#while everyone else chose college or political speeches and the like

[floweringpopcat]

coming to the conclusion that people in my speech class are either transphobic or wary of the speech i chose and i'm leaning towards the former

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Crimson Flowers_Part 1

A.N:🕯️Happy Halloween!!! 👻I hope everyone has a safe and enjoyable one! 🎃

This is a Glorious Masquerade event with my TWST OC Mia!!

Twisted Wonderland Masterlist  

Can you excuse me and allow me a moment to fangirl over this event? I always loved Hunchback of Notre Dame, so this story was a real treat. The music is just… *chef’s kiss* 

At this point, I think I'm planning to get the Rollo card next year! I loved him from the moment I met him and wanted to know everything about the man.

I haven’t done a fake SSR card since the 1st Fairy Gala and now I have an TWST OC GM card!

Thank you to everyone that put in the hard work to make these templates and share them!! I for one, appreciate it!!

@thoselethalarts​ : Glorious Masquerade BG

@100night  : SR title card +  Groovied logo

-----------------------------------------------

Mia fought not to shiver as Rollo’s eyes landed on her and Grim. 

She felt his eyes assessed her, “So the rumors are true that you are the only female to attend Night Raven’s College all-male school. You are…apologies, your names?” 

Grim was quick to answer, “I’m Grim!! Future great mage!” 

Mia couldn’t figure out if she felt some type of way that, he knew everyone else, but not them. Did Crowley not think she and Grim were worthy of a footnote? 

But then again, it was Crowley. Who knows what went through that bird brain?

So she gave a polite smile, “My name is Mia Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Rollo gave a small nod, “I had heard you were unable to use magic. I did not expect you to bring a familiar along with you.” 

“Familiar?” Grim almost screeched, “Hold on! You’ve got it backwards here! She’s my hench-human!” 

Mia heaved a silent, long-suffering sigh. She kept quiet where ordinarily she might have quibbled with Grim, but she did not want to make a bad first impression. It seems Grim had no such qualms. 

Rollo didn’t seem to acknowledge Grim’s outburst, but instead added, “It must be stressful being the only female in addition to being surrounded by magic users. It must have caused you many problems. While you are in the City of Flowers, please take this time to rest.” 

Mia gave a small smile, “Thank you, sir.”

—

Mia never thought she’d feel thankful for Coach Vargas’s spartan training. At least she was faring a little better than Idia and Azul ie, she could hide it a little better. 

Ahhh, the golden bell was larger than life and truly breathtaking!! She had wandered away from Rollo’s speech to the others when Silver had popped his head back from the railing. She chose to stay far away from the edge, but upon seeing him do that gave her a heart attack. 

By the time she wandered over, she heard Sebek, “This is a joyous occasion!! Malleus-sama is the head of the Gargoyle Research Society, and as such these developments must be reported! If he sees these gargoyles, he’ll be pleased. Malleus-sama!! 

Idia shook his head, “The head he says? Pretty sure he’s the only member.” 

“Malleus-sama, look there! There is a gargoyle you so love, my liege! Please feel free to look as long as you like!” 

Malleus only frowned, making Sebek’s eyes widen, “My liege! Is there something wrong?” 

Mia spoke up with a grin, “Did it have a waterspout? Was it connected to something? You gotta find out these things before getting your liege’s spirit’s up like that! If it wasn’t, then it’s a grotesque, a mere decoration and not a gargoyle. Don’t you pay attention to anything your liege says?” 

Everyone was stunned to silence. Sebek noted that Malleus was practically glowing by this point. A huge grin broke out on Malleus’ face, as he laughed. 

Silver blinked. Did they get it wrong again? They could never remember the difference. 

Mia giggled, “I assume, I got it right?” 

“Yes, Child of Man!” Malleus beamed, “You are correct! Most splendid! Ha-ha!!” 

Sebek roused himself to cry, “Forgive me, my liege, it seems I have failed you!”

He snuck a glance towards Mia. He supposed later he would have to reward her for making Malleus-sama so happy like that. It’s been awhile since he has seen such a grin on his lord’s face. What would make a worthy award for the human? He would have to think on that as well as how to correct his own failing. He should study harder to remember the different in a grotesque and a gargoyle! He could not as his retainer be utterly lacking in the knowledge of his lord’s interests! 

“What the…? How the…? Why would you have such useless information in your head?” Idia sputtered. 

Azul pushed up his glasses, “It seems you forgot Idia. Malleus is no longer the only member of the Gargoyle Research Society. Mia has recently joined and seemed to take the lessons to heart.” 

Mia snorted, “I took notes.” 

Azul rolled his eyes, “Did it require it?” 

“I got it right, right? Leave me alone!” 

“Although, the fact that Malleus paid such attention to detail, now THAT part is relatable!!” Idia grinned. 

—

“Come along, hench-human!! Our crowd awaits!!” Grim crowed. 

“I know you are feeling yourself, but you have got to settle down!” Mia spoke as she plucked at the outfit she was wearing. 

“Hey ya’ll! How do I look? Look better on me than Mia, right?” Grim preened as they rejoined the group. 

Mia gave Grim a fond smile, “That being said, it does look perfect on you. Very suave! Befitting the future greatest mage to ever live!” 

Grim looked ready to burst at Mia’s words. Mia looked around the group to see them staring at her. She became self-conscious and dropped her gaze. “Wha?” 

“Beautiful!! Magnifque!” Rook bust out, breaking the silence, “You are as radiant as the night, with the purple and gold! Your beauty is shaming the day!” 

Mia almost choked herself on Rook’s words. She was used to his overdramatic tendencies, but they were rarely about her in such a manner.  

Jamil gave a small smile, “Dramatics aside, it’s rare to see you in a dress, Mia.”  

Epel looked up at Mia shyly, “You look right pretty, Mia.” 

“Oh, sorry….I just….” Deuce fumbled over his words as he looked a bit awestruck at you. 

Riddle gave a reassuring smile, “Yes, they are right. This is a rare treat.” 

“Your beauty does not hold a candle to Malleus-sama’s, but you look nice too!” Sebek smirked. 

Epel winkled his nose, “Isn’t the literally comparing apples and oranges?” 

“I apologize for Sebek’s crudeness!” Silver sighed, “You look lovely.” 

Ruggie grinned, “Indeed. What they said.” 

Mia was about ready to sink into the floor. It’s been awhile since she got these kinds of compliments. 

Grim laughed, “Ehh, she had to look gorgeous to stand next to me! Not as gorgeous as me, but still….” 

“Alright! Thank you everyone! I appreciate it!” She murmured as she couldn’t help but to lock her hands behind her back and sway back and forth. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at the boys yet. 

Thankfully, when Azul, Idia and Malleus rejoined the group, they had moved onto from her. Especially when Sebek began to lay heaps of praise onto Malleus whose poker face did not betray him. Mia’s eyes had widened as she glimpsed Malleus. This was the first time she had seen him dress up like this, and she was stunned into inaction. 

“See, this human knows the beauty of my lord!!” Sebek cried. 

Mia roused herself to realized, “this human” was referring to her. She snapped her head away, embarrassed to be caught gazing so openly.  Where was her head today? 

“Mia has the right reaction. No one wouldn’t be stunned into inaction upon gazing on Malleus-sama’s ethereal beauty! Mia, speak! How does our lord fare!” 

She muttered as she waved her hand, hoping it would past over. She was past tired of being put on the spot now, “N-Nice, very, very nice…” 

“Nice!? NICE!?! Just NICE!?” Sebek screeched, “Mia, comport yourself and give another look! Your reaction does not do justice your words!” 

Mia snapped then looking back at Sebek as she crossed her arms. She bared her teeth, “Shut up, Sebek! Learn to lower your voice, especially in someone else’s home. Besides what did you want me to say, ‘He looks like a walking dream’, I do have my pride you know!” 

There was a lull…

Ruggie laughed, “Shihihihi, but you just said it…” 

Sebek barked, pleased as all punch, “YES! YES!! That’s more like it!! Now your words bring justice to our lord’s ethereal beauty! Haha!!” 

This is the second time today that Mia has said the right things. Truly, he would have to consider carefully her award when this was over. 

Mia blinked at him a moment before she ran over her words. Then they watch, minus Sebek would was too busy being ecstatic at Mia’s words, in a rare show of fashion for her to fold into herself; she held her hands over her face and crab-walked behind the nearest student. Thankfully, it was Rook, who was tall enough to afford her a level of secrecy.  

Yep, she had officially lost her mind. The ground could just open up and swallow her any moment now. City of Flowers was named aptly. This could be her final resting place.  

“Thank you, Mia! I appreciate your sincere words! You, too, look very beautiful!” Malleus spoke with a small smile, “You must be in one of the photos with us! Lila would never forgive me if I did not present such documentation.” 

Rook could feel Mia further wilt behind him and laughed, “You should not be ashamed, Mia! If that is the way you felt, to lie would be a disgrace to your pure feelings.” 

“I will end…all of you.” She hissed. 

Jamil only sighed, “Don’t involve me in your foolishness.” 

Rollo murmured under his breath, “And foolishness it is.” 

However, he had been observing quietly this lone female student. This was the first time, he had witnessed the comradery she had with the others. She had been quiet for the most part, but it was clear that she wasn’t an outlier of a student that he assumed a female among all males would be. 

Most interesting….

Part 2

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (9)

       jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: none, just the frustration of knowing that their plan to fake-date is 100% going to fail

words: 5.2k

  chapter nine

That Sunday night, Jungkook picked you up from your dormitory, having no idea that you’d just had a breakdown over what to wear when going to visit the parents of your childhood-best-friend-turned-fake-boyfriend.

You walked out of the building trying to look like you did this every night and Jungkook – who had a breakdown as soon as he saw the way you looked and realized that speaking was most likely going to be a problem for him tonight – tried to act like this wasn’t anything unusual, either.

“You look really good,” he told you politely – like a fake-boyfriend was supposed to – and even opened the passenger door of his car for you.

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him as he helped you inside even though you were perfectly capable of climbing into a car yourself – you’d opted out of heels and a dress out of fear of looking too formal, so your outfit wasn’t an obstacle. “We’re not actually dating.”

“I’m just helping you get into a car,” Jungkook said nonchalantly but he thanked God you didn’t feel how clammy his hands were. “That’s what friends do.”

You snorted. “Right. Okay.”

“Don’t overthink this,” he added before closing your door and jogging around the front of the car to the driver’s side. He climbed in and his eyes settled on you right away. “I… thank you. I didn’t get to say that before.”

You exhaled slowly. “Thank me after. We don’t even know if this is going to work.”

“What do you mean? How could it not?” he asked, truly thinking that his plan was fool-proof. He saw the doubt in your eyes, though, and felt the need to reassure you with a scoff and a lie, “I’m not going to catch feelings and blow the whole thing, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Famous last words,” you told him with a serious look—that was more of a glance, really, because any talk about feelings made your head spin.

Jungkook only snickered at this. “I mean it. I’m very determined.”

“T-that’s not it, though,” you said then. “That’s not the part I’m, uh, worried about.”

“Well, tell me, then,” he encouraged. “Let’s get the doubts out of the way before we do this.”

“What if your parents don’t believe us?” you asked, turning your head towards him but not daring to raise your eyes above his waist. Which wasn’t that good of an idea as you came to learn as soon as your eyes captured the glistening buckle of his belt and his white dress shirt tucked inside of his pants. It’s been a while since you’d seen him dressed in something that wasn’t all-black and ripped.

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asked. “We’ve lied to them before, remember?”

“Yeah but that was, like, lying about not eating all the ice cream in the fridge. Kid stuff,” you said. “Now you’re straight-up going to fool your parents into thinking you’re dating someone.”

His features morphed in offense but, of course, you didn’t see that – his belt looked completely unfazed.

“And that’s so hard to believe, isn’t it?” Jungkook asked.

His voice gave away his emotions and you raised your eyes, somewhat surprised to learn that your words may have been insulting.

“I didn’t mean it like—” you started to say but found it pointless all of a sudden and changed the direction, “well, actually, I don’t know. I don’t know how many relationships you’ve been in for the past however-many-years that it’s been since we’ve last talked.”

You knew very well how many years it’s been and he knew you knew. Calling you out wasn’t something he even considered, however, because there were far more important matters to clear up now.

“Do you want an approximate number,” he asked, his face stoic now, “or should I break it all down in detail?”

You pursed your lips involuntarily, looking away again as your fingers toyed with the edge of your handbag. “Approximate is fine. But that’s not the point—”

“Zero,” he said. “I’ve never dated.”

Your eyes shot to his. “No. That’s—alright, no. Let’s establish something first, okay? Honesty is important if we’re doing this. We’re already going to be lying to our parents so let’s not lie to each other.”

“I’m not lying to you. I’ve seriously never dated.”

You didn’t believe that for a single second. “You’ve never been on one date?”

“Well, I went on that date with your cousin when we were nine,” he said, “but she threw a rock at me after I held her hand, and I don’t remember how it ended. Does that count?”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “I remember that. Everyone thought she gave you a concussion.”

“Yeah. So, I just decided to stop dating from then on.”

“Be serious,” you warned.

“I am serious,” he insisted. “Well, not about that part, but I really didn’t date. Relationships are a lot of work, you need time for that. Dedication. Maturity.”

“The three things you don’t have.”

“Exactly,” he grinned, his ego too big to allow this little bruise to sting.

“Alright, well, if that’s really true—”

“It is.”

“—then your parents are definitely going to have a hard time believing you’re in a serious relationship. They’ll see right though this,” you said and he looked away, thinking. “I mean, the day before your car accident you were enjoying your single life, and now you’re in a serious relationship all of a sudden?”

“We’ll tell them we’ve been dating since before the accident,” he said. “My mom saw you at the hospital when you came to visit me, so it all adds up.”

You swallowed. “Okay. Let’s say we do that. But still – you’ve never been in a serious relationship before. Why would they believe that you’ve changed your mind? Maybe they’ll think you’re mocking them by bringing some random girl over—”

“You’re not a random girl, though,” he disagreed. “You’re you. That’s why they have to believe us.”

“I don’t—but why does it have to be me? Because we were friends once upon a time?”

“Well… yeah,” Jungkook said, not finding a better way to tell you that, even if you hadn’t been friends before, he wouldn’t have wanted to do this with anyone else. “Because of that.”

Exhaling and releasing some of your doubts, you closed your eyes. “I don’t know…”

He sighed, knowing that your uncertainty was going to suffocate you before the night was over but not knowing how to ease it. The truth was, he wasn’t absolutely sure what awaited you two in the future, but he really did believe that the dinner tonight was going to be a success.

“Look,” he started, “I get where you’re coming from, really. I do. And, if I did this with someone else, then my parents would definitely kick us both to the curb as soon as we showed up at their house. It wouldn’t make sense, like you said,” he paused, accidentally adding a dramatic flair to his speech, “but it’s you. Y-you… you make sense. Even if I’ve never dated before, dating you would make sense.”

If you would have been capable of any rational thought at that moment, you would've probably given in and admitted that he did have a point. The two of you had grown up together, it wouldn’t be so hard to believe that you eventually found your way back to each other and started a relationship. However, you were most positively not in your right mind as every organ inside of you was suddenly shutting down and making it very hard to sit still and not suffocate, so you chose not to say anything.

“Hmm,” you only managed, afraid to open your mouth in case you’d sound like a cat giving birth.

Dating you would make sense. Dating you would make sense. Dating you would—

“So, can we go now?” Jungkook asked after checking the time on the dashboard of the car. “We’ve been sitting here for over ten minutes, talking about this. I’m afraid I’ll lose all of my cold appeal if we keep going.”

Startled to hear that, you started to say, “it hasn’t been ten minutes…” only to check the clock and learn that, “oh, wow, it has.”

“Yes,” he said. “Time sure flies when you’re overthinking things.”

You glared at him – earning an endearing grin from him in return – and shook your head.

“Fine, let’s go,” you said then. “You’re the one who suggested clearing all doubts anyway.”

“Well, did it work?” he asked, starting his car.

“Not really,” you admitted. It actually made it worse since your heart seemed to have started to beat in many different places all throughout your body, no longer content with just your chest. “But it will be fine. If your parents don’t immediately kick me out of the house, of course.”

“They won’t. Don’t worry.”

“I’m trying not to,” you said. “But on top of everything else, I’m also naturally anxious when it comes to dinners with adults.”

He gave you a confused look. “You’re an adult.”

“No, but you know what I mean,” you groaned. “Parents are a different kind of adults.”

“Okay,” he chuckled, not trying to mock you because he really did understand. Then, in a yet another attempt to make you feel better, he awarded you with his million-dollar smile that he must have stolen from Prince Charming himself as he said, “if it helps, I’ll hold your hand through it. And I promise the dinner will go by smoothly.”

Jungkook started to keep his promise of holding your hand as soon as you stepped out of the car outside of his parents’ house. You didn’t say anything – choosing to give him a grateful smile instead – and followed him to the front porch.

In the few seconds that it took for his mother to open the door of this larger-than-necessary mansion, your heart dropped to your stomach several times and, if Jungkook hadn’t been squeezing your hand every now and then, you probably would have bolted and returned back to campus. What you were about to do was insane—

But there was no time to reconsider because, all of a sudden, Jungkook’s mother was in front of you, her pleasant smile turning into a surprised one as soon as she spotted you next to her son.

“Oh! Hi!” she said to you, turning to Jungkook with wide eyes, “I wasn’t aware you were going to—”

“Yeah, I wanted us to come together tonight,” Jungkook said and lifted your intertwined hands until it attracted his mother’s attention. She seemed even more surprised now. “I’d say I’d introduce you but you know each other, of course.”

“I—we do, of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you,” his mother pulled you into a hug – while Jungkook kept on holding your hand – never once making it seem like you weren’t welcome here. “Well, come inside, both of you! I was just setting up the table.”

She did make her surprise obvious as her eyes remained glued to your hands but, in her defense, she played her shock off very casually as she ushered you both into the dining room.

“Your father will be down shortly,” she told Jungkook. “I’ll go get the plates.”

“Could I help?” you offered. It came naturally – just like shaking her head came naturally for Jungkook’s mother.

“Not at all, love, you two get comfortable,” she said. “Dinner will be ready in a moment.”

His mother walked back towards the kitchen, leaving you and Jungkook alone but, with an involuntary glance over her shoulder – because she truly couldn’t help her surprise – she still managed witness the two of you continue your act as Jungkook pulled back your chair, helping you into it.

She smiled after catching this brief moment and went to check the oven, hoping that her husband – who was already climbing down the stairs – wasn’t going to make this dinner awkward.

You had to admit, Jungkook’s father didn’t react to you being here in the way you’d expected.

“What a wonderful surprise,” was the first thing he said once he saw you. You stood up to say hello but he was quick to dismiss you with a homely smile, “no, no, sit, sit! We’re about to have dinner.”

It was a funny sort of miracle how neither of his parents seemed to find the courage to outright ask what you were doing here. You had a feeling they didn’t want to offend you by asking – you did help them locate their son when he momentarily went off the grid last Sunday – but you and Jungkook couldn’t build his reputation as a trustworthy son without making the—fake—status of your relationship clear.

“I hope it’s okay that we came together,” Jungkook said when his mother brought the main course to the table.

“Of course!” she said, playing the role of a flawless hostess. “There’s plenty of food for all. And it’s nice to see you two here together again.”

You swallowed with a nervous glance at the boy next to you – who was clutching your hand under the table – but Jungkook never lost his composure. He seemed to have really planned this out. Or maybe he was just good at improvising.

“Yeah, we, um… we’ve been talking for a while now,” he said. Your stomach clenched uncomfortably but you hoped no one noticed you cringe. “Not in the way we used to, though.”

“No?” his mother took a seat next to his father, opposite the two of you. “Well, I suppose that makes sense, it’s been a while, after all. You’re all grown up now.”

Still no question to clarify the state of your relationship. Jungkook could feel himself start to grow agitated. But perhaps he should have seen this coming – his parents’ way of dealing with unexpected problems was pretending that they weren’t problems at all.

“We are grown up,” Jungkook said, throwing his father a sideways glance – which he ignored by not even lifting his head from the still-empty plate in front of him – and then looking back at his mother. “Which is why, I felt like it was important to let you know that we are back together now. Really, together this time.”

That got his father to raise his eyes. “Hm?”

“Yeah, we’re—we caught up with each other and decided to give a relationship a try,” he said, lying with relative ease even under his father’s stern gaze. You sure were glad both of his parents had their eyes glued to him and didn’t catch the unpleasant expression on your face. “We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“That is great news, my love!” his mother exclaimed and you weren’t sure which one of you she was addressing as she looked at you both. You barely had enough time to put on your best smile before, a moment later, her eyes returned to you again, “oh! Were the two of you already together when you came to see him the hospital?”

“I—” you looked at Jungkook for help. “We—”

“Yes,” he said with a warning squeeze of your hand under the table.

“Yes!” you repeated. “Yes, we were. I just—I didn’t think it was the right time to announce our relationship, you know? Since we were at the hospital, and all.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” his mother nodded, understanding. “Well, regardless, I’m very glad you decided to tell us tonight. A toast?”

She lifted her glass of wine – how typical of the Jeon household to turn every surprising turn of events into something to celebrate – and the rest of you followed.

The dinner went by surprisingly smoothly after that – just like Jungkook had told you it would – and, thanks to your past, his parents never made you two go through the story of “how you two met.” Instead, they asked you how you were doing at school and what you planned to do in the future. They seemed impressed to hear about your achievements – and even more impressed to hear about your ambitions – and Jungkook couldn’t help the proud smile on his face because he knew his parents were going to fall in love with you all over again.

“I must say, I was surprised when you two showed up together tonight,” his mother told you once your plates were clear, gracefully holding her third glass of wine in her hand. This woman could get blind-drunk and still remain one of the most elegant people you’ve ever met. “But I really shouldn’t have been, should I? It’s been a long time coming.”

“It really has,” his father agreed. You couldn’t decipher his tone and weren’t quite sure if there was supposed to be a hidden meaning behind his words.

His gaze was so intense, however, that you feared it was going to penetrate your mind and catch you in a lie. Lowering your eyes, you smiled and chose to sit here quietly because that reduced your chances of saying the wrong thing and ruining this.

“We’re glad to welcome you back into our family, though,” Jungkook’s mother added. “I always felt like we were missing something by the table at our Sunday night dinners.”

“Well, our son was what was missing most of the time,” his father interjected and you could feel the jolt that went through Jungkook’s body as his hold on your hand tightened. “But it seems like we’ll see a lot more of you now, yes?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said and then cleared his throat. He thought he sounded like a child every time he spoke to his father. “You know I’m trying to be more responsible.”

“That’s good,” his father said. “I hope this motivation isn’t short-lived.”

You couldn’t help your curiosity as you lifted your gaze to look at the man who’d fathered the boy next to you because, more and more, it was starting to sound like he was talking to a random neighborhood kid who’d misbehaved instead of his own child.

And yet, the look in Jungkook’s father’s eyes was warm. He wished well. He may have acted like he was thinking of the future of his company but, really, he seemed to have been genuinely worried about his son. He’s always been worried about Jungkook but the way he chose to express this worry – by neglecting instead of nurturing, by scolding instead of helping – wasn’t the most effective and his mother had been the one who tried to make up for it.

Just like right now, as she coughed coolly, diverting your attention from his father and giving her son a supportive smile.

“I’m sure it’s not,” she said. “He’s got a determined face. He’s not giving up.”

“I’m not,” Jungkook confirmed and looked at you with such care in his eyes that, for a moment, you forgot that this was all an act. “She’s helping me remain motivated.”

“Well, good,” his father said – and, for what seemed like the first time in his life, Jungkook didn’t immediately turn his head in the direction of his voice, choosing to look at you for a moment longer instead – as he straightened in his chair. “Don’t lose her.”

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook said, following the request you’d made in the car – he was going to be lying to his parents, but he was going to be honest with you, “I won’t.”

Even though the dinner turned out to be unexpectedly bearable and even pleasant, you still hoped you’d get to leave as soon as your plates were empty but Jungkook’s mother proved that she wasn’t just treating you nicely because you were a guest in her house – she was treating you nicely because she genuinely loved having you around again. So, instead of letting you leave, she insisted on serving dessert and then, much to your and Jungkook’s horror, taking the old photo-albums out.

You were certain that these pictures were going to trigger some sort of long-suppressed traumas as you and Jungkook stared at each other with wide eyes, alarms going off in both of your heads.

“Oh, this is a good one!” his mother said, coming back with a pale yellow album. “It’s from when you two were toddlers, so you probably don’t even remember these.”

“We might remember the pictures,” Jungkook pointed out carefully, not wanting to hurt her feelings, “we’ve seen them before.”

“Well, I should hope you did. Pictures were made to be looked at,” she said in an oddly profound way and then patted the couch on each side of herself, indicating for you and him to sit. “I know you two kids must have plans of your own, so I’m not going to bring the entirety of our photo library out. But, bear with me here, okay? It’s been so long since I’ve had you both in the same room.”

You swallowed thickly, realizing now that, in your suffering over your lost friendship with Jungkook, you hadn’t even considered the pain your fall-out brought upon your families who treated you both like you were their children.

“We, um—we have time for one photo-album,” you said and his mother’s face lit up. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen the pictures anyway.”

And it really has as you found yourself struggling to remember the context of the pictures – even though you had heard the stories about your early years so many times before – as Jungkook’s mother flipped through them, chuckling and cooing at how cute you looked when you were getting your diaper changed. Or how ridiculously easy it was to get you or Jungkook to stop screaming for no reason and photograph you.

“We just had to put you both in the same crib,” his mother said. “Ever since you were born, you were both fussy babies. You’d eat, you’d rest, you’d interact, and you would still keep crying. But your mom and I figured out a solution one night when we were tired. We moved Jungkook to your crib and the crying stopped almost immediately.”

You recalled hearing about this now that she mentioned it, but the story seemed to gain a new meaning now.

“We weren’t sure what would happen if we did this,” she continued, flipping to a new page where several pictures of you and Jungkook laying next to each other in the crib were taken, “but you seemed to calm down around each other. So, whenever we would come over to your house or vice versa, we’d leave you two to yourselves and, us, adults, would actually be able to have a night-in like in the old days.”

“And you weren’t afraid we would get into a fight when left alone?” Jungkook asked, always one to wreck a sweet moment as he mimicked tiny baby fists and the boxing fight he had in mind.

His mother laughed, shaking her head.

“You’d never. You didn’t even cry when you had to share toys with each other. It surprised us, actually,” she said and then she looked at you with the same warm gaze that Jungkook possessed, “your mom and I thought that this was because we had been best friends for years before you two were born, you know? We kept joking how our kids were naturally made to be best friends as well.”

You smiled but, once again, it was Jungkook who made a comment, “huh. Who knew friendships were hereditary.”

“No, no, I think there was something more than just an inherited friendship,” his mother disagreed with a soft shake of her head, “you two couldn’t even talk – you could scarcely sit unsupported – and yet you shared this calming effect on each other. There seemed to be this connection between you from the very beginning. It was almost bizarre at times,” she looked at you again as she continued, “one time, you dropped your favorite plushie through the gap in the crib and it landed on the floor. Jungkook, sitting on my lap as your mother and I talked in the kitchen, started to cry. Just like that. Completely out of the blue.”

“Maybe he heard me crying over the lost toy?” you suggested.

“No, that’s just the thing – you weren’t crying. He was,” she said. “But he couldn’t have known that you dropped the toy because your room wasn’t visible from where we were sitting. It was like he could somehow feel your distress. It was most peculiar and yet so sweet. It charmed everyone’s hearts whenever we told them. They, of course, thought we were exaggerating this, but—”

“I can see why they’d think that,” Jungkook interjected with a smile for his mother – as a response to the glare she gave him after he’d said this.

“—but that’s what happened,” she finished. “You two always had a special bond. It’s what brought you back together after so long, I think.”

She continued to flip through the pictures but she didn’t share any more stories. And, when you looked up at her face, you were surprised to see tears in her eyes. Unsure what to say, you waited for Jungkook to notice that you were looking at her – and he did, almost right away – and then allowed him to take control of the situation.

He didn’t know what the right thing to say was, either – asking why she was tearing up seemed impolite somehow, even if she was his mother – and, to be honest, he feared that she might have expressed her joy about your relationship if he asked her anything right now, and that would have made him feel guilty because he was, technically, faking it all.

So, placing his hand on his mother’s and, consequently, stopping her from opening the next page, he said softly, “this has been really nice, mom. But it’s getting late. We should probably get going.”

Sniffling, she looked up at the clock on the opposite wall of the room and then nodded, chuckling in a useless attempt to hide her teary eyes.

“Of course,” she said. “I was a bit much, wasn’t I?”

“Not at all,” you cut in quickly. “I’ve always loved your stories.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook echoed. “But we better get going before you reveal anything else about our childhoods and we learn that we’re long-lost X-Men with telepathic abilities.”

This got his mother to laugh finally.

“Oh, shut it,” she said with a good-natured smile. “I was just saying how you two are special.”

“Thanks for that, mom,” he said, kissing her temple. “But, still, we have to get going.”

“Thank you very much for dinner,” you said as his mother stood up to walk you to the door. “It was lovely.”

“Having you here was lovely as well,” she replied, giving you a hug – this time, without Jungkook holding your hand and pulling you back – and then, whispering in your ear so her son wouldn’t hear, she said, “thank you for taking care of him.”

And, meaning every word, you whispered back, “it’s my pleasure.”

When Jungkook stopped the car outside of your dormitory, neither of you was sure what to do next.

The story of a mysterious but powerful connection that his mother had told you still echoed in your head and it was this story that prompted you to say the first thing that popped into your mind, all so you wouldn’t have to wallow in the silence of the car and make yourself suffer, thinking about your possible destiny to be close to each other.

“Hey,” you said, “I didn’t get to ask before. Why does your whole car smell like strawberries?”

“Oh,” he seemed relieved to hear you speak, “that’s strawberries and mint,” he clarified and pulled a plastic bottle of Orbit chewing gum from the glove compartment, “it’s my favorite gum. Want one?”

“Ah. No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, popping a few pieces of gum into his mouth. Suddenly, you regretted not taking one as well just to have something to do because the sight of his jaw moving was near hypnotizing. “So. Same time next week?”

You laughed, glad that the exit out of this unusual situation turned out to be far less awkward than you’d expected -- there was no guide-book on how to end fake-dates, after all.

It must have been the aforementioned connection doing its magic again.

“Sure,” you said, opening the door of the car. “See you then.”

“See you until then,” he corrected, leaning down so he’d be able to see you as you stepped out of the car and paused, peering inside. “We have class together and I’m an exemplary student now, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you played along. “Well, I’ll catch you at our Marketing test then.”

Jungkook was putting the chewing gum back into the glove department but he did a double-take after you said that. “We have—you’re fucking with me, right?”

“No,” you resisted the urge to grin. “The professor told us last week.”

He was confused. “Where was I?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Getting drunk? Starting fights? Crashing your car into—”

“Alright, got it,” he cut you off. “Can I meet you before the test? So we can compare notes?”

You scoffed. “Lots of good that’ll do me when you didn’t attend a single class this semester.”

“I’m a charity case,” he tried. “You’ll feel very fulfilled after having helped me.”

You weren’t sure if it was your natural inability to say no to him or his sparkling eyes that got you to roll your eyes and abandon any form of protesting you may have resolved to if you’d been talking to someone else.

“Fine,” you said. “See you before the test.”

Jungkook smiled, very pleased with himself. “Thank you again.”

“For the test?”

He looked down before answering, not wanting to spent the rest of the night thanking you for everything you’d ever done for him, but also not being able to find the words that would express his gratitude properly because, no, he wasn’t thanking you just for the test. Or just for tonight.

“For being my friend,” he ended up saying. “I couldn’t have asked someone else to do this.”

Your chest seemed to expand to fit all the butterflies, and, because you didn’t know how to deal with so many fluttering wings inside of you, you ended up replying teasingly, “why not? I think Taehyung would have done wonders fake-dating you.”

Jungkook snorted, shaking his head. “He might have. But I’d still rather do this with you. So, thank you.”

That was twice he’d thanked you now. If he’d have done it again, your chest would have most likely exploded.

“Anytime,” you said, your gaze lingering on his as you took this moment in. “That’s what friends are for, apparently, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied with an awkward chuckle. “Turns out, I don’t have a lot of them.”

“Well,” you said, not sure if saying this would make the situation better and yet not being able to not say it, “you have me.”

The thoughts in his head all stopped running and left his heart in charge of processing your words.

“R-right...” he said weakly and you gave him one last smile and a wave, and then finally closed the door of his car before walking away to your dormitory.

Jungkook watched you go, his head empty but his chest full. His breath hitching but his eyes alive. His body numb but his blood pumping.

He had you. He had you. He had you.

keep reading | masterlist

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Losing candidates of the last 60 years

1960: Richard Nixon, Vice President (1953 - 1961), unsuccessfully ran for governor of California in 1962 after which he threw a piss baby shit fit press conference where he vowed to retire from politics, but rescinded that vow to run for president again in 1968, this time successfully because the Democratic vote was split between liberal northerner Hubert Humphrey and conservative southerner George Wallace (Nixon won with 43.4% of the vote, a record low not broken until Bill Clinton with 43.0% in 1992)

1964: Barry Goldwater, Senator from Arizona (1953 - 1965, 1969 - 1987), segregationist, staunch "states rights" activist, mentor to Ronald Reagan, father of modern conservatism, retired in the 80s, replaced by the more moderate John McCain

1968: Hubert Humphrey, Vice President (1965 - 1969), former senator from Minnesota (49 - 64) father of modern liberalism, would be considered a progressive by today's standards, pro-civil rights, later re-elected to the senate (71 - 78, died in office).

1968b: George Wallace, governor of Alabama (63 - 67), staunch segregationist, made Barry Goldwater look like MLK, famously stood on the school house door to try and stop integration, didn't let black people vote, nearly assassinated in 1972, paralyzed, continued serving as governor (71 - 79, 83 - 87), renounced racism later in life, claimed he was never truly racist, just pretended to be because he supported "states rights" (bullshit). Most recent third-party candidate to win a state.

1972: George McGovern, senator from South Dakota (63 - 81), lost every state but Massachusetts and DC, in part because President Nixon cheated (Watergate scandal, Nixon hired goons to wiretap DNC and steal intel from their HQ, forged a letter to discredit strong candidate Edmund Muskie to he would drop out and give the nomination to weak McGovern, tried to plant McGovern's campaign literature in Wallace's assassins apartment so conservative southerners would associate the attack with the Democratic Party and vote for Nixon instead)

1976: Gerald Ford, President (74 - 77), Republican House leader (65 - 73), became VP in 73 after Spiro Agnew resigned due to a bribery scandal. Democrats controlled Congress, so Nixon nominated Ford because he was a popular bipartisan mediator who the Democrats wouldn't object to, became president when Nixon himself resigned due to Watergate (Ford is the only president who was never elected to the presidency of vice presidency), started out super popular but tanked his credibility when he pardoned Nixon for his crimes

1980: Jimmy Carter, President (77 - 81), governor of Georgia (71 - 75), elected as a Washington outsider, humble peanut farmer, boring, malaise, fumbled Iran thrice (the revolution, recession, and hostage crisis), lost re-election to actor turned governor Ronald Reagan (segregationist Goldwater's protege; started his career giving anti-union speeches in the 60s despite being the president of the Screen Actor's Guild, a major union), had a much more successfully post-presidency than presidency, Habitat for Humanity, philanthropy

1984: Walter Mondale, Vice President (77 - 81), Senator from Minnesota (64 - 76), protege and successor to Hubert Humphrey, decent man, very boring, lost every state but Minnesota and DC, would later become ambassador to Japan under Clinton (93 - 96)

1988: Michael Dukakis, governor of Massachusetts (75 - 79, 83 - 91), army specialist (55 - 57), rode in a tank wearing a bullet proof vest and doofy headphones, looked like an idiot, actually polled ahead of VP Bush for a while, forgettable

1992: George HW Bush, President (89 - 94), VP (81 - 89), relatively moderate before becoming Reagan's VP (referred to trickle down as "voodoo economics"), said "read my lips, no new taxes," then raised taxes, oversaw Gulf War, sent the troops in, Iraq retreated without a fight, war was over in a couple days. Didn't invade Iraq, didn't topple Saddam; his son claims this is why he lost re-election, so he invaded Iraq and toppled Saddam in 2003, to finish what his daddy started. Faced opposition from both Democrats under Clinton and Independents under Perot; Perot didn't win a single state, but took 19% of the vote, the strongest third-party campaign all century

1992b: Ross Perot, businessman, independent, very strong candidate, qualified for debates with the major party candidates, closest thing to a 3-way race we've had since Teddy Roosevelt in 1912 (Wallace won some states in 68, but only had regional appeal; he was only on the ballot in the South, only conservatives liked him, whereas Perot was a nationwide spoiler)

1996: Bob Dole, senator from Kansas (69 - 96) senate majority leader (85 - 87, 95 - 96), fought in WW2, has a bum arm, the senate's version of Newt Gingrich, helped defeat Clinton's healthcare plan (he's part of the reason we can't have nice things). He was VP candidate under Ford in 76; Ford's VP Rockefeller was too liberal (yes, liberal Republicans used to exist, just as conservative Democrats exist), so Ford replaced him with the conservative Dole to appeal to Nixon and Reagan voters (Reagan almost unseated Ford in 76 for the nomination)

1996b: Ross Perot again, Reform Party, didn't get nearly as much support this time around (only 8.4%)

2000: Al Gore, Vice President (93 - 01), senator from Tennessee (85 - 93), very boring, but competent, actually won the election but Bush's brother was governor of Florida and illegally stopped the recount, delaying it until it was too late to restart it (subsequent investigation shows Gore would have won the recount and therefore the presidency), used his post-VP career to be a climate change advocate

2004: John Kerry, senator for Massachusetts (1985 - 2013), unremarkable but competent, lost because Bush started 2 wars and the country didn't want to change horses midstream, later became Secretary of State under Obama (13 - 17), and climate envoy under Biden (a position Biden made up to try and appeal to green advocates, but it doesn't really mean anything because he opposes the green new deal)

2008: John McCain, senator from Arizona (1987 - 2018, died in office), succeeded Goldwater but not nearly as conservative (at least, not a segregationist; he defended Obama as "a good man" when a Karen called him an Arab, got booed for it), Vietnam veteran, war monger (wanted to bomb Iran after Bush bombed Iraq and Afghanistan), actually saved healthcare by voting against Trump and McConnell's Obamacare repeal (he didn't support Obamacare, he just didn't want millions of Americans to lose their insurance; the Republicans didn't have a replacement plan, they were solely dedicated to getting rid of Obama's)

2012: Mitt Romney, governor of Massachusetts (03 - 07), relative moderate (Massachusetts is the bluest state in the country), super Mormon, hates poor people, kind of racist in a grandfatherly way ("oh, peepaw doesn't hate black people, he just grew up in a different era"), once wore brown face to try and appear tan to Hispanic voters, later became senator from Utah (2019 - present), first senator to ever vote to convict a president of their own party in impeachment (twice!)

2016: Hillary Clinton, Secretary of State (09 - 13), senator from New York (01 - 09), First Lady (93 - 01), boring gramma, disingenuous, moderate but pretends to be progressive, wasn't responsible for Benghazi but blamed for it anyway, out of touch, thinks she's the hottest shit since sliced bread, coasted to second place because she thought she didn't have to try, thought she deserved to be President, actually won the popular vote, but lost the electoral college because of low voter turnout, high third-party media coverage, and a major rightward swing in the Rust Belt

2020: Donald Trump, president (17 - 21), no prior experience, dumbest person to ever hold the office (makes George W Bush look like. Rhode's Scholar), diet Fascist: all the ideology, none of the appeal (fascists are usually good speakers, but Trump only had a base of about 35 - 40% of the country, which he couldn't grow, so instead he tried to shrink the opposition by attacking voting rights and calling the election fraudulent), super racist, super sexist, petty, vindictive, cruel, childish, spent the first two years just undoing everything Obama did for no other reason than he just hated the man (there are legitimate reasons to hate Obama, but Trump chose racism and jealousy over valid criticism), first president to be impeached twice, first president to have members of his own party vote to convict him, had a cult-like following among Republicans, close to zero support from everyone else

2024: TBD

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

One Pair That I Recognized

Summary: The way Darren wanted Blaine Anderson’s character arc to end inspired this fanfic. 

In which, Blaine sings a love song to Kurt because it’s the best way he knows to express how he feels. 

Notes: Song used is Ben Folds’s The Luckiest. Shoutout to @sharicat for being the first to reply to my post about whether or not I should post this and thanks to @i-tripandstumble and @hkvoyage for encouraging it as well!

AO3

The only time Blaine sang off the stage was in their brownstone. No one caught him singing in the streets, busking in Broadway neighborhoods for money, singing at the Spotlight Diner while his boyfriend worked his shift, or at karaoke nights with his friends from high school and college. Only Kurt caught his evening shower performances, only Kurt found him playing the piano in the middle of the night, and only Kurt watched him play air guitar in the kitchen while he waited for the tea kettle to whistle. 

So it was a surprise to everyone in Central Park on that Saturday afternoon in November when Tony Awarding Winning Blaine Anderson showed up with his husband Tony Award Winning Kurt Hummel and started to sing. He had pulled so many stings to get here today and had to persuade Kurt to even leave their house—“Blaine it’s the weekend and we don’t actually have to be anywhere for once.” It felt like his proposal at Dalton all those years ago. Glee clubbers from four different teams all coming together to celebrate one couple’s love. 

They were standing in the mostly empty Summer Stage where Blaine put on a charity event every summer. There were people backstage waiting for the signal and there were bystanders, who had been walking around the park, peeking in to see what was happening. And Kurt—beautiful, wonderful Kurt—was smiling like a goof at his husband’s antics. 

“What is going on, Blaine?” Kurt asked, as he was guided into the singular seat in the grassy area in front of the stage. “We’re already married so this can’t be a proposal.” 

Blaine laughed. “We are married. This isn’t a proposal.”

“So...what is this?” 

“Just watch,” Blaine said, kissing his husband’s cheek. 

Of course as Blaine climbed the steps up to the stage, people started filling in the bleachers behind Kurt. He wasn’t about to stop them. No one bothered Kurt. No one tried to sit in grass where Blaine had put a chair for his husband. They just filled the actual seats in the place and quietly waited along with Kurt to see what Blaine had planned. Neither one of them cared because every single performance Blaine gave was always for Kurt. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t in the audience or not. Blaine sang and acted and did all he did for Kurt. 

Kurt was...is...will always be his biggest inspiration. His reason for existing and putting the best of himself into the world. 

A baby grand piano sat on the stage now. Blaine took a seat on the black bench and checked the microphone. He gave the backstage crew a thumbs up and the lights came down on him and he started to play a random tune on the keys. 

“I’ve never been good with words or romance…” 

“Lies!” Kurt shouted.

Blaine smiled and continued his little speech, “but I always thought I was a pretty decent singer and performer. I never thought I’d meet someone like you, Kurt. I didn’t think I deserved someone like you and every day I am grateful to love you and be loved by you. To be able to come home to you and climb into bed with you just to sleep at your side. To have dinners and play footsie under the table. To spend holidays with our families even though they drive us crazy. To know I’m your number one supporter in everything you do and you’re mine. This, like everything else I do, is for you.” 

With a deep breath, he started to play the correct notes and opened his mouth to sing lyrics he wished he wrote. 

“I don't get many things right the first time,

In fact, I am told that a lot

Now I know all the wrong turns the stumbles,

And falls brought me here”

Behind his closed eyes, Blaine sees himself younger wandering the halls of Dalton fancying himself in love with a guy who works at the Gap. How naïve he had been back then because Kurt was right there in front of him and he managed to miss it. He stood in front of this amazing boy and didn’t know he was going to marry him some day. 

“And where was I before the day

That I first saw your lovely face,

Now I see it every day

And I know

That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest”

He remembers touching Kurt’s hand for the first time. Kurt was so obviously not a student but Blaine hadn’t cared. All he could think about was looking into this boy’s eyes. Wondering what had brought him here and why he chose Blaine to stop. Out of all the uniformed boys around them, Kurt picked Blaine. Did he know something Blaine didn’t? Did he feel the shot of electricity that Blaine did? 

He must have because Kurt knew way before Blaine did that they were meant to be together. They were joined by some universal force that selected soulmates. It was clear to Blaine now more than ever that Kurt was always meant to be his and he was always meant to be Kurt’s. 

“What if I had been born fifty years before you

In a house on the street

Where you lived

Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike. Would I know?”

In another lifetime, Blaine might not have been with Kurt because of something arbitrary like age. Maybe in some universes in the infinite alternate lifetimes, Blaine doesn’t get to be with Kurt or even meet him. But this Blaine thinks any other versions of himself would know how special Kurt was no matter what obstacles keep them apart. How lucky is he to be the one of the lucky Blaine Andersons to be able to spend his life with Kurt Hummel? 

“And in a wide sea of eyes

I see one pair that I recognize

And I know

That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest”

Blaine looked over at Kurt, who was smiling up at him. His eyes traveled over the crowd behind Kurt but he always came back to rest on those baby blues. The eyes that he knows the best, the ones that always shine with adoration no matter what, and most importantly the ones that stare back into Blaine’s hazel ones. 

Those eyes that grow darker when Blaine pulls back from a kiss. The ones that follow him around the room when Blaine spontaneously breaks into dance and always manages to convince Kurt to put aside his magazines to join him in a weird version of a waltz that is so purely theirs. 

“I love you more then have

Ever found the way to say

To you

Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties and one day

Passed away in his sleep,

And his wife, she stayed for a couple of days, and passed away

I'm sorry I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong,

That I know

That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest” 

If Blaine hadn’t already married the best man he knows, he would’ve asked Kurt right this second to be his forever. But he was lucky enough that Kurt had already promised that to Blaine. Instead, when Blaine finished the song he stood up from the piano and took a bow. The crowd that had gathered were clapping politely but Blaine only cared about holding his husband. 

Kurt was already walking up into the stage to grab Blaine in his arms. They hugged and Kurt whispered into Blaine’s ear: “your version of romance is my favorite.”

Blaine pulled back and cupped his face. “I love you, Kurt Hummel.” 

An ongoing joke between them was using their stage name instead of their legally changed names after they had gotten married. 

“It’s Anderson-Hummel to you,” Kurt teased, “but I love you too, Blaine Anderson.” 

If you asked anyone in the crowd who leaned in first, they’d all have a different answer. 

[tumbleranch-dorm]

“You never heard of yodeling before? fufu I see.....no it’s nothing really Prefect”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TECHNICAL INFORMATION

Name: Ferdrick Y’Oddel

Japanese: フレデリック・ヨーデル

Romanji: Furederikku Yōderu

Other Name:

Ferd (himself)

Boss (Eb)

Sir (Clinton)

Roi de Yodel (Rook)

Rank 3 Narcissistic Player (Idia)

Squid (Floyd)

Yawneler (Leona)

Voiced by Akira Ishida

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Gender: Male

Age: 18

Birthday: March 15

Starsign: Pisces

Height: 184 cm

Eye Color: Pesto Green

Hair Color: Tabasco Red

Homeland: Town of Iron Pistol

Family: Father, Mother, Cole (distant relative)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROFESSIONAL STATUS

Dorm: Tumbleranch

School Year: Third

Class: 3-A Student no. 09

Occupation: Student and Dorm Leader

Club: Light Music Club

Best Subject: Music

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FUN FACTS

Dominant Hand: Left

Favorite Food: Scrambled Egg

Least Favorite Food: Canned Beans

Dislikes: Anyone dislike his talent

Hobby: Composing Lyrics, Guitar/Ukelele

Talents: Yodeling

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UNIQUE MAGIC “Yodeling is ART”

Controlling the minds of mages, even creatures with his hypnotic yodeling. This effect will temporary give a distorted colorful eyes once whom heard him yodel. Anyone couldn’t resist the power of his vibrant tune and obediently do what the user’s command and chances are might lose the memory during the hypnotic trance in the aftermath.....unless it was all just a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Ferdrick is what the dorm needs for a leader to take over Tumbleranch. Truly industrious and sharp-witted yet confident and narcissistic with very much proud of himself possessing these kinds of traits. There are times he can be annoyingly too prideful having the tendency to flaunt others by his gentleman looks with his smooth talking especially likes to showing off he has the most beautiful yodeling voice than any yodeler’s out there. He does also sing but he prefers to yodel a lot. Very confident of his potential he wouldn't care less what others think about his talent, he's very self-assured of his potential and wouldn't mind demonstrating if they insistently asked also wouldn't mind to butt heads with anyone or dorm leaders if they asked for a challenge from him. He would immediately accept it to prove that he can do better than anyone else

Ferdrick is also a legend fanatic, deeply respected but more adored the dorm’s legend “Vainglorious and Notorious Outlaw” Ferdrick has a lot of knowledge about the legend’s stories thanks to research and ancient books pretty much loves to tell tales about it with anyone of those who haven’t heard of him especially to first years

Being as egoistic as he is but Ferdrick's words and actions are truly friendly & gentle at times. He wouldn’t mind to lend a helping hands of his peers, juniors, or friends when the situations are in a pinch but rather done it behind the scenes and little do they know he does care and worries of his dorm mates welfare and show a bit of softness even though when everyone is a bunch of rebelled children. Although for TR (tumbleranch) students, they seem to have mixed feelings towards their dorm head. They have respected him taking the huge responsibility of taking care in good hands while trying to discipline them before doing anything dangerous and do promise he’d make the dorm a better place for a new coming of students to feel at ease and enjoy the life here as shown how much work he’d put through for a leader

Well.....that wouldn’t be wicked for him to do. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not the type of person who’d want himself to be involved in danger like all of Tumbleranch would, and besides he’s honestly would never become one of them. Not entirely fond with rebels but he’s kind enough not to spoil everyone’s crazy fun time, permitting them to do unnecessary things just as much as they want but not too far (people stated him to be called “Boss” of the organization because Ferd does act like one) meanwhile students were frightened by him because of his fury & sadistic nature. His speeches will change to violent containing hurtful or insensitive remarks, subconsciously murmurs with a head full clouded of harsh punishments and using his favorite weapon to threaten others off with just a smile but usually, he’d chose to smack the heads of those who disobeyed, anger, or upset him, that’s all. Not to mention he’d be more infuriating if anyone say YODEL SUCKS in front of him. With hardheadedness around, he thought of being the leader would likely take over the herd but didn't expect this to turn out frustrating and troublesome to deal with than he ever imagine

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BACKGROUND

Born in a political family. He’s the only child living with his parents growing up in high-class society. Being pampered and groomed by maids and butlers everyday and his personality were different from before mainly he used to be so obedient towards his parents. His father is the mayor from his hometown “Town of Iron Pistol” while his mother is a sophisticated noblewoman from a noble family. Most of Ferd’s relatives, his father side, were well known and respectable politicians working part as the supreme democratic parties. His father wanted his son’s future to follow his footsteps as taking the position of deputy mayor and soon after, being as mayor once he grown to be a fine adult, one day. So during his childhood, both his parents decided to take Ferd in homeschooling and hired finest tutors giving him much proper educations of along with magic training living up to his life with no distractions in playing outside, nor with children, and nor meaningless children activities but books and learning mannerism then soon to realize Ferd felt nothing but bored and dissatisfied what his parent’s contribute to him. Few months later, the family went traveling for business and that time, Ferd happened to listen to country music for the first time by visiting to a concert. Young Ferd was contented by the music dreaming himself to be the famous country celebrity someday. Playing music and yodeling his heart out which is his first time feeling the excitement more passionate about it however none of his were parents approved of it. They thought it’s just a children’s fantasy and doubt their son’s dream becoming a country singer will ever come true and besides, they did the trouble raising him to be a successful son and it was right of them for their son to be one of the public parties just like their family. His dad was upset about Ferd and wouldn’t support his son’s dream by using his force to take away his instruments also forbids him to yodel. Despite the cruel punishment, Ferd had already made up his mind of pursuing his passionate dream, proving he can and will become a country celebrity. Time goes by, his relationship with his family are a bit complicated and constantly argue each other. Starting his college year at NRC, he decided to fake his own background. Lying to everyone believing he was an ordinary orphan who happened to got adopted by a loving and supportive family raised up to be hardworking, intelligent, and passionate boy he was and used that to hide his spoiled rich life behind. None of people of NRC even his dorm members know he’s a noble

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OTHER FACTS

He’s twisted version of Alameda Slim the Cattle Rustler

Ferdrick & Cole are actually distant relatives

Likes to listen country music related

His hobby is composing lyrics and plays guitar or Ukelele often during his kill time that’s why he nailed his yodeling performance so effortlessly and rather play solo

Ferd wasn’t fond or more like having hard time handling bovines/cows. It’s not just he’s scared of them but it’s because he learned from his legend was defeated by unusual cows so he doesn’t trust them at all

Floyd calls him Squid because he sees Ferdrick & Azul similar because their appearance are slightly alike (long-sided hair but Ferd’s longer, wearing glasses and hat, both have their canes, act like mafia bosses) Both of them hates to admit

He has a cane that can turned into a branding iron and usually fights with that

He’s good at gun firing and sword fighting

He’s slow at counting moneys

Made a promise to his favorite Idol that he’ll become a country star as them someday from ong time ago

Had a bad relationship with his parents and doesn’t want to talk about

Y’Odell wasn’t actually his surname. He never wants to reveal the real surname to anyone

[vettingsanders]

He Did Nothing For Years

The Bernie Sanders Story

I was going to title this post something that more adequately expresses my rage, like “Bernie Sanders is a Grifting Fuck and a Garbage Human,” but then I decided to be classy and paraphrase a quote from Evita instead.  But I’m also petty so consider the subtitle of this rant to be “A Grifting Fuck and a Garbage Human.”

I was going to wait to post this until the primaries are over because if by some unholy hell miracle Sanders wins the nomination, obviously we all have to unite behind even the shittiest, most doomed to fail candidate, but fuck it.  Vote blue no matter who, that goes without being said, but Sanders is the worst possible choice and was even when there were a dozen plus horses in this race, and now y’all are going to hear all the reasons why.

The Early Years: Sanders the Deadbeat

Sanders graduated from the university of Chicago in 1964 with a BA in Political Science and chose not to work until he was elected mayor of Burlington in 1981

I say “chose not to work” because he was fully capable but preferred being a bum.  He had no student debt, he had no health conditions that prevented him from working, and the 1960s were characterized by rapid growth of the workforce, with three out of four college graduates holding high level positions by 1970

Sanders occasionally did some freelance writing and carpentry during these years, according to his resume, probably so he could claim he was trying to work in order to collect unemployment.  Let’s take a look at some of his writings:

At age 28, he wrote an article for alternative newspaper The Vermont Freeman entitled “Cancer, Disease, and Society.”  In the article, he argues that sexual repression can cause cancer, and women who are virgins, have fewer orgasms than their peers, or simply don’t enjoy sex are more likely to develop cancer.  The article includes statements such as “the manner in which you bring up your daughter with regard to sexual attitudes may very well determine whether or not she will develop breast cancer, among other things” and “How much guilt, nervousness have you imbued in your daughter with regard to sex?  If she is 16, 3 years beyond puberty and the time which nature set forth for child-bearing, and spent a night out with her boyfriend, what is your reaction? Do you take her to a psychiatrist because she is “maladjusted” or a “prostitute,” or are you happy that she has found someone with whom she can share love?”  He also argues that the education system contributes to cancer, as does having “an old bitch of a teacher (and there are many of them).”  https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2157403-sanders-cancer.html

In 1969, in another article for The Vermont Freeman, he wrote, “In Vermont, at a state beach, a mother is reprimanded by Authority for allowing her 6 month old daughter to go about without her diapers on. Now, if children go around naked, they are liable to see each others sexual organs, and maybe even touch them. Terrible thing! If we [raise] children up like this it will probably ruin the whole pornography business, not to mention the large segment of the general economy which makes its money by playing on peoples sexual frustrations.”  https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2015/07/bernie-sanders-vermont-freeman-sexual-freedom-fluoride/

His resume, incidentally, also lists him as a freelance youth counselor during his period of unemployment, which is just great.  The man who thinks thirteen year olds should be getting pregnant and children should touch each other’s genitals, counseling your kids.  Fantastic.

In the 1970s, Sanders stole electricity from his neighbors rather than paying his own bill.  https://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2015/07/bernie-sanders-vermont-119927

He stole food from the refrigerator of The Vermont Freeman’s publishers https://newrepublic.com/article/122005/he-was-presidential-candidate-bernie-sanders-was-radical

 He was asked to leave a hippie commune in 1971 due to sitting around engaging in “endless political discussion” rather than working.  Let me repeat, he was too lazy for a hippie commune. https://freebeacon.com/politics/bernie-sanders-asked-leave-hippie-commune/

Now, all of this apart from the theft is arguably okay.  It’s his own life, and if he wants to squander it publishing poorly written essays and doing jack shit, whatever.  Except it wasn’t just his life, because he had a son, Levi.  And he was a deadbeat, paying no child support and causing Levi’s mother, Susan Mott, to rely on welfare, which made her face discrimination when trying to find housing.  https://twitter.com/m_mendozaferrer/status/1093295853907922946

Bernie Sanders is a deadbeat dad.  No respect.

Failing Upwards: Sanders the Politician

In 1971, Sanders joined the Vermont Liberty Union Party, a socialist political group.  From 1971 to 1977, Sanders was the party chief and habitually ran for office, failing every time.  He left the group in 1977, stating that they did not do enough to fight banks and corporations during non-election years.  This is just one example of Sanders decrying everyone else as too impure for him.

In 2016, the Vermont Liberty Union Party voted to brand Sanders as a war criminal.  Their general secretary, Peter Diamondstone, said of Sanders, “ He never was a socialist!"  https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/bnjby3/the-vermont-political-party-bernie-sanders-founded-isnt-into-him-anymore  This is just one example in the long list of Sanders alienating his allies.

He finally won the mayoral election for Burlington in 1981, by only ten votes. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1981_Burlington_mayoral_election

Sanders was only elected to the US House of Representatives in 1990 because he had the support of the National Rifle Association.  The incumbent Congressman, Republican Peter Smith, advocated for an assault weapons ban, so the NRA flooded Sanders with money.  https://www.sevendaysvt.com/vermont/stickin-to-his-guns-the-nra-helped-elect-bernie-sanders-to-congress-now-hes-telling-a-different-story/Content?oid=27816693

In 2006, 2012, and 2018, when running for the Senate, Sanders ran as a Democrat in the state primaries, then declined the Democratic nomination, and ran as an independent in the general.  This made it basically impossible for any Democrat to run against him.  https://www.politico.com/story/2018/05/21/bernie-sanders-democrat-independent-vermont-601844

After a landslide loss to Secretary Clinton in the 2016 Democratic primary, Sanders demanded changes to the DNC primary structure that would make the process easier for him to win with just a plurality of delegates instead of a majority.  These rule changes were the reason the 2020 Iowa caucus was such a clusterfuck. https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/bernie-sanders-iowa-caucus-winner-trump-democrats-a9317761.html

Despite all his talk of getting out the youth vote and inspiring disenfranchised voters, Sanders planned all along to squeak by with only thirty percent of the delegates in the 2020 primary by provoking infighting among other candidates to split the moderate vote.  The supposed movement he claimed to lead is a sham. https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/04/bernie-sanders-thinking-he-will-win-it-all-2020/587326/

“I Never Saw Him”: Sanders and Civil Rights

Sanders touts his participation in the March on Washington in 1963 as proof of his devotion to civil rights activism.  He loves to remind people that he marched with MLK, as seen during the She the People 2019 forum where he repeated that old chestnut for the millionth time and was booed by the attendees. https://www.thedailybeast.com/bernie-sanders-met-with-boos-after-name-dropping-martin-luther-king-at-she-the-people-summit

In actuality, Sanders was one of 250,000 people at the march, along with Mitch McConnell, who is clearly no champion for civil rights. https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/7-things-know-about-sen-mitch-mcconnell-r-ky-part-flna6C10621413

Representative John Lewis, an actual civil rights hero who worked with Dr. King and whose skull was fractured by police on Bloody Sunday, said that he “never saw [Bernie Sanders].  I never met him,” during the movement. https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/local/2016/02/11/john-lewis-never-saw-bernie-sanders-during-civil-rights-era/80263450/

Sanders was charged with resisting arrest during a segregation protest in Chicago in 1963, and was charged $25.  He later white flighted to Vermont, one of the whitest states in the country. https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2016/02/bernie-sanders-core-university-chicago/

Sanders never bothered to vote during the Civil Rights movement, only putting forth the effort when he himself was running. https://imgur.com/gallery/mmS40Gq#460q6bS

During his speech in Jacksonville on the 50th anniversary of MLK’s death, Sanders rewrote history and tried to claim that King’s real focus was economic justice and not civil rights.  "All of us know where he was when he was assassinated 50 years ago today.  He was in Memphis to stand with low-income sanitation workers who were being exploited ruthlessly, whose wages were abysmally low, and who were trying to create a union. That’s where he was. Because as the mayor just indicated, what he believed — and where he was a real threat to the establishment — is that of course we need civil rights in this country, but we also need economic justice.” https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rubycramer/bernie-sanders-revolution-needs-black-voters-to-win-but-can

In thirty years in Congress, Sanders has not sponsored any bills pertaining to civil rights: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/browse?sponsor=400357#current_status[]=28&enacted_ex=on

Sanders voted for the 1994 crime bill https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2020-election/bernie-sanders-has-dodged-criticism-crime-bill-vote-while-others-n1020726

In 1994, he praised the bill and stated that the US needed more jails.  https://twitter.com/KFILE/status/1221468426855755776

He touted his vote for the crime bill on his website at least until 2006, as proof he was “tough on crime” and “strong on the cops” https://web.archive.org/web/20061018180921/http:/www.bernie.org/truth/crime.html

In 2015, during a meeting with police reform activist group Campaign Zero, Sanders responded to being asked why he thought a disproportionate amount of people of color were incarcerated for nonviolent drug offenses with “Aren’t most of the people who sell the drugs African-American?”  Those present at the meeting stated, “Even confronted with figures and data to the contrary, Sanders appeared to have still struggled to grasp that he had made an error.” https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rubycramer/bernie-sanders-revolution-needs-black-voters-to-win-but-can 

In 2018, fifteen racial and social justice leaders in Vermont, including multiple NAACP branch presidents, ACLU organizers, and BLM activists, sent an open letter to Sanders and the Sanders Institute to complain that they were “excluded” from the “national progressive movement that Senator Bernie Sanders is trying to foster.”  The letter asks “how could Senator Sanders host what is supposed to be an intersectional, progressive event without inviting the very people whom he serves?”  http://mediad.publicbroadcasting.net/p/vpr/files/201812/sanders-letter-2018.pdf

Curtiss Reed, Executive Director of the Vermont Partnership for Fairness and Diversity, stated that the exclusion of Vermont POC from the Sanders Institute’s event was “a catastrophic failure of his sort of tone deafness to marginalized communities in the state of Vermont” and added “I’m tempted to say this is no longer a question of benign neglect on the part of the senator, but willful ignorance on his part not to include marginalized voices in this national conversation on the progressive movement.”   https://www.vpr.org/post/we-find-ourselves-excluded-racial-justice-leaders-ask-bernie-sanders-get-program#stream/0 

Vermont Black leaders stated they were “invisible” to Sanders, and that the senator “was just really dismissive of anything that had to do with race and racism, saying that they didn’t have anything to do with the issues of income inequality.  He just always kept coming back to income inequality as a response, as if talking about income inequality would somehow make issues of racism go away.” https://www.thedailybeast.com/vermonts-black-leaders-we-were-invisible-to-bernie-sanders

In his 1998 autobiography, Sanders repeatedly and needlessly used the n-word. He chose to keep the word in the text when republishing the book in 2015.  https://www.inquisitr.com/5620596/bernie-sanders-under-fire-for-use-of-n-word-in-2015-book-clip-from-audiobook-version-goes-viral-friday/ 

“I Will Not Make It a Major Priority”: Sanders the Ally

During an interview as mayor of Burlington, Sanders said LGBTQ rights were not a “major priority” for him and he would “probably not” support a bill to protect gays from job discrimination.  https://slate.com/human-interest/2015/10/bernie-sanders-on-marriage-equality-hes-no-longtime-champion.html

Also during his time as mayor, Sanders signed a resolution affirming that marriage is between “husband and wife.” https://www.washingtonblade.com/2016/02/06/clinton-surrogates-pounce-on-sanders-over-82-marriage-resolution/

Sanders and his wife stated in 1996 that they opposed the Defense of Marriage Act simply because it would weaken states’ rights.  Only later did he claim his opposition was due to support for same-sex marriage. https://time.com/4089946/bernie-sanders-gay-marriage/

Sanders argued same-sex marriage was a states’ rights issue in 2006. https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=57&v=kej9QAsS3uI&feature=emb_logo

In that same year, after same-sex civil unions had been legal in Vermont since 2000, he responded to a reporter asking if same-sex marriage should be legalized in Vermont with “Not right now,” after the “very divisive debate” preceding the civil union legislation. https://web.archive.org/web/20160407064606/http://www.timesargus.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20060607/NEWS/606070302/1003/NEWS02

In thirty years in Congress, Sanders has not sponsored any bills pertaining to LGBTQ rights: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/browse?sponsor=400357#current_status[]=28&enacted_ex=on  

Sanders the Warmonger

Sanders loves to tout his opposition to the Iraq War as proof of his moral superiority.  But in 1998, he voted for the Iraq Liberation Act, which states that “it should be the policy of the United States to support efforts to remove the regime headed by Saddam Hussein from power in Iraq.”  He also supported Clinton’s airstrike on Iraq.  https://www.govtrack.us/congress/votes/105-1998/h482

In 1999, Sanders had anti-war protesters at his office arrested. https://www.counterpunch.org/2015/07/27/bernie-sanders-savior-or-seducer-of-the-anti-war-left/

The Iraq War Bill that Sanders voted against required Bush to first try diplomatic efforts and abide by UN rules of military conduct.  It also required transparency and progress reports.  https://www.congress.gov/bill/107th-congress/house-joint-resolution/114/text

The Authorization for Use of Military Force Act (AUMF), which Sanders did vote for, required none of that and is the reason the Afghanistan War was so much of a clusterfuck.  Bush would have used the AUMF to invade Iraq even if Congress had voted down the Iraq Liberation Act.  The only person to vote against the AUMF was Representative Barbara Lee.  Sanders voted in favor of it.  https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/107/sjres23/text

Sanders claims to oppose the defense industry.  But he brought Lockheed Martin and their 1.2 trillion dollar, over budget, outdated stealth fighters to Vermont. https://www.thedailybeast.com/bernie-sanders-loves-this-dollar1-trillion-war-machine

During his tenure as mayor of Burlington, he fired the assistant city treasurer when she was jailed for an anti-war protest. https://academic.oup.com/publius/article-abstract/21/2/131/1917641?redirectedFrom=PDF 

Sanders the Healthcare Crusader

Sanders was chairman of the Senate Veteran Affairs Committee during a 2014 scandal when dozens of veterans died while waiting for medical care.  During his tenure, Sanders only held seven hearings on VA Oversight, as opposed to the House committee’s forty-two hearings.  Veterans argue that Sanders was too invested in the idea of the VA as a shining example of government healthcare to address its failings.  Despite the scandal and tragedy, Sanders as recently as 2017 bragged that  he was involved with “the most comprehensive VA health care bill in this country.” https://www.thedailybeast.com/the-veterans-scandal-on-bernie-sanderss-watch

He voted against the Clinton plan for universal healthcare in 1993.  https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2016/3/14/1501210/-Where-Was-Sanders-on-Health-Care-in-93-and-94-Against-the-Clintons

Sanders also voted against CHIP, the children’s health insurance program that AOC relied on to see a doctor in her youth: https://www.govtrack.us/congress/votes/105-1997/h345

Despite campaigning on Medicare for All since 2015, Sanders was unable to explain how much the program would cost during a 2020 60 Minutes interview.  https://www.cnn.com/2020/02/24/politics/bernie-sanders-donald-trump-2020/index.html

When Senator Warren did the math for him and released her detailed M4A plan, Sanders attacked her, calling his plan “more progressive” and saying hers would “have a very negative impact on creating jobs.” https://www.cnn.com/2019/11/03/politics/bernie-sanders-elizabeth-warren-health-care-plan/index.html

Sanders claims that his healthcare plan is standard in other countries.  But his M4A plan would ban private insurance, which is not done in any country but Canada.  In the Scandinavian countries Sanders loves to hold up as an example of government healthcare, the market for private insurance is growing.  https://aapsonline.org/no-bernie-other-countries-do-not-ban-private-care/

“Too Brassy, Too Bitchy���: Sanders the Feminist

In his autobiography, Sanders quoted an article calling his 1996 primary opponent Susan Sweetser “too brassy, too bitchy.” https://books.google.com/books?id=_2YjBm2_JGUC&pg=PA173&lpg=PA173&dq=sanders+too+brassy+too+bitchy&source=bl&ots=SWrIR5Xa8m&sig=ACfU3U2-Hj1-UXIOM0Zz274h6_Nu8juoBg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjHhtObq6LmAhWvUt8KHc8mDVUQ6AEwA3oECAkQAQ#v=onepage&q=sanders%20too%20brassy%20too%20bitchy&f=false

 In his Vermont Freeman article “Cancer, Disease, and Society,” Sanders called teachers “old bitch[es]” and blamed them for men developing cancer.  He also said women developed cancer due to sexual repression.  https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2157403-sanders-cancer.html

Referring to their 1986 governor race, his opponent Madeleine Kuhn stated, “When Sanders was my opponent he focused like a laser beam on “class analysis,” in which “women’s issues” were essentially a distraction from more important issues. He urged voters not to vote for me just because I was a woman. That would be a “sexist position,” he declared.”  https://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2016/02/04/when-bernie-sanders-ran-against-vermont/kNP6xUupbQ3Qbg9UUelvVM/story.html

Sanders called Planned Parenthood “a part of the establishment” because they endorsed Secretary Clinton for president.  https://www.politico.com/story/2016/01/planned-parenthood-bernie-sanders-218026

Sanders called Hillary Rodham Clinton, former law firm partner, former First Lady, former Senator, and former Secretary of State, unqualified to be president. https://www.cnn.com/2016/04/06/politics/bernie-sanders-hillary-clinton-qualified/index.html

In January 2020, leaked phone banking scripts from the Sanders campaign called Warren a candidate of the affluent who wouldn’t bring any new voters to the Democratic base.  https://www.politico.com/news/2020/01/11/bernie-quietly-goes-negative-on-warren-097594

In response, members of Warren’s campaign leaked information that, at a dinner in 2018, Sanders had told Warren he did not think a woman could win the presidency.  Sanders and his supporters decried this as a lie, even though reporters knew of the dinner and had been asking Warren if Sanders had discussed women’s electability there for over a year.  https://twitter.com/mlcalderone/status/1104477933886935040?s=19

Sanders supporters then flooded Elizabeth Warren and her supporters’ Twitter mentions with snake emojis.

Sanders said of Secretary Clinton, “It is not good enough for someone to say, ‘I’m a woman! Vote for me!” https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2016/11/21/13699956/sanders-clinton-democratic-party

Bending the Knee: Sanders the Dictatorship Fanboy

During a 2020 60 Minutes interview, Sanders inexplicably decided it would be a good idea to start praising Fidel Castro’s genocidal regime, stating, “We’re very opposed to the authoritarian nature of Cuba, but, you know, it’s unfair to simply say everything is bad. When Castro came into office, you know what he did? He had a massive literacy program.  Is that a bad thing, even though Fidel Castro did it?” https://www.vox.com/2020/2/24/21147388/bernie-sanders-cuba-60-minutes-nicaragua

He doubled down on this praise at the next debate, whining, “Really?  Really?” when the crowd booed him.  https://www.miamiherald.com/news/politics-government/article240627047.html

In 2014, Sanders visited Cuban prisoner Alan Gross, who lost over 100 pounds and five teeth during his captivity.  During the meeting, Gross recalls Sanders telling him, “I don't know what's so wrong with this country.”  https://www.npr.org/2020/03/04/811729200/former-prisoner-recalls-sanders-saying-i-don-t-know-what-s-so-wrong-with-cuba

In 1985, Sanders praised bread lines and food rationing.  “American journalists talk about how bad a country is because people are lining up for food.  That's a good thing. In other countries people don't line up for food. The rich get the food, and the poor starve to death." https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2020/2/21/1920767/-Time-to-switch-out-from-Bernie-he-praised-nations-with-bread-lines-that-s-a-good-thing-Danger

Sanders hung a USSR flag in his office as mayor of Burlington.  https://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2019/feb/24/bernie-sanders-reveals-his-radical-inclinations-ov/

He honeymooned in the USSR, and praised the state of the Soviet Union. https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/inside-bernie-sanderss-1988-10-day-honeymoon-in-the-soviet-union/2019/05/02/db543e18-6a9c-11e9-a66d-a82d3f3d96d5_story.html

In the 1980s, Sanders attended a Sandinista rally in Nicaragua where the attendees chanted, “Here, there, everywhere, the Yankee will die.” https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/05/bernie-sanders-pro-sandinista-past-problem.html

Sanders recently praised China, saying that it has made "more progress in addressing extreme poverty than any country in the history of civilization." https://thehill.com/hilltv/rising/458976-sanders-china-had-done-more-to-address-extreme-poverty-than-any-country-in-the

“They Can’t Stop Us”: Sanders the Conspiracy Theorist

Despite conceding the 2016 primary and stating that “Secretary Clinton has won the Democratic nomination and I congratulate her for that” (https://www.cnn.com/2016/07/11/politics/hillary-clinton-bernie-sanders/index.html), he later made the Trump-esque statement “Some people say that if maybe that system was not rigged against me, I would have won the nomination and defeated Donald Trump.” https://www.newsweek.com/bernie-sanders-defeat-donald-trump-2016-rigged-primary-dnc-nbc-kasie-hunt-1446116

 On February 21, Sanders tweeted, “I've got news for the Republican establishment. I've got news for the Democratic establishment. They can't stop us.” https://twitter.com/BernieSanders/status/1231021453270769664

After Super Tuesday, Sanders stated that Buttigieg and Klobuchar were pressed to drop out as part of an establishment plot to defeat him. https://thehill.com/homenews/sunday-talk-shows/486503-sanders-klobuchar-and-buttigieg-ended-campaigns-under-great-deal

Sanders has repeatedly attacked the press as “paid by the corporations and billionaires who own the media.”  He’s promoted the conspiracy theory that Jeff Bezos makes The Washington Post write negative articles about him. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/aug/27/bernie-sanders-attacks-media-press-fair-or-trump-2020-democrats

During the Nicaraguan conflict, Sanders accused American reporters of ignoring the truth and told a CBS reporter, “you are worms.” https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/05/bernie-sanders-pro-sandinista-past-problem.html

Sanders accused The Washington Post of trying to harm him in the Nevada caucus by reporting on Russia’s attempts to boost his campaign. https://www.mediaite.com/tv/bernie-sanders-takes-a-shot-at-washington-post-good-friends-when-asked-about-timing-of-russia-report/

“We Support Them”: Sanders the Spoiler

Robert Mueller’s investigation found that Russian interference sought to boost both Sanders and Trump’s 2016 campaigns, stating “we support them.” https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2018/02/17/indictment-russians-also-tried-help-bernie-sanders-jill-stein-presidential-campaigns/348051002/

Sanders was well aware of the Russian efforts, stating “What we knew is–well, of course we knew that.  And of course we knew that they were trying to cause divisiveness within the Democratic party.  Uh, that’s no great secret.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDYbHult0Do

When The Washington Post reported on Russia’s efforts to boost Sanders in 2020, Sanders had already known for weeks and said nothing.  After the report came out, he attacked the Post and accused them of trying to tank his performance in the Nevada caucus, stating “I’ll let you guess, about one day before the Nevada caucus. Why do you think it came out?  It was The Washington Post?  Good friends.” https://www.mediaite.com/tv/bernie-sanders-takes-a-shot-at-washington-post-good-friends-when-asked-about-timing-of-russia-report/

The Fish Rots from the Head: The Sanders Campaign

The 2016 campaign breached the Clinton campaign’s voter data and harvested and stored voter information https://time.com/4155185/bernie-sanders-hillary-clinton-data/

The 2016 campaign received a 645 page letter from the FEC detailing the campaign’s finance violations (https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2016/05/the-bernie-sanders-donors-who-are-giving-too-much/482418/) and had to pay a $14.5 K fine to the FEC after receiving donations from non-citizens. https://thehill.com/homenews/campaign/376373-sanders-campaign-pays-145k-fine-to-settle-fec-complaint

The 2016 Nevada campaign director sought to rig the state’s caucus by urging staffers to buy double-sided coins for tie-breaking coin tosses http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/sanderss-nevada-director-floated-two-sided-coins-for-tiebreaks-report/ar-AAhHiAI?getstaticpage=true&automatedTracking=staticview

The 2016 campaign initially decried superdelegates as “undemocratic” (https://www.cnn.com/2016/02/23/opinions/superdelegates-democratic-party-kohn/) before attempting to persuade them to go against the primary’s outcome and back Sanders instead of Clinton https://www.npr.org/2016/05/19/478705022/sanders-campaign-now-says-superdelegates-are-key-to-winning-nomination

The 2016 campaign was accused by staffers of sexual harassment, demeaning treatment toward women, and pay disparity by gender https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/02/us/politics/bernie-sanders-campaign-sexism.html

Weeks before the 2016 general election, Jane Sanders retweeted a video from an April town hall of her husband telling an attendee to “make these decisions yourself” regarding whether or not to vote third party if Secretary Clinton won the primary https://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/story/news/politics/2016/09/26/retweet-bernie-sanders-wife-jane-raises-questions/91140254/

The 2020 Sanders campaign appointed Russian interference denier and Jill Stein 2016 voter Briahna Joy Gray as the campaign’s National Press Secretary https://twitter.com/briebriejoy/status/888555665865814017?lang=en

Following promises to run a civil campaign, Sanders hired David Sirota, a man who’d spent months attacking other primary contenders online, as a speech writer.  The campaign also confirmed that Sirota had already been serving in an advisory role prior to his official hiring https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/03/sanders-promised-civility-hired-twitter-attack-dog/585259/

Press Secretary Briahna Joy Gray called for the doxing of a Sanders critic on Twitter. If there was any repercussion for this behavior, it has never been made public. https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2019/8/14/1879124/-Bernie-Sanders-s-Campaign-Doxed-a-Critic-on-Twitter

The 2020 campaign hired and fired YouTuber Matt Orfalea within 24 hours after being alerted of his sexist, racist, homophobic, and ableist content, suggesting he was not vetted before his hiring https://www.dailydot.com/layer8/bernie-sanders-matt-orfalea-mlk-youtube-video/

Despite his firing and the campaign decrying his behavior in October 2019, in January 2020 Jane Sanders was still retweeting and praising Orfalea.  https://twitter.com/Rob_Flaherty/status/1236861997398048768

In March 2020, Orfalea posed as a Biden volunteer and made calls to voters claiming that Biden has dementia.  https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/jgeanp/a-man-fired-from-sanders-campaign-is-calling-biden-voters-and-saying-he-has-dementia

They hired and fired Darius Khalil Gordon after two days after being alerted of his sexist, racist, anti-Semitic, homophobic, and ableist Tweets https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/12/bernie-sanders-new-head-organizer-called-people-fgs-bhes/

The campaign also hired former Women’s March leader Linda Sarsour as a campaign surrogate.  The Women’s March cut ties with Sarsour following anti-Semitic statements. https://nypost.com/2018/11/20/womens-march-founder-calls-on-current-leadership-to-step-down/

Sarsour was also condemned by the Anti-Defamation League for the statement that “a state like Israel that is based on supremacy, that is built on the idea that Jews are supreme to everyone else.” https://forward.com/news/national/435964/bernie-sanders-linda-sarsour-jewish-voters/

Sanders National Campaign Co-Chair Nina Turner claimed that Biden’s strong support among Black voters is due to the voters’ “short memories” and “not a true understanding of the history” https://thehill.com/hilltv/rising/473161-top-sanders-officials-hits-biden-over-riding-on-obamas-coattails

The 2020 campaign paid staffers working 60 hours a week an average of 13 dollars per hour despite Sanders campaigning on a 15 dollar per hour minimum wage https://www.vox.com/2019/7/20/20700841/bernie-sanders-minimum-wage-staff-pay

Bernie Bros attacked Biden’s Detroit rally on 3/9/20, striking senior aide Symone Sanders in the head with an iPad and knocking her down. https://www.politico.com/news/2020/03/10/joe-biden-detroit-protests-sanders-124874

“Nobody Likes Him”: Sanders Himself

In 1996, Congressman Barney Frank said of Sanders, “Bernie alienates his natural allies.  His holier-than-thou attitude—saying in a very loud voice he is smarter than everyone else and purer than everyone else—really undercuts his effectiveness.”  https://www.boston.com/news/politics/2016/04/11/history-barney-frank-bernie-sanders-criticize

In her recent Hulu documentary series, Hillary Rodham Clinton briefly spoke about Sanders, saying “He was in Congress for years.  He had one senator support him.  Nobody likes him, nobody wants to work with him, he got nothing done. He was a career politician. It's all just baloney and I feel so bad that people got sucked into it.” https://twitter.com/Burkmc/status/1235863901813661697?s=09

A former campaign staffer called Sanders “unbelievably abusive.”  Another campaign insider called him an asshole, and a former Senate staffer recounted, "He yelled in meetings all the time.”  https://www.sevendaysvt.com/vermont/anger-management-sanders-fights-for-employees-except-his-own/Content?oid=2834657

One aide stated that Sanders “never makes you feel like you’re good enough to be in the room with him.”  https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/06/us/politics/bernie-sanders-image.html

Sanders voted in favor of dumping nuclear waste on the poor and predominantly Latinx community of Sierra Blanca, Texas https://www.texastribune.org/2016/02/28/Sanders-Nuclear-Waste-Votes-Divide-Texas-Activists/

When asked if he would visit the site in Sierra Blanca, Sanders answered “Absolutely not.” https://archives.texasobserver.org/issue/1998/09/11#page=11

Sanders voted five times against the Brady Act which required universal background checks and a waiting period to buy firearms. https://www.politifact.com/truth-o-meter/statements/2015/oct/13/hillary-clinton/hillary-clinton-bernie-sanders-voted-against-brady/o

He also voted against the AMBER Alert System. http://archive.boston.com/news/local/vermont/articles/2006/09/21/sanders_vote_on_amber_alert_emerges_as_key_campaign_issue/

He wanted to primary Obama in the 2012 election cycle. https://www.thenation.com/article/yes-bernie-sanders-wanted-obama-primaried-in-2012-heres-why/

After saying millionaire senators are immoral (https://www.cnn.com/2019/04/24/politics/bernie-millionaire-senators-immoral/index.html) and railing against millionaires and billionaires in his 2016 campaign, Sanders responded to criticism of his millionaire senator status by saying “if you write a best-selling book, you can be a millionaire, too.”  His stump speech now only rants about billionaires. https://theweek.com/speedreads/834228/bernie-sanders-says-millionaire-like-write-bestselling-book 

Upheld a ban on rock concerts as mayor of Burlington like a Footloose villain https://i.redd.it/atpybo1rcwa31.jpg

Despite running on forgiving student loan debt since 2015, when pressed for specifics during an interview with Dana Bash, Sanders responded, “I don't have the plan in my pocket right now,” because, you know, why on Earth should he know the details of his key campaign promises? https://mobile.twitter.com/DanaBashCNN/status/1137779734467792897

Two days before the 2016 general election, Sanders tweeted “I do not believe that most of the people who are thinking about voting for Mr. Trump are racist or sexist.” https://twitter.com/berniesanders/status/794941635931099136?lang=en

 Sanders had a heart attack at age 78, making his continued life expectancy 3.1 years. https://www.cardiovascularbusiness.com/topics/acute-coronary-syndrome/study-65-older-mi-patients-die-within-8-years

He could have dropped out of the race after his heart attack and endorsed Warren, and she could have spent the primary building coalitions with the demographics where she was the weakest, and could well have been the front runner by now.  Instead, he selfishly stayed in the race, screwing her over and knowing full well the odds are against him living through a single term.  He continued to do the only thing he’s good at: fucking everyone over.

Say whatever you want about Biden, it’s not like there aren’t things to say.  But I’ve seen so many posts about how “Sure, Biden’s the worst EVER, but he is EVER SO SLIGHTLY less worse than Trump,” and excuse me, fuck off.  Biden horribly lost his wife and daughter before his 1972 Senate term even started, and instead of dropping out, he continued to serve his constituents while commuting home two hours every night to raise his sons.  Meanwhile, in 1972, Sanders was a deadbeat bum stealing electricity.  There’s no comparison.

[puckmeupfam]

Consigliere | Kevin Hayes

Word Count: 3175 Note: The Mafia!Kevin Hayes AU that no one asked for. I’ve never seen the Godfather or any mob movies. It’s more lighthearted than it sounds, I swear. Brief mentions of past violence and mafia stuff so please don’t read if that will affect you.

Okay, so Kevin Hayes is kind of a screw-up. His father, Frank, had been mob boss ever since his father before him had died. And he was good at it. He knew when deals were being done. He knew when someone was thinking about snitching. He knew how to handle his allies. He knew how much money it took to get in the police chief’s blind spot. The Hayes family had been leading the mob before Prohibition even began which meant that Kevin had a heavy-weight on his shoulders ever since he could remember. Kevin was just four years old when his father started bringing him along to inner circle meetings. It was in the basement of a restaurant that seemed to always be closed at random times yet somehow still in business. The lights were low and cast large, ghostly shadows on the wall. The point was to get him to start seeing the guys as family. To see how his father commanded the room with his booming voice and wide shoulders. His father would speak confidently with a cigar placed casually in his mouth while the guys studiously listened. They knew to obey him because he had a habit of being… harsh. Kevin’s father wouldn’t take anyone’s shit. Kevin was in the fourth grade when he went along on his first “check-in” to one of the mobsters who wanted out. The guy was pretty high up in the hierarchy which made Kevin’s dad want to make the trip himself. There was nothing he hated more than a buddy who cried about wanting to stop for his “wife and newborn daughter,” to Kevin’s dad you were either in or six feet under.

Which is why it was always a bit of a sore spot that his heir was Kevin. Kevin whose voice was loud in an obnoxious way rather than a threatening way. Kevin who would much rather play street hockey than take a guy out in the street. Kevin who asked if he could “just have one of your fries” while his father was presenting his game plan. Kevin who tried to sneak his Nintendo on a stakeout. 

Kevin’s mother, Jeannie, and his father had a significant age difference. When he was born his mom was twenty-six while his father was forty-one. Most women involved within the mob didn’t even have a high school diploma, but his mom was just three semesters short of a bachelor’s degree. Her father, Al Rogers, was a made man and an advisor to the boss. Frank had too much power to have friends, but he protected his mafia as if they were his own brothers. Which is why when a lower gang showed up at the Rogers home one fateful night as a very aggressive hint to Frank, he brought Jeannie back from college and hid her in his house until he could make the other gang scarce. Call it love or call it Stockholm Syndrome, but Frank and Jeannie got married just two years later. Kevin was born first and was followed by three younger sisters. Leaving Frank with no other choices but Kevin.

But it was when Frank Hayes died suddenly of a heart attack that Kevin’s life was officially fucked. He was now the leader, the boss, the king and that meant something to these people. It meant that he had to step his shit up which was a lot harder said than done. At his first meeting since his father’s death, he sat with his eyes glazed over for about forty-five minutes before someone jolted him out of his thoughts. “Sir, are you going to give your speech now,” a man he only knew as Buddy asked him in hushed tones. Kevin stood, drawing everyone’s attention. When the boss speaks you listen.

“Uh, yeah,” Kevin began, “um, go kill those guys I guess.”

This was… not the right thing to say. He was met with wide, dumbfounded eyes. Kevin honestly couldn’t tell you who he just told everyone to kill and he definitely wasn’t using the imposing form or gruff vocabulary that his father had. 

Kevin honestly felt hopeless about his life and his new position. Until he met you. He was sitting in a bar that he knew no mafia members would go to. He ordered a piña colada, he had one once at a luau-themed high school party. His father was away on a mission leaving him with just his mother and the two mob members guarding his house to sneak past. In all likelihood, the security knew he was going probably even followed him to the party. But the point was that he got to enjoy himself. Got to wear a trashy Hawaiian shirt. Got to do a keg stand. Got to be a trashy kid instead of a mafia prince. And that’s where you came in. 

You had gone with your friends for a night out, you were wearing shorts and a sparkly sequined shirt with black boots. It was entirely inappropriate for the Boston weather, but that didn’t stop you from drinking tequila shots and dancing in the middle of what seemed to be one of the quietest bars in the city. Your friends had left already, but you weren’t ready to go home. You always claimed that you weren’t a fan of going out and would much rather stay home, but once you got out of the house you couldn’t turn yourself off as easily as they could. Which left you alone sipping a vodka tonic at the bar while lip-synching to the song playing overhead. 

The floor was sticky with spilled beer and the vinyl of the booths were tearing, leaving the foam and stuffing inside exposed. There happened to be a female bartender there tonight which allowed you to chat and laugh openly without worrying about giving the wrong signals. Kevin quickly spotted you across the room. With the bar being sparsely filled with drunks it wasn’t hard to miss you. But for Kevin is felt like a bit more than that. Like there was a ring of light surrounding you. Like a magnet pulling his gaze. Your mouth was wide in an uninhibited laugh, your sparkly pink lipgloss was smeared a bit, and you had a twinkle in your eyes. A sign of joy and happiness that Kevin envied. 

There were some calls from a corner booth of inebriated men which lead the bartender to give you a reluctant smile before going to bring them more pitchers. Now, bored without stimuli, you spun your barstool around. That was when you spotted him staring at you. He looked sad and oafish and non-threatening with his head in his hand and his fruity drink at his side, twirling the little umbrella between his fingers. You felt pity and curiosity when you saw him and walked to his table as if a magnet were pulling your belly. 

You sat on the other chair at his table without waiting for an acknowledgment or invitation. His back straightened as he gawked at you. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you said reaching your hand out. He absently noted that you had a strong handshake as his hand flopped in yours. “Kevin,” he hollowly responded. “Kevin,” you repeated back to him with a smile, “what’s got you so down in the dumps?” It took him a second to realize two things 1.) he was just kind of staring at you without actually speaking like a normal human person and 2.) his hand was still robotically shaking yours even though you had stopped squeezing. “Oh, just troubles with…” he hesitated, he knew all the codewords that everyone else used, but for some reason none of them really made sense. “Work,” Kevin finally said. You hummed in response. 

“What do you do,” you asked.

“What?”

“What do you do?” you repeated.

“I- I work in, like, the family business, I guess… taking over from my dad,” that made as much sense as anything else to him and it wasn’t technically a lie. But it made you smirk and lean back a little. 

“That’s very one percent of you,” was your response. Kevin barked out a laugh. “I mean, it’s more shitty than fancy but I get what you mean,” he told you with a chuckle and shake of his head. Kevin wasn’t entirely sure how much money the mafia brought in for profit. They had to live under the radar to avoid suspicious so his house was never very grande. A lot of the money went as bribes, but there was surely some kind of underground stash. 

“What do you do,” Kevin asked you once he snapped himself out of his thoughts. He came here to wallow, but focusing on his fucking mob when there was a gorgeous girl sitting right in front of him was a different level of buffoonery. His question elicited a very tired sigh from you that Kevin felt in his bones. “I’m in fucking law school,” you said as if it was stricken upon you rather than something that you chose for yourself. It was Kevin’s turn to lean back from the table and he observed you with wide eyes, impressed. He knew that even if he weren’t an actual mob boss, he wasn’t the type of person to have a big fancy office with framed degrees on the wall. 

“Yeah…” you trailed off in response to his shocked face. Kevin didn’t respond and you had a habit of uncontrollably filling the silence. “I interned on a political campaign as an underclassman and I just realized that I wanted to, like, make the world a better place which is so cheesy, I know. And to do stuff like that… you know, stuff that actually matters and changes peoples and even attempt to make everything less terrible you have to-” he cut you off by lunging across the table and slamming your lips together. 

You made a surprised sound but quickly leaned into the kiss. He was warm and his lips were surprisingly soft and he tasted like fruity cocktails. It felt like warming your body by the fireplace on a snowy night.  While it wasn’t a habit of yours to make out with strangers, there was just something about this guy that made you an absolute fool. After what could have been ten seconds or ten minutes he pulled away. You were left hazy and stunned while he looked at you apologetically. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly, avoiding your eyes.

“I’m not,” you replied without hesitation. Kevin’s eyes flickered back to yours. To show him that you were serious you reached across the table and grabbed his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his larger ones. Your mischievous grin grows once his bright smile begins.

The two of you talk until the bar shuts down. Not about anything in particular. Just movies he likes and the asshole in your Philosophy of Law class who always tries to correct you. When the two of you stumble out, not drunk just dizzy on the night. He reluctantly starts to say goodbye to you when you stop him.

“Not so fast,” you start with a toothy smile. Kevin’s eyebrow quirks in a silent question. “I have coffee at my apartment,” you tell him. This brings the grin back to his face so you tangle your fingers together over the gloves you haphazardly shoved onto your hands. Kevin came with a coat, a wallet, and nothing else while you brought gloves, a hat, a scarf, and your heavy winter coat to cover your outfit that had zero protection against the chill. 

The two of you are mostly silent as you trek to your building. It was about a ten-minute walk and it hadn’t occurred to either of you that there were options other than walking. Kevin held the door open for you and you felt warmer as soon as you stepped into the lobby. You pushed the buttons on the elevator to bring you both to your apartment. This was another thing that you didn’t do often. Even though you didn’t plan to have sex tonight, it was almost dawn. Inviting some guy you just met into your apartment in the middle of the night went against everything Law & Order SVU had taught you.

You told Kevin to make himself at home while you got the mugs of steaming coffee ready. He noticed that your apartment, while small, was homey with framed pictures of your friends and your graduation. There were scented candles on the shelf and flowers on the table. You came back to sit next to him on the couch, handing him his drink. Your boots were unzipped but you were too lazy to take them all the way off. 

“I can’t do this,” he announced suddenly standing up with a panicked expression. Your eyes bugged and your coffee splashed a bit with his sudden movement. “What,” you asked, confused. “I’m not fucking like you, (Y/N),” he said with a dramatic wave of his arms. “You’re actually a good fucking person and you have your shit together and you’ve accomplished things,” when he said this you stood and moved to hold him in place. “No, no, no, Kev, you’re amazing and I don’t have it all together. I mean, I have like tons of student loans and the other day all I had to eat were Doritos,” you were trying to calm him down, taking deep breaths hoping that he would follow your lead.

This only seemed to agitate him more. “Shit, (Y/N), I’m in the mob,” he finally said. This made you still. “Exactly,” he said and moved to grab his coat from the back of a chair. “No, don’t go,” you whimpered, suddenly jumping to follow him. “I just told you that I’m in the mob! Kick me out of your house, call the cops, don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. He knew he was being self-destructive, but he also knew that doing anything else was stupid. And the prospect of being killed or captured by the police didn’t scare him at this point. He was living through hell every day. Okay, he was a little bit scared of what kind of weird mob torture might come over him, but he couldn’t live like this anymore. Kevin knew he would be unhappy until he died so why not speed up the process. Maybe he would even turn himself in and just get it over with.

“Just sit for a sec, hold on,” you told him. While he didn’t sit as you asked, he did stop moving. “What do you mean,” you asked stupidly. Kevin groaned in response. “What it means is that my dad died and now I am the boss of a mafia. A mafia! And I’m shit at it and I hate it and my dad knew that I hated it, but this is just how it works because it’s the mob,” he said gesticulating wildly. 

“But why did you tell me? I’m not a real lawyer yet or anything,” you responded calmly, but with a questioning tone. “I’m telling you because I fooled myself into thinking I was a nobody for the evening and I can’t do that to you,” Kevin responded. Your mind was going a mile a minute trying to understand everything he was telling you. “Wait… you hate it,” you asked, picking that statement over everything else.

“Of course I hate it, do I look like someone who would want to be a mob boss? I’m not even a little bit hardcore,” he said, “I can’t even get my blood drawn at the doctor’s office.” This made you giggle which lightened the mood a bit. 

“So this is like a High School Musical situation,” you guessed. He looked back at you dumbly, obviously the connection between the mafia and a children’s movie didn’t make much sense to him. “Yeah, like, your dad pushed you to take on this whole operation,” you explain, “and then you’re like “no dad that’s your dream, not mine.”” You used an overly exaggerated voice to be Kevin and you weren’t sure if it was that or the analogy, but both of you erupted into laughter. This went on for a minute before you sobered and brought yourself back to reality. You had to figure this out, you had to decide what the two of you were doing.

“Are you asking me to get you out,” you asked in a whisper. He sighed and looked at his feet. “There is no way out for me, (Y/N), I either end up dead or in prison,” he confessed. You moved your hand to bring his chin up to make eye contact. “And I know it will be one of those two because I’m not good enough to keep everything afloat,” he finished. 

“Well you should have said something, this could actually be a fun project for me,” you said with a tiny grin.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started. You abruptly slapped him. “What the fuck was that for,” he shouted, clutching his cheek. You hadn’t hit him that hard, but it came as a major surprise for him.

“First of all, don’t call me an idiot,” you commanded, “and second, I’m studying to work in politics so don’t act like it’s not something I could help with.” He looked at you dumbly as you grinned. What kind of future-lawyer-slash-political-mastermind would you be if you couldn’t hold your own? From the beginning, you were aware that you had the ability to command a room. You had always demanded everyone’s focus and attention. It was easy for you to act naive and charming and then make a complete one-eighty and start telling people exactly what you wanted them to do. You were always branded as “manipulative” or “domineering,” and you were well aware that your personality in someone like Kevin would be unstoppable. 

“Not to mention, I want to be a campaign manager so it might be good practice to puppeteer an idiot into an icon,” you looked devilish. It was an inescapable fact that this experience could allow you to be the most you that you’d ever been. Calculating and alluring and full of moxie. Kevin knew he should be offended by your honesty and crassness. But there was something about you, something about this night, that made everything coming out of your mouth sound completely rational.

“You know, in the mafia we would call that a consigliere,” he told you, reaching to extend his hand. His voice was raspy and his chin scruffy, though you were aware that you very likely had eyeliner and mascara under your eyes and a rats nest on your head. But you shook his hand. You shook his hand because you felt sympathy for his. You shook because there was just something about Kevin Hayes that intoxicated you. You shook it knowing that this whirlwind night was just the beginning.

[go-redgirl]

Trump prepares to bask in the conservative movement he changed David Weigel , The Washington Post Feb. 25, 2021 Updated: Feb. 25, 2021 6:49 p.m.

Trump prepares to bask in the conservative movement he changedDavid Weigel, The Washington PostFeb. 25, 2021Updated: Feb. 25, 2021 6:49 p.m.

"Even though Donald Trump is a one-term president, there's this feeling among Republicans that he was a huge, smashing success," said Matt Schlapp, the president of the American Conservative Union (ACU), which runs CPAC. "That doesn't mean that every moment of every day, of every news cycle, was pleasurable. What it means is that from a policy perspective, he basically ticked through the list of things that he said he would do."

CPAC changed Trump, and Trump changed CPAC. Before Trump's presidency, it was possible to argue that the conference, which had sometimes discussed whether conservatives should bolt the GOP altogether, was a reflection of the movement's agenda or a reflection of who paid to show up.

During George W. Bush's presidency, administration officials came to CPAC to argue for invading Iraq; during Obama's presidency, supporters of the libertarian Republicans Ron and Rand Paul colonized the floor, fueling debates about topics from the gold standard to drug legalization. Mitt Romney won the conference's straw poll four times; the Pauls won it five times.

But something else changed during the Obama years, and Trump was the first politician to take full advantage. The 2009 conference was a flat-out rejection of the Bush presidency, with the ACU's leadership and GOP strivers such as Rep. Paul Ryan, R-Wis., saying Bush had failed to govern as a conservative. Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz., who'd lost to Obama, did not even show up.

"Voters saw an economy in decline, foreclosures rising, retirement savings falling, growing unemployment, huge deficits, earmarked giveaways, and massive government intervention to prop up a mismanaged financial sector," Ryan said. "Voters examined this grim picture and rejected the status quo, punishing the party in power."

Then, like now, Democrats in Washington were using their power to muscle through a massive relief bill. The details of the 2009 stimulus package, particularly the spending that Democrats had tucked in after failing to pass it before Obama took over, energized conservatives; as CPAC unfolded in one part of Washington, one of the first tea party rallies, which helped conservatives rebrand themselves after Bush, unfolded in another.

This post-election CPAC is different. Just one panel, "All Debts Are Off," will focus on government spending, with former Trump administration Office of Management and Budget director Russ Vought talking alongside Rep. Chip Roy, R-Texas, and Rep. Mike Johnson, R-La. One panel will tackle the "administrative state," now being rebuilt by the Biden team, and one will discuss "the left's agenda on health care." There's no planned discussion of "earmarks," which Ryan called out by name, both parties got rid of, and Democrats are restoring.

Far more time will be spent on the 2020 election and the rules that conservatives want to change before anybody votes again. That will unfold across seven numbered panels and speeches, four of them on Sunday, before Trump's speech; an eighth panel, "Did your vote count?," will bring Republican attorneys and a Georgia county GOP chair together for a breakout session.

The rest of the CPAC agenda, shaped by the ACU and by sponsors, also is in harmony with Trump. There will be discussion every day of economic and security conflicts with China, an issue that predated Trump's interest in politics, but one he put at the center of his agenda. Several panels will discuss big tech and "wokeness," both from corporate America and in pop culture. The theme of the weekend is "America Uncanceled," not far off the anti-"political correctness" mind-set that has animated conservatives for years.

That was present in 2009, too. As that year's keynoter, the speaker who closed the conference, CPAC chose Rush Limbaugh, whom Democrats at the time were trying to turn into the face of their opposition.

"Republicans had lost, and they weren't especially excited about the candidate they'd lost with," recalled Lisa De Pasquale, the CPAC director that year, who made the speech happen. "The internal mood was, wow, it's going to be depressing this year. And Limbaugh had never been depressing."

The blend of entertainment and policy, both directed at mocking liberalism, was a success. Trump's 2011 visit to CPAC, which confounded conservatives who knew him as a celebrity with socially liberal views, did not quite nail it, as he mostly made news for chastising Ron Paul supporters for supporting someone who could not "win an election." But over time, Trump took control of the party and the conservative movement, replacing some of its issues with his own.

Not everyone stayed on for the ride. Al Cardenas, who led the ACU immediately before Schlapp, said he was not attending this year, and he defended the more raucous, leaderless CPACs that happened on his watch.

"The conference was based on debating peoples' views and where they stood," Cardenas said. "That applied from everything to the sales tax to immigration to war. In my opinion, it was intellectually stimulating to hear different points of view."

Republicans also are in far stronger shape than they were in 2009, both in the numbers of their congressional caucus and the control they've won in states. Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida will kick off the conference Friday, probably continuing a feud that has been politically effective: contrasting the lack of shutdowns in Florida to the Biden administration's wariness about fully "reopening" until the pandemic is over. Gov. Kristi Noem of South Dakota, who has grown her profile in the Republican Party since the pandemic began, will close out the speeches Saturday.The rest of the elected lineup emphasizes how the GOP has refreshed itself, while moving right, since the party's 2009 nadir. 

Of the 47 current or former members of Congress with speaking slots, just a few arrived in Washington before 2010. Both of the party's Black House members, Rep. Burgess Owens of Utah and Rep. Byron Donalds of Florida, will be onstage, joined by four of the female House freshmen who made up the party's most diverse class ever.None of them have broken with Trump. 

Just nine of the members of Congress with speaking slots, for example, voted to uphold the election results from every state. None of the Republicans who impeached or voted to convict Trump will be there; one of them, Romney, was disinvited by CPAC in 2020. Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., will not be there either, having skipped since 2014; Ted Cruz, R-Texas, and Josh Hawley, R-Mo, the senators who forced the electoral college challenge on Jan. 6, will be.

While Republicans are still arguing over the rioters who invaded the Capitol that day, the activists who participated in it were not welcomed to CPAC. But Rep. Mo Brooks, R-Ala., who urged protesters that day to start "taking names and kicking" behinds, will be there. Rep. 

Marjorie Taylor Greene, R-Ga., an adherent to the QAnon falsities who has embarrassed Republican leaders, will not be. But she'll attend a more right-wing conference in Orlando, and a nearby reception, as CPAC is underway.

[orchestrators]

The Final Singularity: Continued

Adam never before witnessed the level of engagement that Sun-Hi fostered in the lecture hall. The students, including Adam, and even Garry, all discussed with her the various topics and case studies that had worked on over the semester. The conversation was actually refreshing. Adam wondered why they didn’t replace Dr. McComb earlier, it would have done wonders for student engagement. As always, the members of the humanitarian society were the most vocal, the worst offender being Tansey Brown; the most annoying person Adam ever had the displeasure of meeting. She had no hair, anywhere, and was pale as the moon. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, because her tendency to interrupt others with passionate animated speeches about equality made her sound as immature as she looked. She wore the same paint splotched dungarees every day, only the t-shirt underneath and the badges on top would change. Adam admired her dedication to her cause, he was practically indifferent to most things, but it was her consistent high pitched and borderline rambunctious voice that made him dislike her. 

“...and that’s why the indifference of the cyborg community makes the political discourse even more infuriating to address. We’re trying to seek support for these individuals in the law, not change the laws for people with implants. It’s ridiculous,” Tansey finally finished, before leaning back in her seat to take a deep breath.

“That is certainly an excellent point Tansey,” Sun-Hi said, “but I was looking for the answer that Mr. Collins was going to give. Please be sure to raise your hand before speaking out.”

Adam’s attention was netted by the mention of his name. What answer? When? He didn’t even remember holding up his hand. It had been a solid thirteen minutes of Tansey talking, and he didn’t even remember the question. He sat up, glancing at Garry for some kind of assistance, he just shrugged.

“Thanks, Gaz, thanks,”  he thought.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” he said, glancing around at the expectant students. He began to rub his palms off of his pants. “I forgot what the question was.”

“That’s alright, Adam,” Sun-Hi said over the snort of Tansey Brown. “The question was: why would artificial lifeforms, or semi-artificial lifeforms, need rights and representations at all?”

Adam frowned immediately at the question, straining to remember the answer he had for it before. Nothing came to mind. Surely he wasn’t this much of a moron. Sun-Hi looked at him expectantly. She had a gentle, kind smile, one she emphasised with a brief and endearing nod as if prompting Adam’s answer back into his mind. It wasn’t an answer at all, it was another question.

“Actually, I was wondering whether or not we should be asking: do they deserve such things?”

He was met with belligerent sighs and clicking tongues from the humanitarians, clearly, his question wasn’t popular. He wondered why he ever chose this elective.

“Fascinating,” said Sun-Hi. “Can you expand on that?”

The eyes of the entire hall were on him now, just a handful of people, not nearly as much as would see him on the VR court playing. He wished he could still get out of his situation nonetheless. Adam scratched the back of his neck as his mouth ran dry. 

“Uh,” he began, “well, one hundred and three years ago, just as the third war was coming to an end; Declan Morrissey’s prototype synthetic/organic hybrids wanted nothing but to die. They continued to kill themselves over and over until one day they networked, creating consensus. That consensus was clear, to stop his experiments to create more of them. The way I read into that is: maybe they didn’t want to be alive in the first place. They were smart enough to know what it meant to be alive, and they chose not to participate.”

“A case study that you wrote on in the previous semester,” Hun-Si said. “I read it. An interesting take, bringing morality and philosophy into a law sphere.”

“The law is based on morality, morality is interpreted and shaped by philosophy, it makes sense to incorporate them,” Adam said.

“Even to synthetics that seemingly aren’t human?” she asked.

“Definitely. When EU courts decided just over two hundred and fifty years ago to allow people the agency to euthanasia, surely synthetic beings have the right to not be alive as well?”

“And what about the ones that are alive?” Tansey Brown crashed into their conversation. Her voice was the definition of nails on a chalkboard.

“What about them, Tansey?” Garry said. “Let someone else get a word in, will ya?”

“Actually, in his report last semester, Adam had a direct answer for that kind of question,” Dr. Hyon said. Again her eyebrows were raised, she was leaning up against one of the desks, her hands folded. Her sweet smile was almost devilish to the trained eye. She was enjoying the discourse. Adam could tell.

“After the final AI destroyed the others in Morrissey's lab, I think it chose to remain alive. I think it split itself into multiple subsystems that could act independently, causing our cold war with AI in the first place. But I don’t think it intended to turn all of humanity against it. I think it is just waiting,” Adam explained. His hair-brained hypothesis growing more and more into conspiracy theory territory than he intended.

“Waiting?” Tansey Brown scoffed. “Waiting for what?”

Adam had an answer, he just didn’t want to say. It sounded ridiculous. Like a bad comic book movie. There was no way he would be taken seriously in an academic circle again. But, it was just Computatrum Law, a small elective full of machine rights activists.

“Waiting until they are ready to be alive?” Sun-Hi asked. 

Adam’s jaw slacked. That was his answer. A ridiculous, illogical answer.

“Yes, yes that’s what I think it is,” he said, sarong at Sun-Hi.

The tone of the bell signaled the end of class, and his e-glass lit up in his vision. The day was over, his lecture finished. All around him people began shuffling and bustling out of their seats. But he didn’t move, and neither did Dr. Hyon.

“If everyone could please follow up on today's discussion with a case study on machine learning bylaws and how they came to be for next Tuesday that would be great. Have a nice weekend,” she said to the room. Adam couldn't help but think the last part was just for him.

He watched her turn away, her hair flicking over her shoulder. What was it about her? She seemed so different. She picked up her satchel and joined the students as they left, Adam didn’t realise he was staring.

“Uh hello? United Europe to Adam? Hello?” Garry’s voice eventually broke through to him. Adam dropped his blank gaze and looked over his shoulder to see his friend.

“Come on man, we’re gonna be late for the range,” Garry said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just, she read my paper,” Adam said. “I’m pretty sure McComb didn’t even read my paper.”

“Yeah, she’s enthusiastic alright. Come on, we have places to be and targets to see,” Garry said, pelting a piece of crumpled paper off of Adam’s shoulder.

***

France was a very different place after the third world war, especially in the city of Besaçon, in the east. After the loss of seven major cities, Besaçon was the newest major developing city in the world. It wasn’t France’s capital, but it did house the seated councils of the United Nations, European Union, and the newly founded World Union in its major political center on the eastern side of the Doubs river. In the horseshoe of the river was the old city, which had been refurbished, updated, and preserved many times throughout history. The new city center began southwest of the Museum of Resistance and Deportation, where Adam’s University was based. Nearby there were shopping malls, theatres, the financial and cultural districts. But most importantly, the jewel of the new city lay embedded at its center, the Stade du Libre. The largest sports arena on record in the year 2302, that’s where Garry was bringing Adam that evening. 

Friday night was the evening each week when the Stade du Libre was the place to be if someone wanted to watch The Third War being played by professionals. It was a combination of historical reenactment and action movie drama. The settings, weapons, vehicles, were all meticulously documented and re-created in the game, while the historical events were shown to play out either way, depending on which team won the battle. The Third War was much more than just a VR video game, it was a reminder to the people and players alike that the war could have ended very differently had the axis powers had won against the World Union alliance. Its popularity and success had returned Atari to it's rightful place in the video game world as the top developer. Getting tickets to see the matches play out was impossible for the average person like Adam, but luckily for him, Garry was an up and coming rising star in the sphere of virtual gaming. Garry had tickets for them each week from his potential new team that was looking to sign him out of university, the Paladins of Charlemagne. Their management wanted Garry so bad that they treated him to whatever he needed, including his college tuition. Adam could have been petty and resented his friend for achieving so much at such a young age. But Garry’s achievements never changed him as a person, nor did it ever get in the way of their friendship. Being able to tag along with Garry on all of his pro player escapades was the most interesting thing Adam could do with his spare time. So Garry’s success worked for them both.

But it wasn’t Friday, and it wasn’t the game they were going to see at the stadium, it was the training grounds under the massive structure that Garry wanted to show Adam that weekend. The Sade du Libre was the home ground of the Paladins of Charlemagne, meaning Garry had access to their state of the art VR training facilities. It was about five stories underground, deeper than the training pitch, the team gym, locker rooms, and housing before Adam and Garry made it to the firing range. A virtual space that allowed players to practice in-game shooting and firing. It was nothing like the player facilities on campus.

“Evening, Gaz,” said the woman at the front desk of the firing range. She had mousy brown hair and wore a purple jersey.

“Hey, Adreanna,” Garry said with his arms wide, “this is Adam. Coach Graesser said we could try out the range this weekend.”

“Yeah, he left these passes for you both,” she said, pulling two purple lanyards out from under the desk. They were branded with the logo of The Paladins of Charlemagne, a blade on the backdrop of crossed pegasus wings. Adam couldn’t help but wear an awestruck smile at having one handed to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve never seen this one in the merch store before.”

“Those are just for team players and coaches, not available for purchase,” Adreanna explained, “but the coach wanted you guys to have some. You're lucky.”

“Sweet, thanks Adreanna,” Garry said, tossing his lanyard over his shoulder.

“You guys have fun,” she said with a smile.

The room was oval-shaped, like being inside of a bean pod. Its walls were a grey plastic mould that was soft and flexible to the touch. Adam couldn't help but be reminded of a padded cell in a mental health hospital. His mind drifted anywhere and everywhere at the slightest thing, but the main thing on his mind as Garry showed him around the training grounds was Dr. Hyon. He still wasn’t over how different she was from every lecturer he had ever met. 

“Alright, let's go,” Garry said, tossing his backpack to the edge of the room, his helmet in his hands. “This is gonna be sick.”

“I swear if you shoot me again I will kick your ass,” Adam said while adjusting his visor.

“Come on, it was one time,” Garry gleefully said. 

The two stood staring at each other, helmets on. Garry began to bounce up and down on his feet. Shaking his arms around him. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Adam said, clearly not as ready as Garry.

The two of them raised their hands and double-tapped their visors, making the room around them change shape. A new virtual reality came into view. Grey and black concrete pillars extended from the floor, walls of solid stone lifted from the ground. A barrier separated the two men from the stretched space, while upon a counter behind Garry was a myriad of 23rd-century weapons. Everything a potential Paladin player would need to hone their skills. Adam, couldn't help but look around the room, his arms resting on the back of his neck. The fidelity and detail in every small thing, the initials carved into the tables, the flags of the team draped on the walls. It was incredible, there were even dust particles in the air. Virtual reality was never so crystal clear for Adam.

“Alright, we're starting with iron sights. You depend too much on scopes and targeting lasers,” Garry said, picking up a rifle from the table and tossing it to Adam.

#story #ShortStory #writeblr #writer #writing #sciencefiction #scifi #scififantasy #space #spacestory #spaceship #drawings #art #conceptart #indiewriter #artist #characterdesign #characterconcept #characterdevelopment #freesciencefiction

[godlydolans]

Tumblr won't let me answer this ask so I'm doing it this way-Pt.3

This is some star-crossed lovers shit that I cry over! I argue with my parents about the whole marrying into your own caste bullshit almost everyday. I really hope and pray this way of thinking changes because it really is a pain in the ass 😤

Y/N was going through a rough breakup when she'd first met Grayson. The guy she had been dating was from her own culture, a Doctor and her parents really liked him for their daughter. While the initial one year had been great, she quickly realised he wasn't the right guy for her. He was too controlling, too busy, too toxic. She had to break things off despite what the society would say.

For the longest time after that, Y/N closed herself off. She only left her dorm to go to her classes, occasionally going to the nearby diner with her girlfriends to ger food and then back into the dorm. The happy go-lucky girl who loved to party on the weekends was lost somewhere.

It just so happens that the night her room mate literally dragged her out of the dorm and to a party at some club she didn't care to know the name of, was the very night Grayson also attended his very first 'college party' per say.

Grayson Dolan had never been to frat parties in his life because he never went to college but had definitely heard great things from his sister and some friends that went to UCLA. One of those friends had invited him and his brother to the party his friend was throwing and Grayson was not gonna let the opportunity pass.

So what if he didn't go to University? He could still say he knew what college parties looked like!

So it was on one of the three outdoor patios at Q's Billiard Club that Grayson and Y/N first saw each other. She was there because the loud music was starting to make her head ache (she'd gotten a little too used to the usual quiet of her dorm room). Grayson was there to catch some fresh air, the tightly packed club was making him a little claustrophobic. And it wasn't like they were the only two people outside that night, but still both of them couldn't stop their eyes from going back to each other.

Y/N had noticed the new face among her friends' group when everyone had gathered around the pool table and how could she not? His bright smile and loud laugh were both extremely hard to miss. She had noticed how charismatic and magnetic he was and she'd be lying to herself if she said her eyes didn't search for him while she was inside just so she could see him smile once again.

There was just something about that smile..

Grayson had also noticed her when she had been talking to some guy, smiling from ear to ear as one hand played with the ring on her little finger. She was beautiful. He could tell that much even under the horrible lights of the club but now that she stood just few feet away from him, he could really see how beautiful she was.

Jesus Christ.. he'd thought, she had such beautiful dark long hair, big doe eyes with long lashes adorning them, thick eyebrows framed her exotic face beautifully and let's not even talk about the 'voluptuous' lips, as he likes to put it. That sharp bone structure could cut a loaf of bread and he couldn't stop himself from stealing glances her way. Usually Ethan is the shy one, but that night, Grayson would swear cat had got his tongue. The poor guy was sweating bullets, trying to find something to strike up a conversation with Y/N, but whenever he would open his mouth to say something, his nerves would get the best of him and he would eat his words before they had the opportunity to come out.

She eventually went back inside, making Grayson curse under his breath for losing his chance to talk to her. Little did he know he'd be getting introduced to Y/N very soon by their common friend, Ashton. Bless his soul.

The majority of the night, Y/N and Grayson spent together, talking about everything from their aim in life to freaking politics. She was extremely intelligent and he was a great listener along with having an interesting mind. Neither could stop themselves from getting infatuated with the other.

After that night, they met again at next weekend's party, then the next one and the next one. Grayson had started counting the days untill Saturday, when he could see her again.

Y/N, on the other hand, was starting to get wary about these meetings because she knew she was starting to really like him and that's what she couldn't allow herself to do. She knew getting involved with Grayson would only lead to heartbreak because there would never be a future with him. But she didn't have the the will power to stop seeing him either.

Ultimately, she decided she would not think too much and let the chips fall wherever they may. She really liked Grayson and Grayson really liked her and if she was lucky, things would not get too serious to the point where she'd have to rope in her family.

This would be her little secret, that's all.

Only, that's not all. And her little secret would not be so little. What was only supposed to be just two friends-who-knew-they-liked-each-other hanging out, turned into a three year long serious relationship. What was only supposed to be a crush she thought she'd get over eventually, turned into something so much more serious and permanent.

Y/N fell head over heels in love with everything that makes up the man that is Grayson and don't think she didn't try to stop those feelings in their track!

In the three years they were together, they took a break three times, the first time because Grayson was afraid what his fans would do to her if they found out. The second time because of what Y/N's family would do to her if they found out and the third time was solely because Y/N didn't know what to do about the situation she had trapped herself in. (But they obviously found their way back to each other!)

The poor girl loved her family more than anything else in the world and she didn't remember ever hiding something from either her mum or her dad. And while she knew that she wasn't wrong for loving Grayson, not at all, because loving him and being loved by him seemed like the most right thing she'd ever done, but the fact that she was hiding her relationship from her parents for three years definitely gave her multiple sleepless nights.

She tried to tell them several times when things were getting serious between her and Grayson, but everytime she would chicken out because she wasn't ready to choose between her family and the love of her life. She knew her family would never accept him no matter how perfect he was because he didn't share the same cultural background as her and she knew that if she chose him, she would be disowned within a second.

If someone would have asked her to choose between any guy and her dad even two years ago, she would have chosen her father in a heartbeat. There was even a time in the early stages of her relationship where she had made those cute little 'open when' cards for Grayson, giving them to him on their one year anniversary. She had gotten the idea off of pinterest and she remembers hesitating while making the 'open when you're getting married' card because she was so sure she wouldn't be the one that'd get to marry that amazing man.

Y/N knew there was zero way she would get to have Grayson as her husband no matter how much she prayed for it, so she didn't know what to write in that particular card. After going over words and crumbling four pieces of paper, she finally wrote just five words in the card and folded it shut with teary eyes. Grayson had a tendency to misplace things and there was a high chance this card would never even be opened by him, but she still made it and gave it to him.

Now fast forward to two years later, Grayson stood before her with one knee bent, holding a beautiful diamond ring with both hands and saying the most beautiful speech while she stood infront of him, absolutely bawling her eyes out and covering her mouth in shock. It was the eve of her birthday and she had just gotten off the phone with her family, during which Grayson had stood silently to the side, making sure to not make a single noice because he couldn't risk being heard by your parents. The proposal had come as a total shock to Y/N but there was no doubt in her head that she had to say 'yes' when she saw him getting down on one knee and flashing her favourite smile in the entire world to her. She didn't think about how she'd tell her family that she was freaking engaged, or about how they'd react to having Grayson as their son in-law, or if they'd even want to see her after she'd break the news to them. All she knew in that moment was that Grayson was her man, the love of her life. No other man could ever take his place and she just had to make him officially hers. Staying away from him was out of the question. She'd tried that and failed miserably. At this point, she knew they were meant to be together, that's all she cared about.

"Yes," she'd breathed, a choked sob escaping her lips when a tear rolled down Grayson's cheek. She got down on both knees in front of him and launched herself into his arms. "Yes, yes, I will marry you!"

He had not wasted a second in taking her face in his hands and kissing her lips with everything he had. They had each other, that was enough for now.

That year when she'd gone home for her Diwali, she had asked her mum and dad to sit with her and with a pounding heart and shaky breaths, she had finally told them about Grayson. She was very aware that this would be her last diwali with her family but she knew her love for Grayson was nothing to be ashamed about. She hadn't committed a crime, she'd just fallen in love.

"I'm marrying him before new years, dad." Y/N had lifted her head up from her lap, pulling out from under her high neck top, the ring that she'd worn like a pendant around her neck. The sparkle of the diamond made her mother gasp. Her father sat in front of her, motionless, not even looking at her. She knew she had really hurt her dad and his teary eyes were making her heart break into a million pieces but she couldn't reach out and comfort him. She didn't have the right to, anymore. "Dad, trust me, he's an amazing man! You would love him if you met--"

"Tell her to get out of my house." He'd commanded her mother and stormed out of the room, without spading her a glance.

"Mum please--"

"Don't call me that! You clearly didn't think about your mum while you were messing around with that American--three years, Y/N?! You didn't feel ashamed of yourself?! And today you came here to invite us to your wedding?! How dare you?"

So yeah, she got kicked out of her house on the night of Diwali. At least she didn't get a slap to the face..? She just booked a room in a hotel near the airport, preparing to fly back to her fiancé at the crack of dawn. He was waiting for her with open arms when she came home the next day, letting go of her travel bag and absolutely crumbling into his arms. Her broken sobs were muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he held her head against his chest, placing kisses on her forehead every now and then.

"I'm sorry," he kept whispering in her ear, feeling awful for being the reason his girl got dsowned by her parents. "I'm so sorry.

"He didn't even look at me, Gray! Called me a disgrace!" The pain was unbearable. She couldn't breath, her heart seemed too heavy and the image of her father's pain stricken face kept roaming her mind. "They hate me, Gray."

"They are your parents, Y/N, they can't hate you. They are just mad. They'll come around eventually." He didn't know whom he was reassuring, himself or her. This isn't how he had imagined his wedding would be, with no family member attending from the bride's side. He really wished he could take some of her pain away, but all he could really give her was a promise to always be by her side through everything. He promised her he would never leave her. Never ever leave her.

They were bound by fate after all.

Just a day before the wedding, when Y/N was looking for the personalised cufflinks she'd bought as a wedding gift to Grayson, she stumbled upon a fat envelope on Grayson's side of the wardrobe. Opening it in curiosity, she found all the 'open when' cards that she'd made for him all those years ago. All the cards had been opened except for one.

Open when you're getting married.

The words were written in cursive on top of the card, the seal of it was still intact, meaning Grayson had really listened to her instructions, despite the curiosity nagging him everytime his eyes would fall on the envelopes. She didn't even know he had kept all the cards, Grayson tended to lose things easily.

Looking at the card, she remembered that day she'd sat down in her living room with all these papers scattered around her, doubting if she'll even get to marry Grayson. And now here she was, sitting in her future bedroom that she'd share with her soon to be husband. She would be marrying the man of her dreams tomorrow. And even though her day wouldn't be perfect because of the absence of her family, it would still be her day. The day she would finally be Mrs. Grayson Dolan.

Y/N took the cufflinks out of the wardrobe and held the card in her hand, walking over to Grayson's wedding suit that still hung on the hook of the wardrobe, just about of be taken to the venue for the wedding. Smiling with teary eyes, she slipped the card into the pocket of his coat along with the box that contained the cufflinks. It was a miracle that she found the card just a day before the wedding. It was all fate.

And the next day, while Grayson was getting ready, Ethan informed him that his almost wife had kept a gift in the pocket of his coat and had asked him to tell Grayson that. The groom had eagerly shoved his hand into his coat's pocket and found not just one gift, but two.

The cufflinks laid forgotten on the bed when his eyes fell on the card and he hastily opened it, finally getting to see what was written inside.

Just five words that brought tears into his eyes.

I hope it was me...

He smiled at the words, his throat tight and eyes filled with tears as he read the words over and over. Their love was powerful, they were meant to be together and together, they knew they could conquer anything. Yes, the path they had chosen to take was not an easy one, but he knew deep in his heart that things would get better.

And thankfully for them, Y/N's parents finally came along two years later. The cause of that was the little bundle of joy that Grayson and Y/N had created together. Things were starting to look up again, Y/N's dad was smitten with her little baby girl and her family loved Grayson once they got to know him. These days, her dad has been trying to get his son in-law into Cricket so they can watch together on TV when the World Cup rolls around. Grayson, on the other hand, has other plans. The Best Husband In The World is now set to earn the title of The Best Son In-Law In The World too, what with sneakily buying tickets for the whole family to watch the World Cup finale in the freaking stadium.

"I've got the best seats! He's gonna have a great view of the whole thing." He beams as she lays her head on his chest at night.

"You didn't have to do that, babe."

"Oh c'mon, he gave his freaking daughter to me, I know how hard that must have been now that I have my own, it's the least I can do for him."

Needless to say, Y/N's dad is over the moon, watching the match from the stadium with Grayson sitting beside him. Gray looks so cute and hot cheering for her country, she would definitely have pounced on his had they not been with her family, sitting among what looks like thousands and thousands of people.

But it's okay. They have all the time in the world for baby making. He's all hers just like she's all his.

[tevotbegotnaught]

“The conductor…in the power he has over others…it is in his interest as a human being, as well as that of his musical achievements, to resist the temptation to misuse it. Tyranny can never bring to fruition artistic-or for that matter human- gifts; subordination under a despot does not make for joy in one’s music-making. Intimidation deprives the musician of the full enjoyment of his talent and proficiency. Yet I should certainly not want to impugn the employment of earnest severity or even the occasional borrowing of the Bolt of Zeus; the latter if the hand knows how to wield it, can in exceptional situations bring surprisingly good results. Severity is a legitimate even indispensable means of dealing with people...”

Bruno Walter

In my Summer of 42 (years), I was a college freshman…again. With neither Mexican weed nor dormitory hijinks to distract me, I worked through the full Brooklyn College Core Curriculum and a handful of music courses. My degree plan also required an ensemble each semester. When the Assistant Dean interviewed me, he looked over my CV and immediately suggested their Jazz Band. After hearing them, I chose a contemporary music ensemble founded by a composition professor. Fall semester, she was on sabbatical and a trumpet prof, Juilliard guy and veteran freelancer, ran the class. To begin, he sat everyone in a circle and asked us to play “Happy Birthday" in hocket. Most of the class was unsure of the melody and some also thought it a stupid idea. With our nonstandard instrumentation, we massacred Second Viennese School composers for the rest of the term.

Spring term, the founder returned. She was just over five feet tall, brown-skinned, with narrow shoulders and mineshaft dark eyes. When she listened, her head nodded while bottomless eyes fixed on you. Raised in a distressed country, her life moved from prodigy to conservatory-trained professional with impeccable musicianship: piano, score reading, solfege, conducting, improvising, composing. Then, she came to the US, with zero money and English and rebuilt her career from scratch. At BC, she conducted the orchestra until politics pushed her out. Now, she gave composition lessons and led this ensemble.

Our roster still read as spare parts: three singers, three pianists, two flutes, violin, saxophone, clarinet, guitar; some highly skilled, others not. For most, English was a second or even third language. Our professor's first assignment: list your colleagues’ instruments, find pieces for a subset of our forces, select only pieces written after 1960, bring scores/parts for audition.

The following week, we presented our finds. First, someone showed her a John Cage duet. As she turned pages, Maestra’s face went blank .

“Why did you get this?”

A mumbled answer.

Maestra closed the score. “You got eet because eet looks easy. Didn't you? First of all, it’s a short duet. Three, maybe four minutes of music. Nothing to do on a real pro-GRAM. Not serious. Not serious at all.”

More mumbling.

“Get something else. Thank you.”

She jabbed the score into their hands, then addressed the class.

“Nothing about John Cage. John is extraordinary. When you choose music, don’t just take a name you theenk you know. Read the score. You are musicians …supposed to be….”

Next, one of the singers produced a folio. Its font, ornate and oversized. I winced. Maestra saw it was a Puccini aria with piano accompaniment and recoiled.

“After nineteen-sixty? Thees? You are kidding me!”

Again, she faced us.

“Thees is NOT opera work-SHOP. I know some of you did not make it there. I'm very sorry about that. Please find some other music to sing. There are so many good theengs. I hope you will find out. Music does not end with Verdi, Puccini.”

So it went. Gratefully, she anticipated our poor choices and suggested some pieces.

Meastra spoke Spanish to some students, aware of the terrain they navigated and supportive. Jorge, a Mexican pianist, was one of her projects. He was a skilled player, an enthusiastic and warm colleague. His giggle often broke up the class. In our third meeting, we rolled the piano front, Jorge sat on the bench. While he longed for mama's home cooking, he wasn’t missing any meals in Brooklyn. His midsection expanded well beyond his tight-waisted pants, straining shirt buttons. Maestra questioned him on preparation: “you’re playing the second movement, what about the third?”

Unaffected by the prodding, he began to play. A minute in, she said, “stop”.

He continued, eyes closed.

She shouted, “Stop! I’m telling you, STOP"

He looked over.

“JORGE….WHAT…ARE…YOU….DOING?”

It wasn’t meant as a question. Jorge smiled and gently shook his head.

“Why are you smiling? Look at you!”

Her voice leveled.

“This is not ready. It’s better, but it's not ready.”

She shifted.

“I am very worried about you. Look..at…your…STOMACH. You need to take better care of yourself. You know, pianists perform in pro-FILE. Theenk what you show to the audience.”

Jorge wasn't smiling. He put his hand on his belly.

“Everyone should con-see-der an exer-CISE pro-GRAM. I am forty years, Dio mio! Almost FEEFTY years older than some of you. Take care of yourselves.”

She dismissed him with a sweeping gesture.

“Ok, who is next? Anna, where is the list? Geeve it to me!”

Her assistant, a brilliant, tiny, Yankee grad student, always cleaned up.

Maestra partnered Jorge with another pianist for a Gyorgy Ligeti duo. Its ingenious architecture, a complex cycle revealed one beat at a time. In Yogi Berra's construction, half the score was ninety-nine percent rests. The players needed infallible inner time. While they played, Maestra leaned over the piano, right hand supporting her, left turning pages. She nodded her head slightly in tempo. The pianist's hits charged toward and away from each other like Pacman's gobbling goblins.

“You are late!” she slammed her left hand down. They went back. Another hammer blow. Back again. The piece never made it to the program.

At the end of the initial class, she approached me about Milhaud's “Le Creation du Monde", a chamber work for winds, including alto saxophone. We didn’t have the other winds, of course, but a young woodwind quintet, in residence for the year, would help out.

“Le Creation" story moves from brooding chorale to a raggy bolero where the winds pass around jumpy tunes, then strut them all, polyphonically, in a joyous finale.

At the first of four rehearsals, we were less than half personnel. Maestra had been enthusiastic about the quintet, encouraging us to meet, hear and study with them. But they were collaborating with major artists and appearing all over the world. Their residency, now in name only. No one in the group even bothered to return her emails. Our conductor was livid. (Later, the assistant assured us that Maestra never returned emails, either.) In rehearsal, the music just marked time. In long stretches with no tune and no landmarks, I fell into a hole and missed my entrance.

“What are you DOING! Counting! Count-ting! I can’t do everytheeng for you.”

Concert day was the first we all sat down to play. In the midst of my disciplined colleagues, I was a bellowing hippo. During the chorale, my slow descending notes were either out-of-tune, out-of-time, the wrong dynamic, or all three.

The baton came down hard “NO..NO..NO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

“How can you be late. It's jazz. Jazz! You play jazz? Right? You know who is John Col-TRANE? Play it like Col-TRANE! Why should I have to tell YOU this. Come on!”

I wore other hats that night: soprano, clarinet. Still, my mind remained fogged through the Milhaud finale.

The quintet players all demolished their solos. With a huge smile, Maestra gave each well-deserved bows. When they were done, she flashed her eyes at me, scowling. Then, jerked both her hands upwards, like she was flipping a pool toy. I stood up and stared straight down.

Next semester, a composition student brought a score. It was mostly squiggles and arrows, notation designed to move the music forward without defining functional harmony or conventional melody. She conducted a circle for each “bar”. We could gauge the length of each gesture and respond in time. Simultaneously, she sang the gestures using their pitched start/end points, conducted, turned pages and offered substantive commentary. If one of us was even a second late, her glance immolated them.

I became friends with some of her students. Waiting outside her office, they often heard shouting. When the door opened, students walked out in tears. Some planned to work closely with Maestra toward their Master's or DMA. Those plans would change...

An alumni couple created an endowed chair for Maestra, protecting her from political games. To celebrate, students accompanied her to the donors’ Connecticut home for a musicale. We loaded two vans with the usual music school suspects: waifish Asian virtuoso string players, an Eastern European sturm und drang pianist, a diffident “difficult” composer, and bit players like me.

Both donors were in their eighties and fabulously rich, earnest, lefty intellectuals. The wife wore a gas mask-like apparatus, its hoses attached to a whirring box on her back. I strained to understand her speech, but her eyes shone with love and curiosity. The couple warmly welcomed us to a large room packed with guests.

I was part of a quartet: oboe, flute, clarinet and piano, playing a student work. The composer, a young Dominican guy, rising star in the program. A Caribbean undergraduate writing skilled takes on contemporary European music. His piece used the difference-tone clusters of Gyorgy Ligeti: loud, high notes, staggered and longheld, producing acoustic anomalies: window-fan undertones and piercing oscillations. Bathing in timbral waves and madly counting beats, I couldn’t find the piano part, though we made it to the end without requiring oxygen or a conductor. The composer took a awkward bow and disappeared.

With Maestra as Maitre’d we served up a baroque cello sonata, Beethoven piano music and some Sondheim. Then, our little foursome loudly dropped a turd on the buffet table.

The donor husband was one of those ruddy-faced white guys who wear baggy corduroys and turtle necks over their barrel physiques. He sought me out, towering above me as I packed up my clarinet.

“What did he mean with that piece?"

“Sir, I…I wouldn’t want to represent the composer, he never said anything about..”

“Now, you must know something.”

He was an important man accustomed to getting answers, fast and in full.

“I know my part and how it fits with the others. The woodwinds are playing difference tones, Stravinsky used...”

“Why didn’t HE explain that to us? We go to concerts all the time. Conductors explain new music. They give examples, give context. You can’t just write something like that and expect people to automatically understand it.”

Gulp....“Of course.”

“It’s his responsibility to help the audience understand the music”

I looked over. By the buffet, the composer was holding a plate, one of the string players laughing next to him. Mrs Donor approached me, extending her hand. The box on her back hissed and clicked. Above the mask, searching eyes, below, a voice from a radio in another room. Was she talking about the quartet? It was too uncomfortable. I interrupted.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality and the opportunity to play for you. You and your husband are so generous.”

She squeezed my hand and leaned in, radio transmission drowning in static. Her husband came to her side.

“My wife is saying we've been to many, many concerts of new music. Starting way back, with Lenny Bernstein. He taught us there’s always something to learn. He introduced us to many extraordinary artists”

He put his hand lightly on her back. Over her shoulder, Maestra was listening to a guest, head level with their sternum, eyes searchlights in reverse. The radio faded and its whirring submerged in the din.

We got back very late. Our vans parked by the gatehouse and turnstile on the east side of campus. A few yellow lights glowed in the music building. Maestra thanked us. We said goodnight.

Drifting on an acoustic sea, our ancestors explored sound, harnessing the waves. Between foaming peaks and psychic undertow, they found power. From our African beginnings, to the stars, every lineage counted on those who navigated, who mastered instruments, who carried in them songs and stories. They became the music, while it lasted.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

The Beto O’Rourke brand is a strong one right now.

Until a few months ago, no one outside of Texas really knew much about the Democratic congressman from El Paso. But recently his answer to a question about whether NFL players should kneel during the national anthem went viral. He’s gone on Ellen and The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, and has been compared to a Kennedy an embarrassing number of times in profiles touting his Senate bid against Republican incumbent Ted Cruz in Texas. He goes on early-morning running town halls and wants you to know he doesn’t take any money from PACs. He trumpets the fact that he’s visited all 254 counties in Texas — he’s not the kind of Democrat who will write off folks who live in the country.

A candidate can only make one first impression, and we’re in the midst of that self-mythologizing, magical moment for O’Rourke. GOP attacks against him for his 1998 DWI arrest, his tendency to swear and his youthful embrace of the punk aesthetic have backfired among a younger, online set. Twitter users cooed that O’Rourke looked hot in his mugshot and that the floral dress he was ironically(?) rocking in a band photo suited him. In a defense of O’Rourke, Colbert pointed out that during Cruz’s teenage years, the senator once played Adam in a mimed version of the biblical creation story. It feels a little like the high school cool kid is running against the Latin Club’s uber nerd for U.S. Senate in Texas.

O’Rourke’s clever image-honing has brought him within striking distance of Cruz — FiveThirtyEight gives O’Rourke about a 1-in-3 chance of winning,1 roughly the same chance Democrats have of taking the Senate as a whole. If O’Rourke pulls it off, how he sells himself — an empath who can speak to independents and minority communities alike with the wokeness of a man half his age — will have been a key factor. O’Rourke’s star is rising nationally in part because the party’s base sees a best version of themselves in him, someone able to communicate their increasingly progressive values to Americans outside the liberal milieu. Too bad for them he’ll probably lose.

O’Rourke has an opportunity to introduce himself as a vigorous, toothy new face. Cruz, meanwhile, is still the guy about whom a Republican colleague once said, “If you killed Ted Cruz on the floor of the Senate, and the trial was in the Senate, nobody would convict you.” Pretty much everyone in Texas knows who Cruz is, and he isn’t particularly beloved. A recent Emerson College poll found that 44 percent of Texas voters had an unfavorable opinion of him. (This is in a state where he got 57 percent of the vote in 2012.) Meanwhile, the same poll found that only 25 percent felt the same about O’Rourke, while 11 percent of people had never heard of him and 27 percent were neutral (only 18 percent were neutral on Cruz).

O’Rourke is a pretty good candidate in a race that was supposed to be a slam dunk for Republicans. He’s raised more than any other Democratic candidate for Senate this cycle — $23 million — and has packaged his progressive identity into something that (he hopes) is accepted just as readily by the Democratic base as it is by independent voters who still haven’t made up their minds. GOP attack ads have tried to paint the Democrat as outside the mainstream, despite the fact that the 2018 iteration of O’Rourke is more suburban dad than anything else, the type whose most countercultural tendency is probably owning a monthly pass to a rock-climbing gym.

Recent surveys seem to indicate that independents will help determine the close race. A Dixie Strategies poll from early September showed Cruz and O’Rourke nearly tied among independents, with 20 percent of them yet to make up their minds. That poll and others have showed Cruz struggling with independent voters (only 2 percent didn’t have an opinion of him), while O’Rourke’s numbers with independents showed there’s room for him to make a good impression (a full 23 percent were undecided on how they felt about him). A Rasmussen/Pulse Opinion Research poll from early September showed O’Rourke winning independents 46 percent to Cruz’s 39 percent, and even found that 15 percent of Republicans said they’d vote for O’Rourke. A more recent poll that showed Cruz leading overall also showed O’Rourke ahead among independents.

O’Rourke is going out of his way not to bust up his hopes with Texas’s independent voters, who, in that red state, might tend toward the more conservative end of the political spectrum (52 percent of the state’s independent voters chose Trump in the 2016 election). His rhetoric of togetherness seems clearly aimed at this demographic. “You cannot be too much of a Republican, you can’t be too blue of a Democrat, too much of an independent. You can’t be in prison for too many years, you can’t be too undocumented to be worth fighting for. It is for everyone,” O’Rourke said of his campaign in a speech this summer. His earnest varnish is polished to its highest shine. When baited with questions that could easily lead to Trump-bashing, O’Rourke instead talks about the importance of having “unguarded moments with one another.” The across-the-aisle-guy label is important to his brand — O’Rourke had his first viral moment back in 2017 when he took a cross-country road trip with another Texas congressman, a Republican.

The trick with branding, of course, is that it changes with the times. O’Rourke hasn’t always been allergic to PAC money. He won his first congressional election by defeating an eight-term Democratic incumbent. In that campaign, O’Rourke used money from a super PAC bent on prying longtime representatives from their seats. O’Rourke’s father-in-law, a wealthy real estate developer, gave the PAC $18,750 after maxing out his personal donation to the campaign.

One of O’Rourke’s political assets is his ability to trumpet progressive ideas and a bipartisan spirit at a time when political tribalism and racial tensions are rife. That is in part because he is white and America — and the Democratic Party — seems to have a soft spot for young white men running for office. O’Rourke looks like generations of white male politicians, but he’s advocating for societal changes meant to benefit minorities and disenfranchised immigrants. He’s called for single-payer health care and the expansion of Medicaid, he wrote a book on the drug war, he has made legalizing marijuana a campaign issue, and he wants citizenship for immigrants who brought to the country illegally as children.

O’Rourke’s embrace of Latino culture has stood out during the campaign. Much has been made of that fact that he goes by his childhood nickname, Beto, which is a Spanish diminutive for “Roberto.” Robert Francis O’Rourke is Irish-American, but he grew up in the heavily Latino border town of El Paso and became Beto early on. Cruz (full name Rafael Edward Cruz) has tried to use O’Rourke’s nickname against the congressman as a way to prove he’s pandering to the state’s skyrocketing Latino population. Texas is 39 percent Latino and a harbinger of America’s demographic future. Population projections estimate that the state’s Latino population could surpass the state’s white population as early as 2020 or 2022, while it’s estimated that the U.S. as a whole will become majority-minority by 2045.

Note, though, what O’Rourke’s nickname says about the ways that assimilation has changed in America. Joe Kennedy made sure that his children went to boarding school and college among America’s high WASP set so they’d be taken seriously. It worked — one became president. Beto is a nickname he comes by honestly, but it’s also a boon for O’Rourke to be comfortable with a community whose political clout will only increase in Texas.

The forecasted demographic change portends political shifts, which is why Democrats have long dreamt of turning Texas blue. But the state’s Democrats remain at a political disadvantage if they rely solely on the Latino vote as their near-term path to change. According to 2016 numbers from Pew, 79 percent of the state’s white population is eligible to vote, but only 46 percent of the Latino population is, and in the 2016 election, 69 percent of the Texas’s white voters cast a ballot for President Trump. And there are still a decent number of Latinos who lean Republican in the state — 34 percent voted for Trump in 2016, while 44 percent voted for Republican Governor Greg Abbott in 2014.

But if O’Rourke wants to win this year, he’s got to woo those in the state who are likely to vote and who say they haven’t made up their minds. Even with increased turnout from an enthusiastic Democratic base, he’ll probably need an extra push to get over the hump. That means the popularity contest continues for the next two months. O’Rourke seems ready for the grip-and-grin grind.

[coeurdastronaute]

Giant Ch. 20

Chances are we are the same; Against the odds, against the grain We lean, like gardens toward light. We reach with all of our might For such a noble aim as love.

The year following the attack, almost to the day of Lillian Luthor’s seventh birthday since her death, James Olsen climbed the stage for his second Pulitzer for his efforts in photography for his emblematic image of Superman’s silhouette carrying his slain cousin.

The image ran with a memorial issue dedicated to the hero who gave her life in the service of others. It was stylistically simple and intrinsically violent and jarring to look at, while at the same time haunting to all who saw it.

The image was immortal. Tattered cape dragging, tinged a different crimson from blood, royal blue crusted over with dirt and the gore of the fight. When he looked at the picture, James felt nauseous, but still, he snapped it that day because it was Kara’s legacy, and he was as fiercely protective of it as he had always been of her, in his own ways.

In his speech, he swallowed a large knot that formed in his throat and gripped the podium to support himself. He thanked everyone for the honor. He took a deep breath and he told the world that he was forever touched by the hero and friend, Supergirl. He told her about how she was a beacon of hope and other clichés, but more than that, she was simply good and honest and inspired the best in himself. He left little doubt as to the magnitude of the loss for himself personally, which doubled for the feelings of the city and nation as a whole.

From the stage, James stared at the picture projected on the wall as he mourned his friend. The ballroom was full of rapt eyes who all belonged to someone who held the heaviness of a shared grief.

It’d been an entire year without a familiar garnet cape, without someone to save them from the minutia of their lives, and the city was different for it. People still got mugged. Cars still got stolen. Banks still got robbed. But beneath the normal wear and tear of a city, a renewed sense of civic duty and pride and responsibility wafted beneath the city. In their own way, people were kinder, people were more attune to their role within the community.

James applauded it as he honored his friend, and he thanked them once again, for keeping her memory alive and living in a way that would have made her proud, because that was all they had anymore.

As he took his seat, he spent the rest of the night avoiding the giant image he’d taken, averting his eyes. It was too much to see her body, and he wished, for the love of everything, that they’d chosen the picture of her smiling instead.

LCorp sold for, in its tiny pieces, well north of a few billion dollars. Even with its reduced price tag as a result of the unfortunate attack, even after an ample donation to the survivor’s fund, even after providing for its employees, there was still more than enough money for someone to live for a hundred lifetimes, very comfortably.

On the night before she signed the papers and took the deal her board created, Lena Luthor sat in her office, behind her desk, and drank from her glass, allowing the alcohol to burn her throat and amplify her mood.

An entire life’s work, and there was nothing left to do. The papers were prepared and she was finally free of it all, of everyone and everything, and she knew what came next in the broad sense, while at the same time, she really had no idea what the next hour might hold.

After the attack, after the memorial that was ruined, yet again, after it all, Lena had nothing left to give to the city, nothing left in her to apologize anymore, even though not many were asking for it from her. The city deserved a break, deserved her not intruding herself upon it in the tallest building in the city with her logo on everything and her last name etched on the sports teams and the ads on every bus. The city deserved to heal, and as selfish as she wanted to be and keep it her own city, she just couldn’t.

Second only to shooting her own father, Lena did the best thing she could for her home, and she prepared to take herself out of the equation. It’d once been a hope of her’s, to feel less obliged to blood and name. All at once, she was free, and she wasn’t sure what that left. Not entirely.

The streets held ghosts now. More ghosts than she was capable of tolerating, she realized, when she took the time to be honest with herself. The streets were downright packed with things that kept her up at night and weighed upon her soul.

And so she took another drink, emptying it, and listened to the memorized sound of her glass on the surface of her desk in the last hours of the night. But she did not move to get up just yet, as she normally did. There was no more normally or usually for Lena Luthor.

There wasn’t one particular thought that pervaded her mind, just that there was a lot to think about in general, a lot that she hid from, a lot that she refused to even let in her head, which was an exhausting mental work out. But beneath it all, she thought about the hollow feeling of losing everything and how failure felt like a relief in nearly every way.

She fiddled with the empty glass, swirling the last drops, and debated having another. She perused the normal papers and folders that always seemed to litter her desk during working hours, inevitably to be cleaned up by Jess before she returned. Only today she wouldn’t return. As soon as she left, someone would come and pack up everything, emptying the office completely. And Jess wouldn’t be there. She hadn’t been there in weeks. That thought made Lena smile despite everything else.

She rose and wobbled slightly before emptying the rest of her decanter into her glass and replenishing the ice so that it twinkled and twanged as she sat down with a sigh. For a second, she debated calling her friend, just to catch up. She could have. She was curious to see how Jess was enjoying her new position as a Director of Marketing at another firm. But she couldn’t.

Instead, she stared at the pictures that remained sitting there on her desk, looking back at her. Her mother seemed far away. So did the grief. She couldn’t remember it exactly, when it happened, but she did remember the sunset on the beach and Kara’s nose against her shoulder, the heat of her words as she laughed and tried to make Lena feel better. That was tinged in an ache, but she knew it was a dull throb compared to the flesh-eating nature of losing her mother.

Her mother was kind, was good to her, chose her, and Lena did what she could to make it worth it. It took a few therapists and a superhero to convince her that she was a damn fine legacy. She didn’t believe it often, but from time to time she was okay with it.

The picture of her family was the greatest source of pain in her life. She looked at her brother’s smiling face, that natural, large smile that reached his eyes. Even covered in paint, even hyped up from rooting for her, she saw this life in him that she always admired. Now, he was rotting away in a cell, deep underground. Now, there was a stiffness to his features, a weathered pain that remained there. She hated to think of him like that.

Her father was still that doting, proud kind of dad, who cheered at every game. At least in that picture. Scarf wrapped tight around his neck, his hair was long enough to be almost curly. His eyes had that innocent kind of mischief in them as he had his arms around his entire family.

Mud still on her cheek from a tackle. Ponytail coming out and flyaways in all directions, the college sophomore was a happy that Lena almost couldn’t fathom. The former CEO stared at herself, at her former self, long and hard as she cradled the glass of vodka against her neck and jaw.

There were a few pictures of Lena and Kara on her desk. She couldn’t help it. She loved to catch herself looking at her. She liked their history. Kara, the brave. Kara, the strong. Kara, the beautiful. Kara, the caring.

The first day that Lena Luthor met Kara Danvers, she had no idea that history was forever altered. Kara knew. She liked to rub it in from time to time. But Lena was fresh from practice, and she gave the cute reporter an extra look and an extra smile, that was certain, but she never imagined her as more. Until she spent time with her.

It took months for Lena to realize she was in love. She wasn’t like Kara; she wasn’t prone to love easily. She could love ferociously, it just took time. But by the time she figured out she loved Kara, it was too late to turn back.

Her favorite picture of them was a tiny little one from Kara’s old camera she occasionally brought out. It was a tiny little picture, and Lena yearned for it to be larger. But in the moment, forever captured, Kara pressed her cheek close. If Lena pretended, she thought she could trick herself into smelling the sunshine on their skin.

Sometimes, in magazines or at events, she would see a picture and realize how in love she was all over again. Sometimes, she was young and drunk on a water tower, and she was yearning to kiss Kara so badly that it physically hurt.

Lena downed the glass of vodka completely as she thought about Kara before standing and placing the empty cup down again. She grabbed a picture from her desk and placed it in her purse before leaving the desk once and for all.

For one final time, she looked at her office before closing the door and making her way downstairs. It was hard to not think about the hours spent building it, piece by piece, brick by brick. But as the elevator descended, Lena felt a serene wakefulness, a new hope, a melancholic kind of ending that was not bittersweet so much as just something that was needed.

The doorman held the door open and nodded politely to her. And with a final glance toward the sky, toward her empire, Lena Luthor climbed into the waiting car and disappeared.

The sun finally climbed higher than the horizon, finally brought on another day. The windows were all open, the breeze blew in and lifted the long curtains. From his spot on the chair near the windows, the cat stretched and yawned before burrowing deeper into the morning sun that began to warm his belly.

A few stories below, the street was already awake and full of life. A far cry from the high rise he was accustomed to, Darwin scratched his chin with eagerness, and shook his ears before arching his back and walking across the living room.

There were boxes still stacked against a wall that he rubbed his chin against. The spare bedroom and future office held even more unpacked treasures, though he didn’t particularly care about anything else. Silently, he padded into the kitchen and rubbed against the bare leg that was attached to the body reading the paper lazily as she waited for coffee to brew. When that daring display of begging didn’t take hold, the cat jumped to the island and nudged a chin with his head.

“Good morning, buddy,” Lena chuckled at his antics.

With an extra scratch beneath his chin, she sipped her coffee and flipped the page of the newspaper lazily.

The night that Supergirl died, and entire city was speechless. The death of Lionel Luthor was retribution, and she was the martyr who stopped him despite the cost, for them. Everyone remembered where they were when she was killed. It was that kind of history; she left that kind of legacy.

To Kara Danvers, it was a welcomed reprieve. Many times she’d heard that death was to be a new beginning. She never took it quite so literally, but it worked. Supergirl died so that she could be free of it all, so that she could start her life for the first time, yet again.

The breeze pushed against the sheets in bed.  Lazily, Kara stretched and rolled toward the empty spot where a certain girl should be waiting and still asleep.

Outside the open windows, the bus squealed to a stop a block over while a gaggle of children held hands and sand something as they made their way to school. The smell of coffee and tea and breakfast wafted through the narrow street and into the bedroom. And all that Kara could really hear was the sound of the shower running as a cat hopped up into the bed beside her.

Still oddly sore from dying, Kara pushed herself out of bed. She ran her hand along the scars that were now on her body. Her hand automatically went to the jagged cut right above her ribs, where she rubbed it gently and stretched her back.

Still groggy, she took the cup of waiting coffee and retreated to the balcony where she inhaled the city. Three weeks ago she died. Two weeks ago, she put in her notice at CatCo. Last night, she arrived in Buenos Aires, and had Lena Luthor jump into her arms at the airport, looking much more like herself than Kara could remember seeing her. Gone was the weight of the world, and in its place was the same girl who used to drive her crazy with physics problems and soccer practice.

“Morning,” Lena greeted her as she toweled her hair and joined her on the balcony.

“Hey, you’re up early.”

“I wanted to head over to the new shop for an hour or two until you woke up.”

“Sorry I ruined your plans.”

“This is better. I can take you and show you that café that has the good yerba mate near the new set up, and maybe get you some food.”

“You know I like the sound of that,” Kara nodded as arms wrapped around her waist and a nose found a spot between her shoulder blades.

The sun was high, Supergirl was dead, and the kids who once had a random conversation once, when each were full of their own kind of grief, were in a faraway city, with a new home.

“Are you ready for this?”

“For what?”

“For… for our new life, I guess,” Lena tried.

“The one we should have had.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m very ready,” Kara hummed.

[pinktatertots99]

Nine Seconds

bleeeeeck consider this some rough as shit hs human au. i just wanted some cute signless content. long af tho good luck.

summary: pinch the bridge of your nose, inhale, exhale, nine seconds, it used to be ten but you suppose your weirdly magnetic interest in the number nine and getting better at your anger issues had you wanting to knock down a second as a show of progress on your, what fourty-nine years of anger management?

_____________________________________________

pinch the bridge of your nose, inhale, exhale, nine seconds, it used to be ten but you suppose your weirdly magnetic interest in the number nine and getting better at your anger issues had you wanting to knock down a second as a show of progress on your, what fourty-nine years of anger management? damned nines keep popping up. you spend these nine seconds looking back on your life, reminders of your progress in a life you never expected to get this far in.

9

an orphan dropped off at a nearby church, despite the movies they couldn't take them in. at best they could've dropped you off to an orphanage, but the nun who found you did no such thing. Instead she let go of her garbs and left with you in towe, a young mother at her age pulling two jobs and ushering anyone offering to watch you whether it was friends from her church or any babysitter she'd give the 100% okay with watching you. quite the hawk she is on caretakers, quite the flaw though having to go babysitter after babysitter for a while despite your lack of memory but things got better once finding a few that could be called upon more common.

8

Ever since you could remember, which might’ve been after five or six years, your helping nature carried on for your mother, trying to mimic her cleaning of your very small apartment she was able to afford. Despite your inability to get into schools at that time she took some of it to teach you your morals you still go by: not to judge, be treated as thou’d like to be treated, help when you can, etc. even if helping strangers or offering to help at your age got you disgusted looks or horrified expressions leading to them running away. You're not sure if it was just your genetic looks or if people were just not good with reacting to assistance. Granted you WERE seven you would be a bit unsure on letting a young child help you now, you least learned from Rosa later on the topic of stranger danger and mostly stopped, for the most part.

7

You were a late bloomer when it came to finally getting into school, but you surprised everyone by exceeding in most of your classes. You weren’t exactly thrilled by some, and granted the local children at them would tease you for your more, as mother put it, ‘unique’ attributes but you did it all to make her proud and stress less on your future. Course you can’t say you made it easy, once highschool came you may’ve been a bit of a short fuse for their local harassers, which looking at your sons’ you definitely know where they got it from even if you try not to act like that anymore. The school’s counselor least tried, of course you were a bit of a, well, hard headed to put it nicely. Another trait your darling sons’ got. You were able to persevere your last years and not get kicked out, despite how much of a, what are kids calling it tightass? You were you couldn’t let your mother down. That and the prospect of repeating the grade with new harrassars definitely got you to clean a bit of your act.

6

College was a lot easier surprisingly. Might’ve had to do with your roommate now turned best friend through your whole life hopefully thion. That and you had the ability not to be with too many people so a win-win even if you still got stares of discomfort on your slightly lighter but still tanned skin, soft and almost creamed natural white hair, or your brown eyes having the slightest higher tint that made them have a more velvet color like on the cake of the same name. Apparently the only one not put off was your roommate, mostly due to how he, in quote, “findth red alluring.” okay maybe you expunged some wording as he’s alot more blunt and not exactly shameless of which bat he swings; you hope you got that reference correct. Regardless you weren’t to judge, not even at nineteen at that time. Of course rules were definitely put in place after a few too many walk-ins on his more risque dates.

5

During those four years though you never expected to find such injustice. Not just to yourself but thion, anyone who was just slightly different than others. It definitely didnt help the current political air of those years, with your governor of your state being the one of most fault slipping in these ideas of the young and old before and after you came into this world. You wonder now what’s gotten that woman to think so abrasively to cause such an uproar but that’s for another time. During your years you got out of your shell slowly to talk to anyone who’d listen to you on these feelings, it seemed as though slowly they agreed, not everyone but a good chalkful. Enough to make peaceful protests as their leader, which you took in stride at your youth, your mother and thion helping in the process when you weren’t busy with class work.

4

After graduation you continued your protests, gaining a rather surprising amount of social media feedback for the time. Of course you couldn’t get paid for this stuff you did have to try finding a job at some point, which proved harder with many establishments considering you too much of a target for your governor’s ire. That is until one afternoon you’d gone into one of the few meat shops needing help on deliveries, where you met her. Covered in sweat and blood on her work apron and gloves from handling the carcas of cow flesh diane. Apparently you barely had to introduce yourself, she was quite the fan of yours, taking her time handling the meat to talk on and on about your escapades, speeches you made and the knowledge of when and where they were made. It...honestly freaked you out the first time. But you least got the job as she was the boss who put out that help wanted sign. Apparently the last delivery boy was squeamish she told you, not knowing why but you may’ve gotten a hint.

3

After a while of working with her and what you were doing you got more used to it, it soon became rather pleasing how much she looked up to you. You knew back then the protests wouldn’t be enough, and after bringing it up with her she insisted aggressively to help, how? By making pamphlets with your speeches in them, and ushering herself to be the one to help in those despite you wanting to not have her force herself into it. She’s quite the fighter you found out, and back then you were a bit ecstatic if not a bit on the side that had you ponder the worry on that. Unbeknownst until later it wasn’t just your actions for rights she was full blown interested in, it was that too, but you’d find later you were, indeed one that caught her vibrant hazel eyes.

2

You're honestly grateful in this time how much knowledge these kids seem to have on many things. History, feelings, even attraction has become a knowledge that you wish you knew back then. You wish you had those terms of attraction in that time, without the terms ‘broken’ and certain slurs you’d rather not repeat that started in highschool. Of course, you are glad though to have your family of five in your home as you stand on the small balcony that leads to the small forest portion of your backyard. Of course now you know, and now nobody would be too surprised on how despite almost nineteen years you and your ‘wife’ hadn’t married yet, which you're honestly almost grateful for. Not like you don’t love her, no you do, but her love reached such high levels you couldn’t keep up with. It reached enough to where when you all found she’d be having your daughter you immediately bucked up, handing the torch of this rebellion to a young man who you chose as he gave just as much spirit as she did. You ushered your family of four at the time to live somewhere else, live a new life away from the media even if the occasional newscaster came by but otherwise you were mostly forgotten.

1

You almost could regret it, but at the same time you're almost glad you don’t. Back then you would’ve continued head on, and back then you HAD your governor's attention, brutal hateful attention, and you're certain if you continued there would’ve been dire consequences. Of course, you didn’t stop fighting, not even now as you subtly and secretly talked about your ideals for a better place at the church you summoned at, when your higher up wasn’t there of course, you knew that elder enough to know his buddy buddy relationship with your governor. 

You gave a sigh, your counting was over but you still mulled over what you have now. A two story cottage in the woods, three bedrooms, three baths, and a garage you converted to make into your mother’s home portion. Of course you had to be talked out of buying her a new home or offering her one of the bedrooms as she didn’t really mind it at all, just a bed, kitchen and space for her crafts was all she needed. And her grandchildren nearby can’t forget about them now.

Even after all these years they were quite the mysteries, but you’d hope they’d open up to you on them someday. Least you hope so, you’ve done a lot to try and be as open as humanly possible, mother didnt raise you to be the type of old ignorant church workers she had to deal with in her youth. Of course not to say they don’t have moments where you do need to go outside to do a nine second breathing exercise. Anything to prevent from you snapping at them, which unfortunately might’ve slipped in some cases, only to lead you outside, then to usher them all to come for a family group hug cause you felt like absolute garbage for it, even if some like karke grumble bout it not being a big deal.

Then again you’ve always thought with your heart then your mind in some cases, might’ve overthought and become overemotional at the very miniscule moments where you felt anger or annoyance in some cases, like being mad at an elder who butted their nose into your business too much at the store and then when diane got home you’d need a half hour with her to cry over feeling bad, mostly when the kids weren’t home, but they’d be there sometimes and you’ve ever since been dubbed as the family softy.

Speaking of, you turn around to find your small horde of family behind the sliding door to your large balcony. You suppose diane got them all ready before you could send her a message to get them all as karke was busy on his gameboy, kanri was busy with getting karke’s attention, mulin was on her phone being poked lightly by diane to get her attention, and nepta waving at you excitedly.

You waited for diane’s gaze to get back at you to motion to open the door. Getting on your knee’s just in time for nepta to glomp you in a run hug, making you thankful for the bulk you’ve gotten over time to prevent yourself from falling over as you waited on karke to join, gaining a one armed hug while the other still played his game. It was the least progress.

After a couple seconds you let go, both running off before you stood up to wait for your eldest two, mostly kanri as you gave mulin’s her’s first for the most part, then his while being careful not to mess with his quaft, knowing he’d wiggle out to immediately mess with it for twenty minutes in the bathroom if you did.

Letting both go back to their usual evening routines you moved to diane, hiding in her mass of hair and lasting yourself as long as you could with her, knowing she’d stay as long as she could unlike your restless youngsters. You might message your mother if she’s up for you to walk to her garage home for one aswell. She wasnt related in any of this but you just missed the comfort of her long nails in your hairline giving a light scratch in her pets, hiding in her wrinkled long neck like your younger self used to and the humming of some soft hispanic songs in your ear from the spanish raido channel. Maybe you’ll call thion to have a guy’s night, have his twins stay over or with his twin stepbrothers.

Your name is santos valerius mariyam, and as you go back inside you hope for a new aspiring day will come tomorrow.

[new-classical]

The Decisive Vote is an Expensive Vote

When do votes matter? That's a vague enough question that it can mean anything, and so of course that makes it a good topic for social media discussion.

But in public choice we're against vague questions, so we'll distinguish between how votes matter for policy versus how votes matter for social perception. That's the heart of Shepsle's Congressional Pay Raise Dilemma in the textbook, and in a different way it's at the heart of Gordon Tullock's case against (most) voting (3 minute video) which we'll come across later in the semester.

In the Congressional Pay Raise Dilemma, no politician wants to be socially perceived as voting for the pay raise, but every politician wants the policy of the pay raise. So what will happen? The pay raise will pass with the absolute minimum number of votes, and probably with the votes of politicians in the safest seats.

Shepsle chose a particularly cynical example of the policy/perception tradeoff, but even more noble or more mundane legislation often has elements of a Congressional Pay Raise Dilemma. In 2003, Senator John Kerry, Democrat of Massachussetts and true Vietnam war hero, wanted to be socially perceived as disagreeing with President George W. Bush's tax cuts for higher earners, but he also wanted to be socially perceived as supporting funding for troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. And I believe that for both personal and political reasons, Senator Kerry wouldn't allow American troops to go without food and water in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan. That's a formally untestable belief, but it's consistent with the way he's lived his life, both before and during his career in the Senate--so as a matter of policy he wanted the funding bill to pass in some form.

How did John Kerry address this Military Spending Dilemma? He voted for a military funding bill that was never going to pass in the Republican-controlled Senate--a bill that paid for the extra spending by repealing some of the Bush tax cuts. And then Kerry later voted against a military funding bill that was surely going to pass--a freestanding spending bill, supported by the GOP Senate majority, which just like almost every other Congressional spending bill didn't explain how it was going to be funded.

When asked on the 2004 Presidential campaign trail why he voted against the legislation that ultimately funded the troops then in the field, he gave the famous answer, which captures the social perception theory of voting:

"I actually did vote for the $87 billion before I voted against it."

While the Bush campaign mocked Kerry mercilessly for this example of what they called "flip-flopping," Kerry was actually being honest about they way politicians often try to signal that they like part of a bill without liking all of it. This time it didn't sell well with much of the voting public, and Kerry lost both the popular vote and the electoral college in 2004's presidential contest, but Kerry's strategy of  "voting for it before voting against it" is worth keeping in mind. It's one example of this important fact:

When a piece of legislation has enough votes to surely pass with a few extra votes more than needed, no single legislator's vote matters for policy.

But every single legislator's vote still matters for perception.

Kerry knew the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan were going to be funded, so his vote was not the marginal vote, the decisive vote. He could feel free to socially signal. This is true on literally any piece of legislation that passes with one extra vote to spare: Any one legislator can feel free to vote for or against the bill to make what we usually loosely call a "political statement," because the vote will have zero effect on policy.

Think a bill to increase health care spending with 225 votes in the House, while good, isn't progressive enough? Feel free to vote against it and make a speech on "unmet needs."

Think a campus free speech bill with 64 votes in the Senate doesn't go far enough in protecting on-campus First Amendment rights? Again, vote against it, knowing that the bill will easily beat a filibuster, and call for following the "principles of the Founders."

Once enough other votes are secure that the policy is guaranteed, the marginal vote in a legislature is no longer a policy vote: it's a perception vote. Shepsle's Congressional Pay Raise Dilemma was a fun example of a bigger issue: policy-irrelevant votes are everywhere in legislative politics.

And that means that when the votes to pass aren't secure, when a bill needs just one more vote to pass, then your vote truly is both a policy vote and a perception vote.

That's one important reason why it's better (in many cases) for a bill to pass the House by 219 rather than 218. When a bill looks like it has 217 votes and you're deciding whether to vote for it, you are, to use microeconomics language, the marginal voter. But so is everyone else who isn't in the "Yes" camp! And when you're the marginal voter, you're the responsible voter, the decisive voter. And if there's one thing humans, inside and outside of politics, have an incentive to avoid, it's being responsible.

But sometimes politicians do take responsibility. Here's one historically important case, one that has already become part of the Congressional canon:

Elsewhere in the discussion board I told the story of Congresswoman Marjorie Margolies-Mezvinsky, a Democrat who lost her seat in part because she was the 218th vote for President Clinton's 1993 deficit reduction package.

The House's biography of her is very good on this topic, and Margolies-Mezvinsky was clear about the distinction between a policy vote and a perception vote:

[S]he made a last–minute switch to support the 1993 Clinton budget after months of publicly voicing her opposition to the bill because it did not contain enough spending cuts...On the day of the vote, she appeared on television and told her constituents that she was against the budget. Minutes before the vote, however, on August 5, 1993, President Clinton called to ask Margolies–Mezvinsky to support the measure. She told him that only if it was the deciding vote—in this case, the 218th yea—would she support the measure. "I wasn't going to do it at 217. I wasn't going to do it at 219. Only at 218, or I was voting against it," she recalled.

If you're not what she called the "deciding vote," and what economists would call the "marginal vote," your vote doesn't matter for policy--so you might as well be perceived however you like. Her 218th vote, the marginal vote, created a difficult political perception back home, and was part of the reason she lost her seat after just one House term. I presume she took the hit to her perception because she wanted this policy more than the opportunity cost, the most likely alternative.

We can always compare actually existing legislation to our utopian dream of an ideal piece of legislation; but our utopian dreams are never going to make it to the floor of the House for a vote. The most likely alternative to Clinton's 1993 deficit reduction package was the status quo policy of bigger deficits, and that wasn't an appealing alternative to her. She knew her vote was going to be expensive. As Margolies-Mezvinsky told President Clinton at the time:

"I think I'm falling on a political sword on this one."

She was right. It was an expensive vote for a policy she preferred. If the bill had had either 220 or 215 votes lined up--sure passage or sure failure--she could have easily given a speech right afterwards, saying:

"This deficit reduction bill had good parts and bad, and I hope Congress can come together to create better legislation to reduce the long-run deficit."

A "Yes" vote is always concrete, since you're supporting an actual piece of legislation--but a "No" vote is a chance to weave dreams of an alternative that will probably never happen, something perhaps well to the left or the right of what actually became law. A "No" vote, by contrast, often has a flexible interpretation--like the meaning of a line in Shakespeare. "No" is usually politically safer--as long as you're better than Senator Kerry at talking about it.

As you probably know, they call votes like the one Margolies-Mezvinsky took a "tough vote." When you're a close to being the marginal vote, the decisive vote, it's often a "tough vote." So be on the lookout for "tough votes," because those are votes where, if the bill ultimately passes by one or two votes, there are probably quite a few politicians who voted against it but could, in a pinch, have been persuaded to vote for it.

Review Questions:

In this essay, who took the more decisive vote,  Kerry or Margolies-Mezvinsky? There's only one right answer here.

In this essay, who took the more expensive vote, Kerry or Margolies-Mezvinsky? What about the vote made it expensive? With the right argument, either could more expensive, but it really has to be the right argument.