you live day in and day out without experiencing a day of freedom.” His astonishment at the audacity of Israelis, particularly those who are also Americans, mirrors Awad’s: “What makes an 18-year-old American kid who was given [a] ten days’ trip for free in Palestine, what makes him want to come in and sacrifice his life? Why would a foreigner think it’s ok to have superior rights to the rights of the indigenous population? Because somebody told them it’s [their] home.”

While happy to make such friends, Zimmerman nonetheless says of her time there, “I don’t think I realized the extent to which what I would come to see on the ground would really shock me and horrify me.” This experience often changes people. The filmmaker Rebecca Pierce is interviewed on her own visits to the West Bank, and her reaction is in line with Zimmerman’s. Pierce had always been opposed to using the word “apartheid,” but once she saw the reality of the situation, she changed her mind immediately.

The protagonist of With God on Our Side (a 2010 documentary critical of Christian Zionism), a young man named Christopher, had a similar reaction, specifically at the behavior he witnessed from the Israeli settlers. Each year a group of them converges on the Arab section of Old Jerusalem to celebrate Israel’s capture of East Jerusalem in 1967. Christopher witnessed the festivities, which featured a massive crowd of settlers wrapped in Israeli flags, shouting “death to Arabs” repeatedly as they danced through the streets.

A large group identified an Arab journalist, surrounded him, began chanting at him and flipping him off, to the point where the police had to be called. Christopher was visibly shocked at all this, glumly remarking that he “felt ashamed to be there.” This same celebration is also seen in Israelism, and the Israeli chants are as deranged as ever: “An Arab is a son of a bitch! A Jew is a precious soul!” “Death to the leftists!”

Zimmerman’s experiences led her to become a co-founder of the If Not Now movement, a grassroots Jewish organization which works to end U.S. support for Israel. They have engaged in activism targeting the ADL (more on them in a moment), AIPAC, the headquarters of Birthright Israel, and other organizations which directly contribute to the perpetuation of Israel’s occupation. “We decided to bring the crisis of American Jewish support for Israel to the doorsteps of Jewish institutions to force that conversation in public,” Zimmerman says.

Israelism contains powerful scenes of younger Jewish people engaging in this work. Many come from similar backgrounds as Eitan and Simone. Consider Avner Gvaryahu. Born and raised in Israel, Gvaryahu also joined the IDF. His combat experience ultimately turned him against the occupation. His whole life in Israel, he had never been inside a Palestinian home, but was now being tasked with “barg[ing] into one in the middle of the night.”

By the end of his service, he had routinely taken over Palestinian homes and used them as military facilities. No warrants were needed, and no notice was ever given to the families who were living there. He reflects back “with shame” on how violently he often acted toward the residents in such situations. Gvaryahu is now the Executive Director of Breaking the Silence, an organization of IDF veterans committed to peace.

“There are a lot of Jewish young people who see a Jewish establishment that is racist, that is nationalistic,” Zimmerman explains. Jeremy Ben-Ami, the President of J Street, agrees. “They’re really, really angry about the way they were educated, and the way they were indoctrinated about these issues, and justifiably so.”

While such courageous individuals often receive quite a bit of hatred from their own community (Zimmerman says, “The word I used to hear a lot was ‘self-hating Jew.’ Like, the only way a Jewish person could possibly care about the humanity of Palestinians is if you hate yourself”), their numbers are growing, and one hopes that this will continue. Israelism was released a few months before the terrorist attacks of October 7th and Israel’s genocidal response, events which make the film timely and important.

Since October 7th, we have seen many of the tactics and talking points used to justify Israel’s crimes that the film depicts return with a vengeance. Chief among them is the by-now ubiquitous claim that calling out Israeli atrocities is somehow anti-Semitic.

Zimmerman is anguished that “so many of the purported leaders of our community have been trying to equate the idea of Palestinian rights itself with anti-Semitism.”

This applies to no one more than Abraham “Abe” Foxman, who until his recent retirement was the long-time head of the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), an organization masquerading as a civil rights group but which is really a pro-Israeli government outfit which has long sought to redefine anti-Semitism to include “criticisms of Israel.”

These efforts have borne fruit—“The Trump administration issued an executive order adopting” this definition of anti-Semitism “for the purposes of enforcing federal civil rights law,” Michelle Goldberg notes in The New York Times. Foxman says in the film that “it hurts me for a Jewish kid to stand up there and say ‘justice for the Palestinians,’ and not [say] ‘justice for Israelis’; it troubles me, hurts me, bothers me. It means we failed. We failed in educating, in explaining, et cetera.” Many Israel supporters seem to share Foxman’s horror that Jewish people sometimes care about the well-being of people other than themselves.

Israelism explores this deliberate conflation of anti-Semitism with anti-Zionism. Sarah Anne Minkin, of the Foundation for Middle East Peace, is deeply bothered that “The way we talk about anti-Semitism isn’t about protecting Jews, it’s about protecting Israel. How dangerous is that, at this moment with the rise of anti-Semitism?”

Indeed, the film contains footage of the infamous Unite the Right rally featuring hordes of white supremacists marching through Charlottesville, Virginia, with torches, screaming “Jews. Will not. Replace us!” over and over, as well as news footage of the aftermath of the Tree of Life Synagogue mass shooting.

One of the chief tasks of Israeli propagandists has been to conflate such acts with anti-Zionist sentiment. Genuine anti-Semitism of the Charlottesville variety is (obviously) a product of the far right—recall that President Donald Trump famously referred to “very fine people on both sides” of that incident, an unmistakable wink and nod to such fascist groups.

People who comprise such groups, the type who paint swastikas on Jewish homes, are not the same as peace activists marching to end the Israeli occupation. This should not be difficult to understand. But the Israel PR machine has done a marvelous job confusing otherwise intelligent people on this issue.

Also quoted in the film is Ted Cruz, who like Trump is a regular speaker at AIPAC events, and who like many Republicans pitches his political rhetoric to appeal to the very reactionaries who espouse genuinely anti-Semitic sentiments. This does not stop him from having the audacity to refer to criticisms of Israel as anti-Semitic, shamelessly insisting that “the left has a long history of anti-Semitism.”

The American right wing has been hard at work lately, trying to convince gullible people that the rise of actual anti-Semitic incidents is the result of critics of Israel. The New York Times’s Michelle Goldberg reports that “Chris Rufo, the right-wing activist who whipped up nationwide campaigns against critical race theory and diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives, told me he’s part of a group at the conservative Manhattan Institute workshopping new policy proposals targeting what it sees as campus antisemitism.”

Such efforts apparently convince many liberal-leaning people to agree with UConn Hillel’s Jacqui Schulefand, who as noted above believes that “Israel is Judaism and Judaism is Israel.”

If you believe this, it is understandable how you might come to see criticizing a government’s policies, or the political ideology (Zionism) undergirding them, as anti-Semitic. I do not often profess gratitude for President Biden (indeed, I am really hoping the “Genocide Joe” label sticks), but it was nice to see him publicly state that “You don’t have to be a Jew to be a Zionist. And I’m a Zionist.” This pronouncement clarifies something that the Israel Lobby likes to obscure—that Zionism is a political ideology, like “conservatism,” “socialism” or “libertarianism.”

As such, critiquing it is not racist or anti-Semitic, even if the criticism is inaccurate.

It is always important to consider the ways in which assumptions held uncritically can lead one astray, especially assumptions ingrained from a young age, before people possess the capacity to sufficiently question what they are being told. Israelism is a powerful, thought-provoking film that does this spectacularly. And it does so for a topic that does not get as much attention as it should. Discussions of Christian propaganda are fairly common (again, think of Jesus Camp, or even With God on Our Side), as are denunciations of the kind of Islamic fundamentalist propaganda that comes out of places like Saudi Arabia.

It is almost too easy to go after the Mormons or the Scientologists. But the indoctrination taking place in many Jewish schools gets comparatively little attention. I have written previously of my admiration for people, like Naomi Klein, who frankly discuss the troubling fact that Israeli PR defined much of their early schooling. It is important to have an entire film devoted to the subject. People might not like what they see, but they need to see it.

Israelism is streaming here until January 31st.

#israel #israelism #documentary #palestine #anti defamation league #aipac #zionism #antisemitism #nakba

[bearterritory]

No. 11 Cal Edges No. 17 UCLA 4-3

BERKELEY – Katja Wiersholm clinched a California women's tennis victory for the second straight match, as the 11th-ranked Golden Bears defeated No. 17 UCLA, 4-3, on Saturday at the Hellman Tennis Complex. The 53rd-ranked Cal junior bested 72nd-ranked Bianca Fernandez, 6-4, 5-7, 6-3, to end the match and keep the Bears unbeaten in the Pac-12 Conference at 5-0 (12-3 overall).   UCLA now has a 10-4 record (4-1 Pac-12).   Wiersholm clinched Cal's 6-1 win over No. 45 Utah last Saturday in Berkeley, and she also clinched the season-opening, 4-0 win over Illinois.   "It's important in these moments to convince yourself that you want it to come down to you, that you want to be the one to put that number four up on the board," Wiersholm said Saturday. "I kept reminding myself of that today, and it really helped push me through."   The Bears took a 1-0 lead when the 23rd-ranked pair of Mao Mushika and Hannah Viller Moeller beat Elise Wagle and Tian Fangran, 6-4, on court one to clinch the doubles point. Earlier, Cal's Jessica Alsola and Valentina Ivanov won 6-4 over the Bruins' 80th-ranked Kimmi Hance and Anne Christine Lutkemeyer on court two.   "We did a really good job in doubles, and we didn't even get to hit a ball yesterday because it was wet," Cal head coach Amanda Augustus said. "I wanted to see us come out aggressive and quick, and I really thought we did. That was important. UCLA is a very good team. We know if we can get that doubles point, it helps a lot, because it's hard to win four singles matches against a good team like that. They always battle hard."   In singles, Alsola, ranked 54th, gave Cal a 2-0 lead when she topped Lutkemeyer, 6-4, 6-4, on court four. But losses on court two and court one left the match tied, 2-2.   Mushika, a freshman, beat Wagle on court five, 6-4, 7-6(7), to momentarily give the Bears a 3-2 lead.   But UCLA knotted the match at 3-3 when Ahmani Guichard defeated Cal's Lan Mi in three sets, 7-6(7), 3-6, 6-1, on court six, in what was just Mi's third singles loss of 2024. The junior leads the Bears with a 32-5 record.   That left court three to decide the match. Wiersholm had the chance to end it when leading 5-4 in the second set, though Fernandez rallied to take the set. Given another chance in the third, Wiersholm slammed the door shut on the Bruins.   Like Mi, Wiersholm has lost just three times in singles in 2024, after losing just once in the fall. The junior has compiled a 21-4 record through Saturday.   "At the end of the day it is about the results, it is about the winning," Wiersholm said, "and every day I just keep telling myself to try and get better each day so that when it comes down to it, I can be that one percent better than the girl on the other side of the net. That's what I've been working towards, and I feel like it's been getting better and better each match and each month. The season's going by quick, though, and that's what makes it challenging sometimes."   Added Augustus, "I'm just proud of us finishing that match out, and I'm looking forward to another tough battle tomorrow."  

#Go Bears #UC Berkeley #Cal Sports #This Is Bear Territory

[etirabys]

argentina

Here is my story of Argentina. My credentials are that I have I spent the first three hours of my flight to Argentina reading its Wikipedia page plus followup google search results.

Argentina was rich. Then it became poor for no clear reason. It could become very rich again.

Let’s start with the last one.

Argentina is a major agricultural exporter that’s not even tapping its full biocapacity. Without making any prescriptive statements about whether they should, it’s descriptively true that they could be leaning on their natural resources much harder than they currently are.

The wind potential of the Patagonia region (southern third of Argentina) could in theory provide enough electricity to sustain a country five times more populous. But the infrastructure isn’t there to pipe it where it needs to go. Argentina is very urbanized, with 92% of its population in cities. (This is actually weird – if you look at countries ordered by urbanization, you get a bunch of tiny or fake countries like Bermuda or Macau, and then central category member countries like Uruguay, Israel, Argentina, and Japan.)

Argentina had a pretty good nuclear program. Decent record as a locus of scientific progress despite all the political problems and crumbling infrastructure. It’s got a high literacy rate.

It kind of reminds me of... (person who's only been to 7 cities voice) Berkeley?

Okay. Now let’s skip back to 1861. Argentina has won independence from the Spanish Empire. It’s about to get very Italian in here.

At time of independence, Argentina had the familiar-looking South American mix of white+native+black. But soon after independence the state started (0) genociding/expanding into the south (1) enacting liberal economic policies, and (2) encouraging European immigration. Italians liked this idea for some reason, so today, 60% of Argentinians are full or part Italian.

This wave of immigration changed Argentinian society enormously. In this period, Argentina became very wealthy and productive. In 1910 it was the seventh richest country in the world.

Twenty years later, dissatisfaction over the Great Depression fueled a coup and kicked off 50-70 years of political instability.

I like this graph. Look at the Y axis values – this is a log graph.

I have no clean explanation for what happened, but I can at least describe what happened after 1930.

In between coups, Argentina stays neutral in both world wars up until the US pressured it into declaring war on the Axis Powers in 1945. But then the Europe part of WWII ended a month later, so they probably didn't have to do too much. In 1946, Peron takes power.

(Sidenote: why did so many Nazis famously flee to Argentina? Argentina had lots of German immigrants & close ties to Germany. Peron, who'd found Hitler's ideology appealing since he was a military attaché in Italy during WWII, straight out ordered diplomats and intelligence officers to establish escape routes for Nazis, especially those with military/technical expertise.)

I still don’t know much about Peron. There's the socialist stuff: nationalized a lot of industries and improved working conditions. There's the dictator stuff: beating up and firing people to bring them into line, including university teachers (of course) and union leaders that Peron didn't like. He was really liked for a while, and then very disliked, and got exiled to Spain after a decade of rule.

Then there's a phase where no one manages to rule successfully, in part because getting approved by both Peronists and anti-Peronists is hard. This 1955-2003 phase reminds me a lot of Korean history around the same time – lots of military coups and assassinations and journalists getting tortured. Whenever I hit this phase in a country's Wikipedia page it just reads like TV static, interchangeable variable names swinging in and out of scope... even though there's got to be more than that.

When I first started reading about US Republicans and Democrats I got really confused because either they had 0 major differences or 70. Now that I've been in the States for a decade I have a sense for what major visions and underlying values differences they have, but it'd be hard to explain succinctly or in a way that other people will agree with. So something like that has to have been going on with various flavors of anti, sub, and classic Peronism that’s inscrutable to an outsider who’s spending 3 hours on learning about this.

At some point, comically, Peron comes back, wins an election with his wife as vie president, and dies of a heart attack. His wife takes power and does things like empowering the secret police to destroy her enemies, but girlbosses too close to the sun and is ousted after a year.

All this turmoil flattens out somewhat in 2003. I have no idea what went right. They tried Peronism! They tried anti-Peronism! They tried leftist terrorism and rightist terrorism! They tried OG Peron again! They tried Peron's third wife! They tried nationalization and privatization! They tried protectionism and not-protectionism!

Nestor Kirchner, whose rule coincided with the improvement, had "neo-Keynesian" policies, but who knows if that was it. He didn't run for reelection but said "try my wife, she'll do fine", and so she won the next cycle. Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner did well enough that she was reelected. People didn’t like her successor and brought her back as a vice president, but there were what sound like normal-for-South-America levels of corruption scandals during much of her time in office, and last month she was sentenced to six years in prison and a lifetime ban from holding public office.

I have a number of hypotheses as to why Argentina crashed so hard when it had and has so many prerequisites for success, and they all sound stupid when I write them out, so I won’t. But I will gesture at my confusion and amazement.

#rambl #argentina #2023antarcticatrip

[pro-logue-epi-logue]

RANDOM DEVIL'S NIGHT THOUGHTS

~NUMBER 10~

Summary of those 9 years. What must have happened with Emory. How Emory lived in those years?

PART - I

( This is my thinking taking in consideration of Emory's character and how different events unfolded, but if you have any thoughts to add, then do it, i will love to know what other think of those 9 years). And do comment i would live to know what you thought of this.

I didn't add timelines but if you want let me know! ( it can make it easier for you to understand )

1. Emory in High-school ( senior year)

Obviously Emmy didn't date anyone in her senior year because she was still heartbroken for will, she missed him everyday, and neither were there any hookups and she didn't had any friend NOT EVEN ONE!, Martin was worse, he beat her everyday because he knew about Will and that Em loved him and he hated that and to take out his normal frustration because he was sick. She was all alone. She had to endure all of this ALONE! She had to take care of grandmere alone, handle martin, worry for school and her college application ALL ALONE! Along with this she also had to pretend like she isn't deeply in love with Will and missed him everyday. She first completely gave up on THE GAZEBOO but after 6 or 7 months just forced the finish. Everybody congratulated her on this and Martin, he hugged her that day and Em felt sick to her throat.

She used to have movie marathons with Grandmere when Martin wasn't home because a part of her thought it would be her last and she wanted to care for her and lover her. Most of the time during these marathons ( which was mostly 1 movie a time because Grandmere needed sleep) she thought of will and their theater date, how she was happy that day, how he took a bad day and made it amazing, better and how he gave her his tie, tears would fill her eyes which Grandmere didn't notice, after leaving the room she would go to her room look at where once will stood then laid on her bed and cried, sometimes, and sometimes missed him so much it was unbearable. She almost picked her phone to call him more than once but didn't because there was a reson they are not together in first place.

During this year's Devil's Night she waited for Will to visit from college, just look at him from afar to know that he is being loved like he deserved. She just wanted to see the person she loved the most, the only one who hugged her last, and to see what she lost. She was disappointed when he didn't arrive but relieved that he didn't have to see her. She just wanted to see his face just once, to see him smile.

She didn't use the Carfax room that much because Martin was taping her location but it was her safe place without it she wouldn't have made it alive.

She was very worried for Grandmere, what will happen to her and all and decided to give he funds to Grandmere's care because she got scholarship from college and she took some loans.

She got accepted into most universities she applied to thanks to THE GAZEBOO!, but she choose UC Berkeley because it was the farthest from home, that is Martin.

She graduated as a Valedictorian( obviously, duh!), a small part of her thought Will would maybe showup at the ceremony but she knew he wouldn't, and he didn't. She gave a speech but didn't thank Martin. He beat her again for this.

She tried way to hard to convince Martin to transfer Grandmere's care to her but he wouldn't( because he is a damn bastard), but she somehow convinced him to used the money in funds on Grandmere and send her to best facility.

Martin beat Em so bad that night before they had to transfer grandmere that she was bleeding from her mouth and couldn't even walk properly, but they both showed up to the facility to drop grandmere because they had to uphold the " best sibling duo" reputation.

When grandmere was perfectly settled in her new home Em came back home packed her bags EVERYTHING she could except for the pictures behind the shelf( she forgot about those) but didn't take those books that Martin "gifted" her. She looked around her room one last time a bitter sweet feeling, she used to think she would love this day but she just wanted out from here, she had already took one last tour of the house when she was packing Grandmere's things she stood in her parents room but was way to overwhelmed now not knowing what to say or think,she came back in her room took her bags then she descended the stairs and went straight to the gate fully aware that Martin was standing right there leaning on the kitchen counter watching her where he used to hit her way to many times, she opened to door got out and closed the door behind her, it didn't slam that hard, she didn't say goodbye to him because he didn't deserve that he was the monster of her life that ruined everything. She got into the cab that had been waiting for her to take her to the airport, she looked down at her one way plane ticket and thought, " he could have the entire house to him now, he can date anyone because now no one will reject him because he had a sister and grandma". A thought crossed her will he be sad for everything he did? That she left? She didn't care anymore though He can live his life according to his way how he always wanted, because she is going to live her life out of thunder bay now. She looked outside the cab window that went through the front of the theater, her old school, THE GAZEBOO and she even caught a view of the cove, her herat squeezed so tight it was hard to breathe, she thought of Will and realization finally dawned she is leaving and never coming back she will never meet Will again. She will now have a life in different city with different people, strangers.

#random devils night thoughts #the devils night #the devil's night #devil's night #devils night #the devil's night series #emory scott #the devils night series #devils night series

[gretchensinister]

Daily Fic Highlight: The Doors of Perception

Today's winner of the kudos email is:

The Doors of Perception is a Pitch/Sandy human AU which begins in San Francisco in the 1960s. Perhaps my summary from Ao3 helps introduce it best:

It is the spring of 1967. Sandy is twenty years old, and he would be a sophomore at Berkeley if he was still attending classes. Instead, he is living in an old house in the Haight-Ashbury. He likes it there. He’s found something he’s good at, that people love him for. Sandy is the best trip guide in San Francisco, and everyone who’s turned on knows it.

Kozzy (human Pitch) meets Sandy because he's looking for a trip guide, and thus begins a decades-long romance with more than its fair share of trouble on its way to the HEA. 43,892 words, M, M/M and F/M (Jack/Tooth).

This fic had a few surprising responses to me when it first came out; namely, that some people were wary of reading it because of the drug use. And privately I was like, ? It's psychedelics, that's just good fun and opening your mind, this isn't some sordid DARE scare-piece. But not everyone has 60s counterculture or psychedelics as research interests, right, right.

One of the other surprising responses, which I will be vague about for privacy reasons, was in reply to one certain incident in the story, where I wrote it thinking, "maybe this is unrealistic," and later a reader told me that something very similar had happened to them IRL.

So, I think I did the best I could writing about a lot of years, places, and experiences that aren't directly mine.

Sample:

A couple months ago, rumors had started going around about a new rich kid who had run away to the Haight-Ashbury. He was from old east coast money, they said. Said his last name was Black, but he slipped up once after a few bong hits and turned out it was really Pitchiner. Everyone knew what that meant. Politics. Media conglomerates. Real estate. The people that made The System. So wasn’t it sort of fair, you know, that he just didn’t seem to fit in? The guy didn’t even own a pair of jeans! Black wool pants, black turtleneck, did he think they were all still beatniks? Still, it wasn’t as though no one would let him stay with them. They’d share their space, their food, their acid. Then again, the first time they had done that, it had turned out to be an utter disaster. Pitchiner had freaked out in a major way (“I’m not me anymore! Don’t let me let the black shadows out!”), which had caused everyone else to freak out, and the house he was staying at had used up all the thorazine they had thought they would need for the entire year in order to calm everyone down. This doesn’t deter him, however, from trying again. And again. And again. Eventually someone tells him to go see Sandy if he’s going to be so pigheaded about becoming a psychonaut when it doesn’t even make him feel good, and eventually someone tells Sandy about a guy even he might not even be able to bring to enlightenment.

#pitch black #sanderson mansnoozie #rise of the guardians #blacksand shipping #rotg #the doors of perception #fun fact: with this and Incarnation I've now written two fics where 'how do these characters get money/stuff' #is answered by 'making and distributing psychedelics' #the only honorable exchange of goods lol #if I ever put human AU SkekGra and UrGoh anywhere I would integrate them into this AU #daily fic highlight

[wooodyguthrie]

Trial of the Chicago Seven - TESTIMONY OF PHILIP DAVID OCHS

The Chicago Seven were seven defendants—Rennie Davis, David Dellinger, John Froines, Tom Hayden, Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, and Lee Weiner—charged by the United States federal government with conspiracy, crossing state lines with intent to incite a riot, and other charges related to anti-Vietnam War and 1960s counterculture protests in Chicago, Illinois, during the 1968 Democratic National Convention.

The trial lasted for months, with over 100 witnesses called by the defense, including singers Phil Ochs, Judy Collins, Arlo Guthrie, and Country Joe McDonald; comedian Dick Gregory; writers Norman Mailer and Allen Ginsberg; and activists Timothy Leary and Jesse Jackson.

Full testimony under the cut

MR. KUNSTLER: Will you state your full name, please?

THE WITNESS: Philip David Ochs.

MR. KUNSTLER: What is your occupation?

THE WITNESS: I am a singer, a folksinger.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, Mr. Ochs, can you indicate what kind of songs you sing?

THE WITNESS: I write all my own songs and they are just simple melodies with a lot of lyrics. They usually have to do with current events and what is going on in the news. You can call them topical songs, songs about the news, and then developing into more philosophical songs later.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, Mr. Ochs, did there ever come a time when you met any of the defendants at this table?

THE WITNESS: Yes. I met Jerry Rubin in 1964 when he was organizing one of the first teach-ins against the war in Vietnam in Berkeley. He called me up. He asked me to come and sing.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now did you have any occasion after that to receive another such call from Mr. Rubin?

THE WITNESS: I met him a few times later in regard to other political actions. I met him in Washington at the march they had at the Pentagon incident, at the big rally before the Pentagon

.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, Mr. Ochs, have you ever been associated with what is called the Youth International Party, or, as we will say, the Yippies?

THE WITNESS: Yes. I helped design the party, formulate the idea of what Yippie was going to be, in the early part of 1968.

MR. KUNSTLER: Can you indicate to the Court and jury what Yippie was going to be, what its purpose was for its formation?

THE WITNESS: The idea of Yippie was to be a form of theater politics, theatrically dealing with what seemed to be an increasingly absurd world and trying to deal with it in other than just on a straight moral level. They wanted to be able to act out fantasies in the street to communicate their feelings to the public.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, were any of the defendants at the table involved in the formation of the Yippies?

THE WITNESS: Yes, Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman.

MR. KUNSTLER: Can you just point to and identify which one is Jerry Rubin and which one is Abbie Hoffman?

THE WITNESS: Yes, Jerry Rubin with the headband and Abbie Hoffman with the smile.

MR. KUNSTLER: Can you indicate in general to the Court and jury what the plans were for the Yippies in Chicago during the Democratic National Convention?

THE WITNESS: The plans were essentially--

MR. FORAN: I object.

THE COURT: I sustain the objection.

MR. KUNSTLER: Your Honor, one of the central roles in this case is the Yippie participation around the Democratic National Convention.

THE COURT: I don't see that allegation in the indictment.

MR. KUNSTLER: Well, the indictment charges these two men with certain acts in connection with the Democratic National Convention.

THE COURT: These two men and others, but not as Yippies, so-called, but-- as individuals.

MR. KUNSTLER: All right, your Honor, I will rephrase the question. Did there come a time when Jerry and Abbie discussed their plans?

THE WITNESS: Yes, they did, around the middle of January at Jerry's. Present there, besides Abbie and Jerry, I believe, was Paul Krassner and Ed Sanders. Tim Leary was there at one point.

MR. KUNSTLER: Can you tell the conversation from Jerry and Abbie, as to their plans in coming to Chicago around the Democratic National Convention?

THE WITNESS: OK. Jerry Rubin planned to have a Festival of Life during the National Convention, basically representing an alternate culture. They would theoretically sort of spoof the Convention and show the public, the media, that the Convention was not to be taken seriously because it wasn't fair, and wasn't going to be honest, and wasn't going to be a democratic convention. They discussed getting permits. They discussed flying to Chicago to talk with Mayor Daley. They several times mentioned they wanted to avoid violence. They went out of their way on many different occasions to talk with the Mayor or anybody who could help them avoid violence--

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, Mr. Ochs, do you know what guerrilla theater is?

THE WITNESS: Guerrilla theater creates theatrical metaphors for what is going on in the world outside.

For example, a guerrilla theater might do, let us say, a skit on the Viet Cong, it might act out a scene on a public street or in a public park where some actually play the Viet Cong, some actually play American soldiers, and they will dramatize an event, basically create a metaphor, an image, usually involving humor, usually involving a dramatic scene, and usually very short. This isn't a play with the theme built up. It's just short skits, essentially.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did Jerry Rubin or Abbie Hoffman ask you to do anything at any time?

MR. FORAN: I object to that.

THE COURT: I sustain the objection.

MR. FORAN: I object to it as leading and suggestive.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did you have any discussion with Abbie and Jerry about your role?

THE WITNESS: Yes. In early February at Abbie's apartment.

MR. KUNSTLER: Can you state what Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin said to you and what you said to them?

THE WITNESS: They discussed my singing at the Festival of Life. They asked me to contact other performers to come and sing at the Festival. I talked to Paul Simon of Simon and Garfunkel. I believe I talked with Judy Collins.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did there come a time, Mr. Ochs, when you came to Chicago in 1968?

THE WITNESS: I came campaigning for Eugene McCarthy on M-Day, which I believe was August 15, at the Lindy Opera House, I believe.

MR. KUNSTLER: After you arrived in Chicago did you have any discussion with Jerry?

THE WITNESS: Yes, I did. We discussed the nomination of a pig for President.

MR. KUNSTLER: Would you state what you said and what Jerry said.

THE WITNESS: We discussed the details. We discussed going out to the countryside around Chicago and buying a pig from a farmer and bringing him into the city for the purposes of his nominating speech.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did you have any role yourself in that?

THE WITNESS: Yes, I helped select the pig, and I paid for him.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, did you find a pig at once when you went out?

THE WITNESS: No, it was very difficult. We stopped at several farms and asked where the pigs were.

MR. KUNSTLER: None of the farmers referred you to the police station, did they?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. FORAN: Objection.

THE COURT: I sustain the objection.

MR. KUNSTLER: Mr. Ochs, can you describe the pig which was finally bought?

MR. FORAN: Objection.

THE COURT., I sustain the objection.

MR. KUNSTLER: Would you state what, if anything, happened to the pig?

THE WITNESS: The pig was arrested with seven people.

MR. KUNSTLER: When did that take place?

THE WITNESS: This took place on the morning of August 23, at the Civic Center underneath the Picasso sculpture.

MR. KUNSTLER: Who were those seven people?

THE WITNESS: Jerry Rubin. Stew Albert, Wolfe Lowenthal, myself is four; I am not sure of the names of the other three.

MR. KUNSTLER: What were you doing when you were arrested?

THE WITNESS: We were arrested announcing the pig's candidacy for President.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did Jerry Rubin speak?

THE WITNESS: Yes, Jerry Rubin was reading a prepared speech for the pig---the opening sentence was something like, "I, Pigasus, hereby announce my candidacy for the Presidency of the United States." He was interrupted in his talk by the police who arrested us.

MR. KUNSTLER: What was the pig doing during this announcement?

MR. FORAN: Objection.

MR. KUNSTLER: Do you remember what you were charged with?

THE WITNESS: I believe the original charge mentioned was something about an old Chicago law about bringing livestock into the city, or disturbing the peace, or disorderly conduct, and when it came time for the trial, I believe the charge was disorderly conduct.

MR. KUNSTLER: Were you informed by an officer that the pig had squealed on you?

MR. FORAN: Objection. I ask it be stricken.

THE WITNESS: Yes.

THE COURT: I sustain the objection. When an objection is made do not answer until the Court has ruled. . .

* * * * * *

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, I call your attention to Sunday, August 25, 1968. Did you have any occasion to see Jerry Rubin?

THE WITNESS: Well, ultimately I saw him at his apartment in Old Town that night.

MR. KUNSTLER: Do you remember approximately what time that was?

THE WITNESS: I guess it was around, maybe, 9:30 approximately 9:30, 10:00. He was laying in bed. He said he was very ill. He was very pale. We had agreed to go to Lincoln Park that night, and so I said, "I hope You are still going to Lincoln Park." He said, "I don't know if I can make it, I seem to he very ill." I cajoled him, and I said, I said, "Come on. you're one of the Yippies. You can't not go to Lincoln Park." He said, "OK," and he got up, and he went to Lincoln Park with me, and I believe Nancy, his girlfriend, and my girlfriend Karen, the four of us walked from his apartment to Lincoln Park.

MR. KUNSTLER: And did you enter the park?

THE WITNESS: Just the outskirts, I mean we basically stood in front of the Lincoln Hotel, and walked across the street from the Lincoln Hotel and stood in the outskirts of the park.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, did there come a time when people began to leave Lincoln Park?

THE WITNESS: Yes, I guess it was around eleven o'clock at night.

MR. KUNSTLER: What did you do at that time?

THE WITNESS: Continued standing there. We stood there and watched them run right at us, as a matter of fact.

MR. KUNSTLER: Who was with you at this time?

THE WITNESS: The same people I mentioned before.

MR. KUNSTLER: Had you been together continuously since You first left the apartment?

THE WITNESS: Continuously.

MR. KUNSTLER: And from the time you left the apartment to this time, did you see Jerry Rubin wearing a helmet at any time?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. KUNSTLER: By the way, how long have you known Jerry Rubin?

THE WITNESS: I have known Jerry Rubin approximately four years.

MR. KUNSTLER: Have you ever seen him smoke a cigarette?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. KUNSTLER: Mr. Ochs, you said there came a time when you left the area. Where did you go?

THE WITNESS: We walked through the streets following the crowd.

MR. KUNSTLER: And can you describe what you saw as you followed the crowd?

THE WITNESS: They were just chaotic and sort of unformed, and people just continued away from the park and just seemed to move, I think toward the commercial area of Old Town where the nightclubs are and then police Clubs were there too, and it was just a flurry of movement of people all kinds of ways.

MR. SCHULTZ: If the Court please, the witness was asked what he observed and that was not responsive to the question. If you would simply tell the witness to listen carefully to the question so he can answer the questions.

THE COURT: I did that this morning. You are a singer but you are a smart fellow, I am sure.

THE WITNESS: Thank you very much. You are a judge and you are a smart fellow.

THE COURT: I must ask you to listen carefully to the questions of the lawyer and answer the question. Answer the questions; do not go beyond them.

MR. KUNSTLER: At any time, did you see Jerry Rubin enter Lincoln Park?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, Mr. Ochs, I call your attention to sometime in the vicinity of 6:00 p.m. Tuesday, August 27. Did you see Jerry Rubin?

THE WITNESS: Yes, in Lincoln Park. He asked me to come and sing at a meeting.

MR. KUNSTLER: Do you know what time approximately you sang after arriving there, how long after arriving there?

THE WITNESS: Approximately a half-hour.

MR. KUNSTLER: Was anything happening in that half-hour while you were there?

THE WITNESS: Bobby Seale was speaking.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did Jerry Rubin speak at all?

THE WITNESS: Yes, after I sang.

MR. KUNSTLER: Did you sing a song that day?

THE WITNESS: Yes, "I Ain't Marching Anymore."

MR. KUNSTLER: Did you sing at anybody's request?

THE WITNESS: At Jerry Rubin's request. .

MR. KUNSTLER: I am showing you what has been marked at D-147 for identification and I ask you if you can identify that exhibit.

THE WITNESS: This is the guitar I played "I Ain't Marching Anymore" on.

THE COURT: How can you tell? You haven't even looked at it.

THE WITNESS: It is my case.

THE COURT: Are you sure the guitar is in there?

THE WITNESS: I am checking.

MR. KUNSTLER: Open it up, Mr. Ochs, and see whether that is your guitar,

THE WITNESS: That is it, that is it.

MR. KUNSTLER: Now, would you stand and sing that song so the jury can hear the song that the audience heard that day?

MR. SCHULTZ: If the Court please, this is a trial in the Federal District Court. It is not a theater. We don't have to sit and listen to the witness sing a song. Let's get on with the trial. I object.

MR. KUNSTLER: Your Honor, this is definitely an issue in the case. Jerry Rubin has asked for a particular song to be sung. What the witness sang to the audience reflects both on Jerry Rubin's intent and on the mood of the crowd.

THE COURT: I sustain the objection.

MR. KUNSTLER: Your Honor, he is prepared to sing it exactly as he sang it on that day,

THE COURT: I am not prepared to listen, Mr. Kunstler.

MR. KUNSTLER: Do you recall how long after you sang in Lincoln Park that you were somewhere else?

THE WITNESS: I arrived at the next place around seven-thirty, quarter to eight at the Coliseum.

MR. KUNSTLER: Were any of the defendants present at that time?

THE WITNESS: Abbie Hoffman was there, and I do not remember if Jerry Rubin was there.

MR. KUNSTLER: Where did you see Abbie Hoffman first that night at the Coliseum?

THE WITNESS: When he raced in front of me on the stage when I was introduced to Ed Sanders. He said, "Here's Phil Ochs," and as I walked forward, Abbie Hoffman raced in front of me and took the microphone and proceeded to give a speech. I was upstaged by Abbie Hoffman.

MR. KUNSTLER: At the time when you first saw Abbie Hoffman there that night, can you approximate as best you can the time it was when you first saw him take the microphone?

THE WITNESS: Approximately 8:30.

MR. KUNSTLER: Your Honor, I have no further questions.

* * * * * *

MR. SCHULTZ: You were at the Bandshell, were you not?

THE WITNESS: Yes.

MR. SCHULTZ: What time did you arrive at the Bandshell?

THE WITNESS: I don't remember. I'd guess it was around three or after in the afternoon.

MR. FORAN: You seem to have a little trouble with time. Do you carry a watch with you?

THE WITNESS: Just lately.

MR. FORAN: As a matter of fact, when it comes to time during that week, it is pretty much of a guess, isn't it?

THE WITNESS: I guess so.

MR. FORAN: And the time you arrived at the Coliseum it was 9:00 or 9:30, isn't that right? Or at 6:00 or 6:30?

THE WITNESS: No, because the normal opening time of the shows was around 8:00 and I think the show was starting when I got there. That is a safer guess than the other time.

MR. FORAN: It is still a guess though, isn't it?

THE WITNESS: Yes, it is a guess.

MR. SCHULTZ: And now you say at the Coliseum, Abbie Hoffman upstaged you, is that right?

THE WITNESS: Yes. I was walking toward the microphone and he raced in front of me.

MR. SCHULTZ: And he led the crowd in a chant of "Fuck LBJ" didn't he?

THE WITNESS: Yes, yes, I think he did.

MR. SCHULTZ: You didn't remember that on direct examination very well, didn't you?

THE WITNESS: I guess not.

MR. SCHULTZ: Abbie Hoffman is a friend of yours, isn't he?

THE WITNESS: Yes and no.

MR. SCHULTZ: Now in your plans for Chicago, did you plan for public fornication in the park?

THE WITNESS: I didn't.

MR. SCHULTZ: In your discussions with either Rubin or Hoffman did you plan for public fornication in the park?

THE WITNESS: No, we did not seriously sit down and plan public fornication in the park.

MR. SCHULTZ: Did Rubin say at any of these meetings that you must cause disruptions during the Convention and on through Election Day, mass disruptions?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. SCHULTZ: Was there any discussion when you were planning your Yippie programs by either Rubin or Hoffman of going into the downtown area and taking over hotels for sleeping space?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. SCHULTZ: Did the defendant Rubin during your planning discussion tell you if he ever had the opportunity and at one of his earliest opportunities he would, when he found some policemen who were isolated in the park, draw a crowd around him and bring the crowd to the policemen and attack the policemen with rocks and stones and bottles, and shout profanities at the policemen, tell them to take off their guns and fight? Did he ever say he was going to do that?

THE WITNESS: No, he didn't, Mr. Schultz.

MR. SCHULTZ: Now, Mr. Ochs, you say that on Sunday night you were with Mr. Rubin all night, is that right?

THE WITNESS: From 9:30 maybe, until after 12:00.

MR. SCHULTZ: And of course you have been told by somebody that there is evidence that Mr. Rubin was in Lincoln Park that night, isn't that right? Well, were you told, or not?

THE WITNESS: Yes.

MR. SCHULTZ: Were you told that somebody saw him with a cigarette in his hand?

THE WITNESS: No, I was not told that.

MR. SCHULTZ: Well, what were you told, please?

THE WITNESS: I was told very little. I was told that Jerry was accused of something

MR. SCHULTZ: Who told you all these things?

THE WITNESS: Mr. Kunstler told me the one thing, not all these things, something that Jerry was accused of something in the park on Sunday night, and that's all I was told, nothing else.

MR. SCHULTZ: You don't want to get Mr. Kunstler into trouble, do you?

MR. KUNSTLER: Your Honor, first of all--

MR. SCHULTZ: Suddenly he backs off--suddenly he backs off. It is all too patent, your Honor.

THE COURT: Will the record show that Mr. Kunstler--

MR. KUNSTLER: Yes, I did, your Honor, I think it is a disgraceful statement in front of a jury.

THE COURT: --threw a block of papers noisily to the floor.

MR. KUNSTLER: All right. I dropped papers noisily to the floor.

THE COURT: I shall not hear from you in that tone, sir.

MR. KUNSTLER: I am sorry for putting the paper on the table, and it fell off onto the floor, but to say in front of a jury, "That is too patent" and "What are you backing off for?" I think, your Honor, any Court in the land would hold that is unconscionable conduct, and if I am angry, I think I am righteously so in this instance.

THE COURT: That will be all.

Continue with your cross-examination.

MR. SCHULTZ: In any event, Mr. Ochs, you are absolutely sure you never really went beyond the fringes of the park with Jerry Rubin that night, isn't that right?

THE WITNESS: Yes.

MR. SCHULTZ: You just stood right along the fringes all that night, you never went in to see what was happening at the command post, did you?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. SCHULTZ: You never walked in to see what was happening at the fieldhouse, did you?

THE WITNESS: No.

MR. SCHULTZ: That is all, your Honor.

THE COURT: You may step down.

(witness excused)

THE COURT: Don't forget your guitar.

THE WITNESS: I won't.

THE COURT: Call your next witness.

#links #history #trial of the chicago seven #musicians #activists #phil ochs

[jugayism]

I got my California green card!!!!!!

#im so fucking relieved #I got into UC Berkeley 7 months ago #and they wouldnt evaluate my residency claim until now #terrified they would say I dont qualify and then I’d have zero aid and not be able to go #they have so many restrictions and qualifiers #I had to prove financial independence because my mom doesnt live in California #I couldnt leave the state for a year (not that I went anywhere anyway because covid) #legit if they said no I was going to marry my boyfriend to qualify #green card wedding avoided #I love the great state of California and their comprehensive financial aid program #I prepared a 20 page document with all my financial info #and all my leases and taxes for the last 3 years #god Im so happy thats over with

[ashiemochi]

anubussy - xiii (i)

✠ Anubussy ↳ sorry, i don't want your touch ↳↳ it's not that i don't want you

➶ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ➶ genre: fluff, more angst, gore, longer smut/suggestive themes ➶ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

prev -> next

The Berkeley Hotel Richmond, Virginia.

It had been several hours since the fall of Glenn Arias – since he’d last seen her.

After the vaccine was distributed all over the infected streets, Chris asked Leon to trust him to get So Ah to a safer place to recover. Understandably, Leon refused, snapping about how he almost witnessed her die right before his eyes. The BSAA operator would keep his voice low, wary eyes glancing at his team in case they’d hear them.

“What, Chris? What else are you keeping from me?”

“I’ve said what I could, Leon – the rest is on her. Now, you either let me get her help, or we could just stay here and argue while she gets worse.”

“You think after months of not seeing her, I’d just let you take her? According to what you told me, she’s been out there hunting your men down. What’s to tell me that you won’t take her back to the BSAA? Huh?!”

“Goddamn it, Leon – keep it down! I’m trying to help her here; you included. Let me take her. I’ve got someone who can get her patched up without HQ knowing. She’d want the same thing.”

The subconscious girl was still whimpering, seemingly better but god knows how long it’d take for her ribs to mend back together. Leon couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, watching some masked-up man approach them and pick her up to take her to his car. Chris had to hold his arm to prevent Leon from even attempting to go, giving him a firm look.

It was as clear as the skies during a hot summer day; Leon had just gotten his wife back, and he didn’t want her out of his sight for a long time again.

That was around five hours ago. It was close to midnight and still no update. His throat had gotten used to the stinging sensation of the cheap whiskey. The glass clanked on the wooden coffee table a bit too harshly but honestly, he didn’t care. 

Leon trailed his eyes to the wedding band in between his thumb and index, staring at it. He was still in his attire, minus the jacket. Having entered his hotel room, his legs beelined to the kitchen, the first thing in mind was the alcoholic beverage in his fridge.

It was his last night in this hotel room, having to be at the Whitehouse for a debriefing tomorrow afternoon. He’d probably have to move back to Washington DC where his mansion was. It didn’t feel like home, which was why he left in the first place. Something or someone was missing from it and put him on edge for days.  

Twirling the silver wedding band, Leon tilted his head to the side. He really didn’t know what to believe about So Ah. After years of knowing her, this was unexpected. He should’ve figured something was suspicious about those frequent ‘mini-missions’ she had been getting after their honeymoon. 

Even during their little vacation, he’d always catch her on the phone and she’d sound hushed so he wouldn’t hear. When asked about the call, she’d wave him off, telling him Jaehyun was being Jaehyun.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Tons upon tons of questions he had were unanswered, leaving them to roam around his head like some measly fly during an annoying hot day. Right now, she clouded his mind; her well-being. 

Knocking at the door took his attention away, a silent hum emitting from him when he turned his head towards the door. It wasn’t room service because one, he didn’t order any, and two, the housekeeper would announce that it was room service. 

The knocks came back but were hesitant as if they were worried about being annoying. It was three knocks with a second of silence between the second and the third one. 

Releasing a hefty sigh, Leon slipped on the ring as he made his way to the door. He unlocked it and swung it open. As if he was in the mirror chanting Bloody Mary three times, So Ah stood in front of him, her clenched hand frozen in mid-air.

His eyes widened subtly in surprise, not expecting the visit. It seemed as if she was just as dumbfounded to be at his door. 

She wore a white short-sleeved shirt, with the said sleeves being pale pink, tucked into her light blue circle skirt. For her simple white sneakers, she went for a pair of ruffled socks. With the night being breezy, she wore her brown cardigan. 

She was still injured but a lot better. A bandage patch was on her cheek, and with most of her wounds being internal, Leon could only assume they were all healed and wondered if there were more gauze wrapped around her body.

“Uhm… Hi.”

✠✠

“How did you know where I live?”

So Ah lowered her arm to join the leather jacket folded over her other arm – the good one. She swallowed thickly, shifting slightly from one foot to another.

“Chris told me.” 

More like she was stubborn enough. Once she had woken up with Piers sitting nearby with the laptop over his lap, she instantly noticed Chris across from him. At that moment, she thought he was going to take her in but instead, he explained what he told Leon. 

And at first, she couldn’t breathe, almost panicking, yet she forced herself to catch her bearings for the sake of her ribs. In a split second, thousands of what-ifs rushed to her head. Leon knew about what she had been up to for months. It rattled her heart, filling her up with dread inch by inch that she felt suffocated. 

Chris only reminded her that he hadn’t mentioned a single thing about the tracker and kept what he told Leon as vague as possible. He was leaving her to do the explanation, and he gave her the address when she asked for it. Piers, as always, helped her get to the hotel undetected with a tilted smile; “Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

And she knew he was right – she was basically stepping into the lion’s den. 

“Can’t that man ever stop gossiping.” Leon rolled his eyes at her answer and moved further into his hotel room, leaving the door open for her. 

So Ah hesitantly entered the room, letting her eyes dart around. It was a fancy hotel, so she wasn’t surprised by the elegance of it all. The colours were ranging from beige, gold, and brown to white, ocean green, and garnet red. 

The hall was spacious as she watched him go to the main room and it was bigger than the hall itself. That was all she could see from her spot.

“No, I uh, I asked him.” So Ah answered, looking down at the jacket over her arms as if just noticing it, and she gestured to it, “I wanted to see you and uhm, return this.”

Leon stopped in his tracks and turned around, darting his eyes to his jacket and then up to her. Almost like a predator, he approached her; slowly. Every step he took mimicked her thudding heart. His piercing eyes didn’t leave hers for a second, towering over her. His presence itself was emitting heat and she wanted to drop her cardigan for a breather. 

With his chest practically brushing hers, he reached behind her to shut the door, nearly having her cornered. Something about Leon being silent was so unsettling. His face always spoke a thousand words before his lips would reveal anything. The tension was growing more and more the closer he stayed. 

His perceptive azures caught on her hitched breath, knowing she was growing flustered. As quietly as he approached her, he took the jacket from her and moved away. Her personal bubble shook at the emotions stirring up inside of her and she found herself able to breathe again. 

So Ah shut her eyes for a moment to let out a silent sigh, bringing up her hand to wipe the heat rushing to her cheek as she followed him into the room.

The unmade bed was facing the flat TV along with a long couch and a smaller one surrounding a coffee table. From her spot, she saw a room leading to a simple kitchen with all the basic necessities and to her right was what she assumed would be the bathroom. 

Behind the curtains was a sliding door leading out to a beautiful balcony. What caught her attention more was the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table along with his single glove and a glass cup.

Leon tossed the jacket over the couch, rounding it to get his bottle and he raised it up towards her, offering her one. She shook her head, politely refusing it and he shrugged, picking up his cup. 

“Suit yourself.” He sat down on the couch and filled half the cup up.

Clenching and unclenching her hands, she started, “Leon… I’m not only here to see you. I…” She trailed away, unsure of how to go with this, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah,” Leon hummed, taking his first sip of many and gesturing to her hands, “Kind of figured with all the nervous shifting you’re doin’ over there.”

Her eyes dropped down to her hands, seeing them fumbling with one another anxiously. Damn him and his observant eyes. She released her hands, trying to appear more relaxed despite the storm in her nerves. She didn’t know what to expect from him.

“I… I’m assuming you know where I’ve been.” So Ah said, frowning when he wouldn’t look at her. 

“On a murder spree?” Leon asked as if it was just some casual Friday plan, “Yeah, Chris told me a thing or two – told ya’ he’s the gossipy type.”

She watched him down his shot and pour another, “Did he tell you why?”

“No, said that part would be on you.”

“Right. Yeah, of course.” So Ah quickly replied, nodding as she went up to him, “You deserve to hear it from me.”

Leon stared up at her, blinking at her sudden jumpiness to be the one to explain everything. She truly did believe that it was up to her to clean up her mess. She knew he wanted to hear everything from her – from the trusted source – and she wanted to give him that. 

Hiding back his relieved smile, Leon leaned back against the couch as if getting comfortable – manspreading and all. He signalled to the couch in front of him with his free hand. 

Hesitantly, So Ah went to sit down, keeping a straight posture as her anxious thoughts were refusing to let her relax for even a second. It was like she was set on a pedestal at some museum; nothing but a statue in front of her husband. There was no need for her to keep up her false pride. It never did her any good.

Leon kept his sharpsharp eyes on her behind his glass cup, hissing under his breath at the taste of his whiskey. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Han.”

Ouch.

“Okay, uhm…” She shifted in her seat a little as she began to reveal, trying to pick her words as carefully as possible, “What happened was out of my control or anyone for that matter. I went on several undercover missions to expose a corrupted government alliance but it went bad… Horribly bad.”

“They knew it was me and…” She found her hands gripping the edge of her skirt, “And they were going to hurt my family, and everyone I care about.”

Leon’s brow twitched when her eyes located his as she said that last bit.

“So, I had to… I had to go into hiding.”

“With no call or nothing?” Leon shot back, not buying her story, “A little ‘hey babe, I’m alive, by the way! No need to think that your dear ol’ wife had died’ would’ve sufficed.”

His voice choked up at the end, nostrils flaring with knitted brows and he avoided her saddened gaze to take a bigger gulp. So Ah frowned deeply, pushing herself to the edge of her seat. 

“I wanted to tell you, Leon. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to see you.” She pressed on pleadingly, needing him to understand, “But if they had known that we were still in contact, they would’ve come after you.”

Leon narrowed his eyes at her, lowering his glass cup, pointing out, “I’m hearing a lot of they but still no names. Who’s they?”

Ice water washed down her spine, straightening her up once again. The chip beeped silently beneath her skin at the mere thought of the alliance. 

Still too scared to reveal everything, she trailed her eyes down to the coffee table, voice coming out in a whisper, “I… I can’t say.”

Leon scoffed incredulously, a sarcastic smile on his face as if delighted by his expectations being reached, “Great, more fucking secrecy. Okay, different question,” He brought the cup up to his lips, “Who was in your team?”

So Ah visibly winced, eyes shutting for a moment. She reminded herself that he had the right to be mad, bringing her legs together as a feeble attempt to close in her bubble more. Or maybe an attempt for something else because hearing him swear was–

“It wasn’t necessarily a team.” She said, “Just me and someone else.”

“Lemme guess, can’t say?” Leon assumed with a snide and she darted her eyes at him for a moment. 

“Piers.”

He froze at this, actually surprised as his brows shot up, “Nivans? He was a part of this?”

She kind of shook and nodded her head, “Yeah, he helped keep me hidden and all that.”

“That’s a twist,” Leon huffed as he leaned forward to set his empty glass on the table, “So, I’m guessing Chris did know everything from the start. Even though he helped with the missing case… Damn bastard.”

So Ah blinked, brows furrowing in confusion for a split second as he poured himself a cup, “I’m sorry, missing case?”

“Yeah, you were gone for almost a year, remember?” Leon took his cup and returned to his usual position, leaning back against the couch, “Or did it slip your pretty head?”

Silence filled the air when he picked up on the pain in her face. So Ah chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, closing her eyes for a second or two to lower her stress levels. She didn’t want to open Pandora's box to reveal everything she had done. She came into this hotel room and suddenly it felt like an FBI had taken her to the questioning room.

In a way, that was what happened.

Leon sniffled once, changing the topic. He knew of her tendency to grow unresponsive when the situation gets a little too much and right now, he wanted her to respond to every question. He wanted her to keep talking. 

“How is Nivans helping you with this?” He asked, tilting his head to the side and bringing up his leg to rest his ankle over his knee.

“He manages the research on the members of the department, deletes any security footage of us, uhm…” She stopped for a moment to think, “You know, keeps me under the radar.”

The corner of his eye twitched, voice coming out accusatory, “And your role in this is killing those innocent men.”

And like a rubber band–

“They’re not innocent!” So Ah snapped, cinnamons wide – and she froze. 

Leon blinked at her outburst, reading the fear and disgust in her eyes. Slowly, he set his foot down, lowering his drink down to set it on the table. It was more than evident that she was on edge under his perceptive stare. 

“Looks like I hit a nerve,” Leon commented lowly, watching the way she tensed up.

So Ah released a breath. He was always a lot better at interrogation. It was part of his job anyway. She came here seeking forgiveness like a weeping man at the church’s confession booth. The need to spill everything just to ease her heart to beat normally was immense. 

What didn’t help was Leon treating it like a detective looking for answers. He needed information as if he was on a tight schedule, cornering her in every part of her story, assuming the wrong things just to let her correct him; Leon knew what he was doing. 

“Those men…” So Ah muttered, her voice deepening a little, “They’ve done terrible and inhumane things. Maybe they didn’t deserve death but they sure as hell don’t deserve anything less.”

Leon questioned, “Didn’t think of informing a higher authority? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

Her hand automatically shot up, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. She didn’t even know if she had the guts to trust any government worker at this point. 

“Not really…”

“So treason was the right solution.” Leon raised a brow, giving her a stern look; she was coiling up.

“It’s not…” She started, racking her brain for anything but the room felt suffocating, “There was no other way.”

No, don’t shut me out again.

“Then tell me, what did they do?” Leon leaned forward, voice dropping to a desperate tone to coax the truth out of her, “What is this alliance? What happened, So Ah?”

He needed more answers.

Her lips quivered, almost relenting but she stopped herself. Breathing in shakily, she stood up, shaking her head as if defiant – no, something was holding her back.

“I can’t tell you, Leon. I–I’m sorry but it’s too risky.” She apologised then motioned around her with her eyes, “I shouldn't even be here.”

Silence filled the empty space as Leon stared up at her, watching her move away from the table and stop close to the hallway. His lips parted, utterly disappointed. The walls she had built up were keeping him at bay and it was frustrating to be on the other end. Anger rushed through his veins, sending tremors down to his hands – especially when she refused to meet his eyes. 

She was lying again; hiding something again.

A harsh scoff emitted from him, slamming the glass back down once he downed the whole thing in one go. Her eyes followed him when he stood up, a deep scowl on his face as he started approaching her. 

“And you think that’s enough? Enough for me to put my mind at ease?” Leon scolded, narrowing down his iceice eyes at her, “So Ah, you left. For almost a goddamn year, and then you come in here, give me some vague fucking answers, and expect me to be over the moon?”

So Ah stepped back silently, attempting to hide her teary cinnamons, brows curling in the middle at the overwhelming emotion. She hatedhated being yelled at – it always made her want to enter her shell like a scared little turtle. 

It only made Leon’s glare harden at her silence, continuing even when her back hit the wall.

“Our vows meant that less to you, huh?” Leon spat, hurt evident more than ever in his face, “I thought you died, So Ah, because I know how dangerous undercover missions can be. I’ve been to something similar yet I always, always, manage to send you a message.”

“Because I know you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” He asked, trying to read her avoidant eyes before scoffing.

“Of course, it doesn't.” His voice dropped to a lower tone, growling as he stared her down, “Since all you do is run.”

Her heart was taking hit after hit, her glistening eyes widening when he turned around. He walked back to the table, leaving her by the wall. 

She didn’t want to lose him. She was doing everything in her being to keep him safe; but turns out, it was pushing him away day by day.

“Leon, I–I really tried, but–” So Ah’s stammers weren’t doing her justice, and Leon cut her off, stopping her from even attempting to come close.

“It wasn’t fucking enough, So Ah. You left me. No matter how hard you try to twist it around. You. Left. Me.” Leon snapped, jabbing his index finger at himself, not even trying to hide the ache in his shining eyes. 

“Please, I…” So Ah took another step, visibly guilty and afraid. Hesitant even. She was horrified, but not of him. 

All the days being stuck at the BSAA’s lab were returning, tormenting and reminding her of why she did what she did. All in the name of love she convinced herself. She had to go down that road. Now, she was scared to even think about all the lives she took – and what would those corrupted scientists do once they find out she was back to her husband. 

Leon picked up on her panicked state, furrowing his brows suspiciously, “What are you not telling me?”

Yet, all that fear kept her mouth shut, caging her bottom lip in between her teeth. In a way, she hoped he’d be able to figure everything out by just looking into her eyes. He was perceptive, anyway.

Leon blinked at her quietness, shaking his head, “All this time and you never really trusted me, huh?”

“What – No, I do trust you!” She shot back, desperate for him to give her more time, “It’s just–”

He wasn’t having any of it. 

“Then spit it out.”

So Ah couldn’t help but feel the world darkening around her and silencing her when Leon dropped his glower with a heavy sigh, “All those years together, down the drain…” 

A clear indication that he gave up. His shoulders slouched as he picked up the bottle. So Ah was holding back a whimper, wringing her jacket's sleeves so hard that she might as well tear it when he turned around to head to the bathroom.

He barely waved at her without looking, voice sounding heavy with grief and distraught, "Close the door on your way out, will ya? I've got somewhere to be tomo–"

"There's a chip in me."

The words tumbled out before she could even think about it, spilling the truth so quickly. It stilled Leon in his spot and he partially turned to look at her, shock seeping into his frustrated mask. 

"... What?"

Her eyes avoided his, shutting them tightly as she stared down, internally muttering and praying that this was the right choice.

After years and years of hiding it, maybe all they were was empty threats. She never wanted to lose Leon, she wouldn't even dream of it. Seeing how he was treating her, all the scolding, the snide comments; it hurt her. 

What was worse was when he cared for her after defeating Arias. He was always there no matter how many times she had let him down. Every fibre of her being was trembling widely.

He turned around completely, repeating his question with confusion knitting his brows in the centre, "What did you just say?"

“The men at the alliance… They thought it’d be better to keep an eye out for me to monitor the virus,” She explained quietly, turning around and gathering her hair over her shoulder to reveal her nape. 

The obvious painful bruise was spreading like vines on a tree, coating and painting her nerves in darkish purple, close to black. It enunciated her spinal cord. 

“They added a… A safety measure in case the virus gets active again, but during our mission in China, it sort of came off from the damage it sustained… The damage I took.” So Ah dropped her head as if ashamed of the memory, unaware of him setting his bottle down and approaching her, “It’s been there ever since.”

Leon asked, his eyes unable to leave the sight of her neck, “How long?”

“... A while.”

“I need more than just a while, sweetheart,” Leon shot back, “How long has it been there?”

“A few years now…” Her voice grew heavy, keeping her teary eyes focused on the painting in front of her, “Closing in on… On eight.”

Leon’s eyes widened at that revelation, racking his brain as to when it happened. He’d known her for almost nine years – that only meant the chip was implanted when the incident happened.

“That’s right after the…” Leon trailed away when she turned around to face him, nodding as she knew what he was referring to – the night she lost her life.

H-Outbreak.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Her hand went to the back of her neck to soothe the pain, muttering, “They threatened they’d hurt my family… They’d hurt you,” She glanced at him with a soft sigh, “Like I said, I had no other choice.”

So Ah took him for granted. 

Whilst she pulled him away from his horrible days and nights, Leon never went back to those tiring times. but Leon saved her a lot - numerous times.

The H-Outbreak

The pharmacy with the grieving father

The Eastern Slav Republic mission.

Her panic attack when the dreaded nickname from her late family doctor was uttered.

The Tall Oaks incident.

The entirety of the China mission.

All of her breakdowns when she'd be overwhelmed by everything.

Leon was always there and that was where he stayed. Yet, she strayed off to a new low. He didn't seem to care though, silently heading off to save her once again despite being in a dark pit himself.

Leon had her back, trusting her with his life – assuming she had his back as well. He knew she did. The disbelief and denial when he wanted her comfort but didn't find it was strong.

Someone forced her to turn her back on him for his safety's sake. Leon was a selfless man – and she didn't deserve him. 

Or so she believed.

"Who are they?"

So Ah was hesitant, lips opening but not saying anything. They held her tongue in the most horrible of ways. 

To her dismay, Leon’s patience was running thin.

“So Ah,” Leon ticked his head to the side, clearly growing frustrated and more livid than ever, and took a couple steps towards her. 

She stumbled back at the dangerous look on his face, her breath hitching in her throat when the wall stopped her from moving any further. 

God damn these cliches.

She tried to reason, but he really wasn’t having any of it anymore, “Leon, you know I can’t–”

"Oh, I think we're way past secrets now,” Leon let out a fake chuckle, his glare not faltering one bit, “So, who are they?"

“Le–” 

Leon’s voice dropped an even deeper octave, rage beginning to boil under his tone, “Who the fuck are they, So Ah?”

His form towered over hers with ease, having tilted his head down to force eye contact. His broadbroad chest was practically heaving with his audible breathing which made his voice just as such; breathily. Oozing with protectivity and seething with anger, the girl had no choice but to reveal, staring wide-eyed up at him.

“The BSAA.”

Leon’s brow twitched at the information, narrowing his eyes down; after everything he had seen with the government right after he had to let them take Sherry away, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. 

“The virus won’t reactivate, it’s been radio silent for years,” Leon said with a deep scowl forming on his lips, “What do they want from you?”

There was no need to hide anything back now – if the worse outcome happens, she’d take all the guilt. But if something were to happen to him, then she’d have to let her murderous instincts take over. 

It’d be eerily easy because then she’d have nothing to lose. Seeing red was what would be the end of her.

“The H-Virus.” 

Leon blinked, the crease between his brows deepening, “H-Virus?”

“The one Arias wanted to first release to the city,” So Ah spoke quietly as if afraid a BSAA spy was listening in, “It was by pure coincidence that I found the same man who created it.”

Guilt was starting to bubble within Leon; he knew there was something off about all those regular checkups. Every day or night, she’d return home exhausted and would only reassure him that she was just training hard. 

It was all going to be okay, she kept saying. 

“Where is it now?” Leon asked.

“Gone. I had it destroyed.” She replied, tearing her eyes away from his, “It was the only sample so, I don’t think we’ll be seeing it anytime soon.”

Leon didn’t like her avoiding his eyes again. Having been around her enough, he was more than aware of her tendencies and habits to cower from confrontation. She was obviously scared out of her wits, telling him all this – but he needed her to keep talking.

“Did Chris know any of this?” Leon questioned, raising his voice a bit to catch her attention once again – which he did.

So Ah shook her head, “No, he found out just before we came to you at the hotel.”

While Piers was keeping tabs on her, Chris was initially shocked when he was informed about the tracker and how they have been treating her. Even more when his soldier revealed the lives she had taken.

Leon's jaw locked as he moved back, emitting a quiet exhale from her. His hand went up to his hip, the other going to his stubble, recognizing the way she looked so small. 

It was like she was back at Green Life during that awful year. Back then, she was as oblivious to anything as possible, running around in that facility and looking for scraps of information to tell her where to go and what to do.

Right now, she knew every horrible thing and she chose to deal with it on her own.

Something told him it has got to be her guilt for all those victims and broken families of the H-Outbreak. Despite all those therapy sessions and going as far as joining the government, the poor souls of that outbreak hung over her head like vultures. 

This was her punishment, being a lab rat probed and poked, and observed like a hawk.

So Ah inhaled shakily, approaching him slowly, "I know I should've told you–"

"Damn right you should've." Leon cut her off, turning to look at her with sharpsharp azures.

“But I had to try and get rid of it on my own… I’m tired, Leon, I’m so tired…” She continued as she stopped walking, remorse weighing her voice down to a whisper, “I don’t want to go back there again. It feels so alone, fighting a battle I can't seem to win. And I wanted to come home to you so bad, but…”

She trailed away, casting her tearful cinnamons down, “I’m sorry.”

Leon didn’t say anything, chest heaving slightly at the sight of her. It had been soso long.

Ever since he saw her for the first time in months, all he wanted was to grab her face and kiss her till they've got no air left in their lungs. It was igniting something in him that he hadn't felt in such a longlong time. The urge from when he looked at her in Colorado was returning.

It was not fair.

So Ah released a sigh, looking up at him with a look he couldn't quite read, but it was clear she was trying to take the blame once again.

"I understand if you still want to sign the papers, it won't make me love you any less..." She looked away, attempting to hide her teary eyes and using her sleeves to wipe any rolling ones, "Ugh, I fucking ruined everythin–"

Leon kissed her to shut her up.

It was so not fair.

#canon x oc #oc x canon #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil vendetta #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy #resident evil fandom #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy fanfic #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy smut #oc x leon kennedy

[a-modern-major-general]

The lack of academic and professional opportunities in paleontology is made worse by the need for more research funding. Government investment in science in Colombia has been dismal. Leaders across the political spectrum have failed to increase research funding, and the current government is presiding over its decline. Last October, legislators approved a nearly 18 percent reduction of the national science budget; in the debate, many House of Representatives members argued that when factoring in inflation, the real value of the reduction was closer to 25 percent.

Most Colombian paleontologists work for institutions in Europe or North America, where there are many more resources and career opportunities. They often continue to do fieldwork in Colombia, aiming to educate new students and the public. Some have been able to return as university professors and start small research groups and projects. “These small groups are tackling different branches of knowledge and between them slowly developing paleontology in Colombia,” says Cortés.

As research about the country’s ancient past continues to increase, some of the obstacles in Colombia become more evident. The country lacks the technological tools required for more advanced research, such as microcomputed tomography, which uses X-rays to create virtual 3D models of the interior and exterior of an object without destroying it, or synchrotron radiation, which allows researchers to assess the chemical composition of fossils.

Many Colombian fossils found in the 20th century were taken out of the country—in some cases, by employees of the Tropical Oil Company that began petroleum extraction there in the 1920s—and ended up as far away as the University of California, Berkeley, and the American Museum of Natural History in New York.

Ironically, a 2018 decree intended to protect the country’s fossil heritage from this sort of dispossession has become another barrier to paleontologists. While essential to combating illegal poaching and trafficking of fossils, the law can be very restrictive. Palma-Castro spent a few months at the Field Museum in Chicago doing research for his thesis earlier this year. He wanted to use some of the equipment at the museum, but he could only take the fossils out of Colombia once he got the proper permits. Along with a slow bureaucracy at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia, this meant that by the time the fossil transfers were finally approved, Palma-Castro had left Chicago and was back in Colombia.

“I think that the outlook for Colombian paleontology is improving, but we need to do a lot more,” says Cortés. “There is lots of material to study, but we don’t even have a natural history museum.” Only a few small museums and universities in Colombia can properly store and display fossils, limiting citizens’ ability to learn from them.

“I dare to say that many children in Colombia dream about dinosaurs, might even be obsessed with them, but we don’t have many places adapted to encourage these interests,” adds Cortés. The Paleontological Research Center in Villa de Leyva, one of the first places Cortés started to learn about fossils, is one of those few institutions. The center continues to encourage research from college and graduate students, promoting the value of its fossil exhibits to tourists and locals. One of its programs, Guardians of Paleontology, teaches K–12 students about ancient ecosystems and how to study them. Among the current students are a boy developing his own paleoencyclopedia and a girl with dreams of studying paleobotany.

Despite the many challenges and lack of funding, Colombian researchers keep looking for fossils, studying the paleontological record, and finding creative ways to share their work. Recently, 32 Colombian scientists contributed to the second edition of the book Hace Tiempo (Long Ago), writing chapters about their work and the fossils they study. This illustrated book aims to tell the history of Earth through the fossils found in the country. Cortés wrote the chapter about ancient marine reptiles; Jaramillo was one of the editors.

As the number of people who study ancient ecosystems continues to grow, there is optimism for the future of paleontology in Colombia. New locations will be explored, and many more unknown species are waiting to be found. “Imagination falls short of what we might find in the future,” says Palma-Castro.

#science #academia #research #paleontology #dinosaurs #fossils #colombia

[beardedmrbean]

Authorities are befuddled by the disappearance of six people — one man, three women and two young children — from a St. Louis-area home in August, which police believe to be related to the existence of a cult.

It’s been months since Naaman Williams, 29, Gerielle German, 26, her 3-year-old son Ashton Mitchell, Mikayla Thompson, 23, Ma’Kayla Wickerson, 25, and her 3-year daughter Malaiyah were last seen. The group had been living in a rented home in Berkeley, Mo., near St. Louis Lambert International airport.

Berkeley police Major Steve Runge tells PEOPLE that the four missing adults are believed to be part of a cult allegedly revolving around Rashad Jamal, who was convicted of child molestation charges in 2023 and is currently serving a prison sentence in Georgia.

Over the past few years, Jamal has amassed thousands of followers on social media with his spiritual teachings, operating what he calls the University of Cosmic Intelligence, which according to its website is “geared toward enlightening and illuminating minds” of Black and Latino people.

Speaking to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch from prison, Jamal denies being a cult leader and maintained his innocence in his child molestation case.

Runge says some of Jamal’s followers, which he says includes three of the missing adults, have changed their names in honor of those they believe to be spiritual gods or goddesses. Williams is also known as Anubis Aramean, Thompson goes by Antu Anum Ahmat, while Wickerson is Intuahma Aquama Auntil, according to Berkeley police.

According to police, the Berkeley quartet has now allegedly exhibited some of the other followers’ behaviors: total disconnection from family and loved ones, a desire to go off the grid, quitting their jobs and embracing sovereign citizenship, among other behaviors.

“It’s confusing, the internet is [the cult’s] home,” Runge says. “It’s not like ‘OK, we’re going to go to St. Louis.’ No, the internet is its home. [Jamal] has 90,000 followers.”

On Aug. 12, Runge says Wickerson’s mother, Cartisha Morgan, called police and said she was worried about her daughter, who she hadn’t heard from. Days later, detectives began investigating and searched the Berkeley home and found no signs of foul play. Runge says they discovered the group’s Facebook profiles, which contained references to Jamal and were once extremely active and public before the activity abruptly stopped.

Through further investigation, Runge says the group was last seen at a hotel on Aug. 13, in Florissant, Mo. No one has heard from them since.

While Wickerson, who according to her LinkedIn profile once worked for JP Morgan & Chase, and Thompson are both from St. Louis, Williams is from Washington D.C., while German is originally from Lake Horn, Miss., near Memphis.

Thompson, like the other two women, is also the mother of a young child whom she left behind with her mother, according to Runge.

Runge believes the missing group will resurface eventually, most likely when they run out of money.

“I know we’re going to find them,” Runge says. “It’s just a matter of going through the motions … we are going to put in the work.”

Morgan spoke to PEOPLE and says she is worried about both her daughter and granddaughter, whom she hasn’t seen in months. She believes Wickerson had been suffering from depression following the birth of her daughter, and that she was preyed upon as a result.

“I'm not doing so well, but I'm just holding on by my faith,” Morgan tells PEOPLE. “I just wish that people are made aware of this.”

Wickerson had been living with her mother while she was pregnant before moving out in November 2022. Morgan last heard from her daughter in March 2023. Malaiyah, Wickerson’s daughter, just turned 3 in October, Morgan says.

Morgan recalls Wickerson telling her she was feeling overwhelmed as a mother. Looking back, she now thinks her daughter was crying out for help and that there were signs her daughter wasn’t OK.

Still, Morgan says her daughter was very family-oriented, making her disappearance “astonishing.”

“Ma’Kayla, we love you and we want the best for you,” Morgan says. “We would like for her to come back home. We are going to get her the help that we need. Your spiritual journey is your spiritual journey. If you want to be your best self, we understand that, but we love you and we just want you to come back home.”

#nunyas news

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Can you update the Steter BroTP tag (I think it's been 2 years since the last update), preferably sterek romantic pairing or gen

Sure.

(as the question) so the answer by RosePerSomnium

(1/2 I 925 I Teen I No Pairing)

Sidetracked from his current project, Stiles investigates Peter's aversion to touch.

You Salvage The Ashes Of Who I Once Was by Lamely_Me

(1/1 I 1,929 I Teen I No Pairing)

Peter has been hunting Stiles for months now when Scott has come up empty in all ways possible, to absolutely no one's surprise. It takes time and expenses and desperation, but Peter does find the human.

Except that the boy is no longer human.

Peter has a decision to make.

Wild (Blue Neighborhood) by BeautyOnFyre

(1/1 I 11,029 I Teen I Sterek)

Peter's lethargic body was unresponsive as he sat in the wheelchair, endlessly staring out the window of his hospital room. His side twinged a bit from the rough scrubbing the nurse had given his mottled flesh earlier and he ached to move even a finger.

"Uncle Peter?" The small voice was behind him in the doorway. He remembered that voice. Contrary to the title bestowed from the small girl that rounded his chair into his line of sight, Stiles Stilinski was not related to Peter at all.

Or how Stiles and Peter became best friends for life and brought Stiles into the Pack.

This love is like wildfire by adara

(2/2 I 12,058 I Teen I Sterek)

In which Stiles is a volunteer firefighter dealing with a fire that's creeping up on Beacon Hills and Derek and Stiles both realize they've been missing some important information over the years.

It takes a village by pixieblade

(10/? I 24,970 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles is tired. He's tired of always having to defend himself to his so-called best friend. He's tired of being ignored and he's tired of the Pack never having his back.

So this is his line. He'd draw it in the sand, but all he has is a glitter sharpie.

It'll have to do.

I've Lived A Better Day by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(18/18 I 32,818 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When Stiles comes across a rogue Alpha during his first year at Berkeley, the ensuing fight doesn't exactly go his way. He calls an unlikely ally to help him with his transition, and finds out his new pack isn't quite who he might have thought it would be.

Stiles is now left with the task of trying to figure out how his old life will fit in with his new, but that is not without its challenges.

A Wolf's Ribbon by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(6/6 I 36,091 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek had been coached on how to approach the child heir apparent while hundreds of eyes watched him. He kept his eyes focused on the cradle, leaning over the edge as best he could to see the baby everyone had been talking about.

Stiles smiled when he saw Derek, kicking his legs out as he reached a hand up for him. He cooed at Derek, his fingers grabbing at the older boy in an attempt to touch him, all to no avail. He gurgled out a laugh when Derek reached a hand down into the cradle, snatching hold of his fingers as best he could.

Derek offered a small smile in response, allowing Stiles to playfully tug on his hand.

The two children made an adorable sight before the Court and their parents. That was the moment Queen Talia and King John decided to arrange their marriage. Every second was planned out without the voiced concern of the children.

Baseball Bats and Sour Wolves by Erin1324

(65/? I 81,149 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek is cursed with some sort of spell, and for some reason only responds to Stiles as a result. He tries to attack everyone else, even his Alpha, he's also acting super overprotective of Stiles, hardly letting anyone get close to him.

Joining the Fang Gang by AClosedFicIsNeverRead

(21/? I 87,655 I Explicit I Sterek)

“SSTTIIIILLEESS!” Lydia’s wail tore its way from her throat right in the middle of a pack meeting.

“Lydia? Lydia, look at me,” Derek urged, a slight tremor in his voice as he fought to be gentle with her despite his alarm. She blinked through tears and struggled to meet his gaze as he crouched in front of her. “What did you see?”

“Forest… It’s dark… His Dad is screaming for him…” Her lips trembled as she shook her head and gasped, “Oh, God… He’s dying, Derek. I can feel it… It hurts so much… Oh, poor Stiles…”

- OR -

The one where Stiles is turned into a vampire, hides it from the pack, and tries to manage his new 'condition' without them noticing.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #peter hale #stiles and peter

[bearterritory]

Cal Rolls Past UCLA, 33-7

Ott has 100-yard kickoff return

LOS ANGELES -- In the final Pac-12 regular season game in history, the Golden Bears decided to make it memorable. Not only did the defense force four turnovers and Cal score on a 100 yard kickoff return, but they won their third game in a row to become bowl eligible.

California crushed their hosts 33-7 and actually the game wasn't even that close. Besides Jaydn Ott's 100 yard score, Jeremiah Hunter had a pair of touchdown receptions from Fernando Mendoza and Mateen Bhaghani kicked four field goals for the Golden Bears (6-6, 4-5 Pac-12), who passed their baby bear cousins in the standings and won what could be the last meeting between the two UC teams for the foreseeable future.

“It was a month ago there wasn't a lot of positivity around the program. I think it just speaks to the character of the guys in the room,” Cal head coach Justin Wilcox  said.

UCLA, which had started the remarkable conference collapse last June when it announced that it was moving to the Big Ten Conference in 2024, was hit upside the head by a group of scrappy, angry Cal players who were ready to get their revenge for the fiasco the Pac-12 has become. They also dropped Chip Kelly to 34-34 in his six seasons at Westwood and put his job on the line. The greed and fear that drove UCLA and USC to dump their conference after nearly a century saw them lose out in their final season games and exposed their weaknesses as football programs that have seen better days but underachieved in recent years as teams such as Washington, Oregon and Utah have eclipsed them.

The Bruins (7-5, 4-5) committed four turnovers that resulted in 13 Cal points. Quarterback Ethan Garber (little brother of former Cal QB Chase Garber, who decided to snub Berkeley when he was being recruited) was sacked early and had to leave the game after only 12 plays due to a right shoulder injury on the play. Freshman Dante Moore had to take over and was only 23 of 38 with two interceptions. He was also sacked six times. Cal's Cade Uluave had 12 tackles, a sack and an interception for the Bears, who only trailed for 16 seconds midway through the second quarter.

"The guys played with guts," Wilcox said. "I just have so much respect for the guys in that locker room - finishing the season the way we have. I have a lot of pride seeing those guys enjoy the moment."

After UCLA took a 7-6 lead on Logan Loya's 5-yard touchdown catch, Ott fielded R.J. Lopez's kick at the goal line. The sophomore found a seam near the Cal 20-yard line and then went up the right sideline the rest of the way.

It is tied for the third-longest kickoff return in Cal history and the sixth time it has had one of 100 yards or more. It was also the first kickoff return for Ott this season. Wilcox said the plan was to use Ott as a returner because UCLA came into the game leading the nation in run defense, and he didn't think Ott would get many opportunities with the ball.

“We know that Jaydn is an electric player. I give a lot of credit to our special team staff as well for getting it schemed up,” Wilcox said.

Ott also had 80 yards on 21 carries. Mendoza completed 19 of 30 for 178 yards with two touchdowns and two interceptions.

“Not a lot of people believed in us, especially when we said in the interviews that we were going to burn the boats (beat Washington State), burn the forest (defeat Stanford) and now burn down the city (beat UCLA) and crush the Bruins," Mendoza said. "But everyone in that locker room really believed that and we knew it was gonna happen.”

Cal led 6-0 at the end of the first quarter on a pair of field goals by Bhaghani. After UCLA linebacker Laiatu Latu picked off Mendoza's pass and returned it to the Cal 8, the Bruins took the lead three plays later when Moore connected with Loya for a 5-yard TD.

UCLA's advantage would be extremely short lived though as Ott ran back the ensuing kickoff and devastated the home crowd, who fell nearly silent the rest of the game.

Cal extended its lead to 20-7 late in the first half. Three plays after Brett Johnson recovered Moore's fumble at the UCLA 11, Hunter scored on a 14-yard touchdown pass from Mendoza with 10 seconds remaining.

Bhaghani had a 32-yard field goal early in the fourth quarter and Hunter caught a 13-yard pass in the left corner of the end zone to further the Golden Bears' advantage. Hunter finished with eight receptions for 101 yards.

Several thousand Golden Bear enthusiasts who made the trip to the Rose Bowl stayed well after the end of Cal's 33-7 victory over UCLA, dancing and celebrating in the stands behind the South end zone along with players, coaches and staff. The players carried the enthusiasm into the locker room, flying high on their three game win streak after suffering some extremely close losses mid-season.

"I want them to soak it up," Wilcox said. "I want them to be with their brothers. There's nothing like that. That's why a lot of us coach - you can't find that anywhere else. As gut-wrenching and agonizing losing is, there's no feeling like being on the other end of the spectrum - especially under the circumstances and what was at stake. I'm just really proud of those guys. I have a lot of love for those people in that locker room."

The Bears are expected to find out their bowl bid on Sunday, December 3. It will be the third bowl so far in the Wilcox era.

#This is Bear Territory #UC Berkeley #Cal Football #Go Bears!