#also we could at least get a female president

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

This whole Kamala Harris debacle has shown me how many leftist talking points are coming from privileged people whose only connection to politics is the (usually surface level) theory they’ve looked up.

[randum-famdoms]

People complain about whatever asshole cursed us to live in interesting times, and they’re right, but man posts like this remind me that at the very least we aren’t living in the most interesting times.

Can you fucking imagine living in the timeline where the Trump assassination is successful and like a week later Biden keels over of Covid

[qqueenofhades]

I understand how important it is to be able to criticize the President, and am not at all of the belief he should be beyond critique, but the critiquing of Biden makes me so nervous. (That's not to say I agree with every decision he's made - I absolutely do not). But I feel like people see things he's done wrong and decide they won't vote for him because of it. I'm not sure if enough people have the ability to see that he's done things wrong but also is our only hope of staving off literal fascism.

So many people talk about how sick they are of it constantly being a lesser of two evils situation, constantly having to vote for a candidate they hate because the other side is worse (I heard it in 2020, 2022, etc), and I guess I just- I don't really get it? We're here because they didn't do that in 2016. All of this could've been avoided had the result been different then. I just feel like people don't comprehend how different of a place we'd be in if Hillary won and engage in all this cognitive dissonance to make themselves feel better about being part of the reason she didn't.

Like.... this has been a long-running topic of discussion on my blog, not least because it is so inexplicable and maddening. It also shows how terribly shallow most people's understanding of the American political process is, and how toxic the "I can only vote for a candidate if every single personal belief/position of theirs matches mine" belief is, as well as how much damage it has done to American democracy even (and indeed, especially) by people who technically don't identify as right-wing. Yell at Republicans all you like (God knows I do, because they're the worst people on earth) but they vote. Every time. Every election. Every candidate. Whereas the Democratic electorate still holds out for Mister Perfect, and it very definitely is Mister Perfect. The amount of "evil HRC!!!" Republican-poisoned Kool-Aid that so-called progressives drank in 2016, and then afterward when they insisted they could have voted for someone like Elizabeth Warren and then didn't do that in 2020, is... baffing.

Frankly, I don't care if Hillary Clinton's personal positions on XYZ issue were the most Neoliberal Corporate Centrist Shill to Ever Shill (and Online Leftists' intellectual skills being what they are, I seriously doubt that they were using any of those words correctly and/or accurately). American policy is not made by "personal dictate of the ruler," or at least it shouldn't be, because we are not an absolute monarchy. We rely on the operation of a system with input from many people. As such, if Hillary had been elected, we would have 2-3 new liberal justices on SCOTUS and have secured civil and environmental rights for the next generation. Roe would be intact, and all the other terrible rulings that SCOTUS has recently handed down wouldn't have happened. We wouldn't have had January 6th, the attempt to stage a coup, all the tawdry scandals, our national security being at risk because of Trump stealing classified documents and probably selling them to Russia and/or Saudi Arabia, etc etc. If you think that's in any way an equivalent amount of evil to what would have happened if Hillary was elected, or if she was "still evil!!!," then I honestly don't know what to tell you. She could fucking murder puppies in her spare time if she had preserved SCOTUS for us, WHICH SHE WOULD HAVE, BECAUSE SHE WARNED US EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

(Hoo. Sorry. Still steamed. 2016 war flashbacks, again.)

In short, Hillary would have been a solid continuity Democrat and she would have signed whatever legislation a Democratic House and Senate passed, not to mention been hugely inspiring as the first female president. But because it's so important to the Online Leftists' moral sense of themselves that BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME!!!, they can't possibly acknowledge that ever being a factor, and/or admit that they have any culpability in not voting for her in 2016. It's like when you read the British press about any of the UK's equally numerous problems, and they BEND OVER BACKWARD to avoid mentioning that Brexit might be a factor. They just can't mention it, because then that means they might have made the wrong choice in pulling for it as hard as they did, and blah blah Sovereignty.

Basically, if HRC had been elected president, everything would be so much less terrible and terrifying all the time, we would be talking about her successor in 2024 as someone else who could be the "first," we could explore handing the reins over to Kamala as a Black/Asian woman, we could promote Buttigieg as the first gay president, etc etc. But because 2016 was so catastrophically fucked up, we are in damage control mode for the immediate future and every election is just as pivotal. And yet, because people think that the only thing that matters is a presidential candidate's personal views, we're stuck having the same old arguments and desperately begging people over and over to please vote against fascism, since that somehow isn't self-evident enough on its own. Yikes on Bikes.

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Five more years of victordom have passed, but the Capitol is still throwing surprises at you.

Part Five | Part Seven

A/N: SURPRISE! This is coming back because I felt like it and some lovely folks left comments recently ♥️ we can blame my absence on this semester, but thank putting off a 14 page final paper for this bout of productivity! (Also I was going for a ranch vibe with this pic? I'll start putting his face back on these soon lol)

Warnings: description of blood

Tears welled in your eyes as you finished dicing yellow onions, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm as you turned to scrape them into the pot. Caesar Flickerman’s voice floated in from your living room, the TV playing in the background so you could keep an eye on the quarter quell special. Count on Caesar to draw the whole thing out, emphasizing the significance of the anniversary and whatnot. You couldn’t help but be curious, though. The last quarter quell had fifty tributes, and you weren’t even alive to see it. You had, however, seen its effects on your occasional drinking buddy, so you were certain this year would be a doozy. 

It seemed Caesar was finally getting to the point as you began chopping a red pepper. He introduced the President, and your hand tightened around the knife as Snow began his address. That voice haunted your dreams, and hearing it at home was far more unpleasant than anywhere else. You did your best to tune him out. That was, until he announced it. 

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tribute are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your ears began to ring, and suddenly, you couldn’t hear the rest. Existing pool of victors. Existing pool of victors. Sharp pain brought your vision back into focus, and you blinked to find blood from the backs of your knuckles spilling over your pepper. Though your brain stopped moving, your hands hadn’t. 

You took a silent step back from the counter, staring at the ruined cutting board. Tearing your gaze away, you started rifling through cupboards trying to find a towel. The ironclad grip your dominant hand kept on the knife wasn’t helping, but it certainly hadn’t occurred to you to let it go. Out of options, you shoved your hand under the faucet and watched water carry excess blood away.

Vaguely, you registered the pain in your hand as your water heater got to work, but your eyes stayed locked on the drain. A loud ring of the phone startled you out of your reverie, to the point where you’d launched your still-dirty kitchen knife into the wall next to it. But it pointed you in the direction of some towels, at least, and you snatched a clean one from the laundry basket on the stairs. 

Sat on the second to last stair, you hunched over to wrap your hand. The world felt surreal as you stared at your shoddily covered wound, only looking up when your door burst open. You weren’t surprised to see Darla. Her scraped knees, bloody nose, and breathlessness didn’t shock you either. She probably fell when running over, but you were sure you looked just as frazzled. Grabbing her a towel from the basket, you nudged her with it before she could sit. 

“Answer Finnick.” 

She picked the phone up from the receiver, doing a double take when she registered the kitchen knife. 

“Howdy,” she huffed, licking her top lip and clearing some blood. 

You could barely hear Finnick’s resigned tone from the other end. “Hey, D,” he breathed. “How’s…” he trailed off. 

“Well, there’s blood on the cabinets,” your head popped up when she said it. You hadn’t even noticed the trail you’d left in your wake, “Water on the floor, and a knife in the wall.”

The faucet was still on, too, and you definitely hadn’t turned off the stove. It was a relatively generous assessment from her. 

“Will you put her on?” 

Darla stuck the phone straight in your face. When you grabbed it she reached for another towel, and pushed it along the floor with her foot. 

“Finnick,” your tone was almost too even for the circumstance. 

“Don’t do it,” Finnick warned, knowing you far too well. 

“Save it,” you shot right back, “I know you’re thinking it too.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” he said firmly. "They all have kids. Who would I be if I didn’t?” 

Though Darla was busy cleaning up after your spell, you weren't stupid enough to think she wasn't listening. “You know I feel similarly,” you chose your words carefully. 

Finnick did know, he’d seen what you’d given up for Darla. How you’d put yourself through the wringer for years just to spare her. He had no doubt you’d act just the same now. Only he didn’t want you to. He would’ve hated seeing Darla in there, but he’d be a dead man if you were in the arena with him. Your stubbornness didn’t stop him from making a final plea. 

His soft call of your name cut your heart worse than you’d cut your hand. Suddenly, you could no longer bear speaking to the man who’d been your constant for the past five years. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll see you soon, Fin. Take care of yourself.” You stood and shoved the phone back on the receiver before he could say another word. Talking to him, thinking about him, neither would help you hold yourself together. 

You stepped away from the phone, but stopped in your tracks to look at the knife. Some of your blood still lingered. 

“Leave it,” Darla called from the kitchen, “it’s a bold new piece of decor.” She’d taken up interior design in the wake of her victory. You shook your head with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lip. 

Coming to her side, you both looked down into the pot she’d taken off the stove. Burnt onion wouldn’t make much of a base. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” you offered, sadly. 

“Yes please,” she nodded quietly. You passed behind her to heat some up, and she settled onto one of the stools at your counter. It took you a minute one-handed, but Darla seemed too absorbed in quiet reflection to care. 

She dug in as soon as you slid her a bowl, but you stopped short before sitting down with your own. She raised a brow. 

“I’ll be back,” you shook your head, taking your dish and slipping on shoes. The wind whisked straight through your clothes as you crossed the street. 

Darby had never been close with you, nor Darla. He was there when she won, and you could tell he was somewhat relieved to only bring home one casket. But you weren’t close enough for him to tell you that, because he wasn’t your trainer.

He wasn’t even there when you’d won. The story was that Darby was too ill. It was true, only the illness was drug induced. District Ten had only one trainer that year. 

The woman who had trained Darby had trained you, and you were the last District Ten victor she’d lived to see. Sam was kind but incredibly sharp. Gentle, yet challenging. Observant and astute, she’d assessed you for all you were and marketed a more palatable version to the good citizens of the Capitol. Beyond helping you survive the games, she helped you navigate the aftermath. Without Sam and without your Nana, you wouldn’t have lasted a month outside the arena. She picked you up and dusted you off again and again like your mother had when you were a girl who thought she was invincible. No time had hurt as badly as losing your first tributes, though, but Sam saw you through that too. 

Before your second try at mentoring, however, she’d died. A horseback riding accident was the official story, but Sam had left the leather watch she loved at your house just before. She insisted on doing the dishes after you’d made dinner, and you later found it by the sink. Sometimes you swore you caught glimpses of her long silver braid. Each time it happened, you opened the drawer of your nightstand to stare at her watch.

Her death hit Darby hard, they’d been the only two Ten victors for a while. He hardly held it together during Darla’s games. Afterwards, he fell apart.

You’d been mentoring with Darla ever since, comforting her with each loss as Sam had with you. But you knew Darby had seen this announcement, and everyone in the district knew what it meant. 

You stood at his door a few minutes after knocking. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt compelled to come over anyway.  

A blue eye peaked from where the door had finally opened a crack. You held up the still-steaming bowl as an offering. Darby pulled the door fully open and stalked off into his house. Trailing after him, and closing the door behind you, you noticed how skinny he’d gotten since you’d last seen him. 

“Thanks,” he said, raspy, when he took the bowl from you finally. You could only nod. 

“I’m sorry,” you offered, knowing full-well how little it meant. Darby only sighed and shook his head. 

He shrugged, stabbing a fork firmly into the bowl. “I always had that feeling,” he shook his head. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and he went on, “that it wasn’t over. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. They own us, of course they’d want us back.” 

His passe tone rattled you. You nervously wiped your non-covered palm on your pants, “Right.” You looked around his dusty home awkwardly, “Well, see you soon.” Trying to leave him in peace and for your own, you made for the exit. 

“I’ll say hi to Sam for you,” he said from behind you, mouth full. It stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t even look back at him. 

“Thanks.” 

————————

The months leading up to the reaping were hellish, with you and Darla trying to shed your rustiness. You insisted you both throw your all into prepping for this, but that was mostly a ruse. Volunteering for her had been your plan since the announcement. At the very least, you enjoyed your time at home with her. You hadn’t gotten any calls about trips to the Capitol, and Finnick told you he hadn’t either. At least they were letting you enjoy your last few months alive. 

As Winter went, and Spring too, the day had finally come. Off to die for the second time. 

You zipped the fly on a pair of jeans you hadn’t ever worn. Your stylists had shoved them in your closet a long time ago- since they looked exactly like the ones you’d won in. The head gamemaker your year had a background in fashion, and gave tributes plenty of chances to change dirty or worn clothes in for unique ones.  People loved the look so much that denim had been a brief Capitol fashion trend. You figured it’d send a message to anyone who knew. After all, you’d cheated death in these once, you could do it again. 

You were up early, and since you and Darla had agreed to arrive separately, you took a long walk around your home district. Your long lap, with sights you’d grown up loving and smells you’d always scrunched your nose at, was met with a few pitying glances. Eventually, it lead you to the Justice Building, and you took an extremely early seat. People took their places as the hours passed. 

"Remember, it’s just for show," Sam’s voice rang in your head. It was the last thing she said to you before you entered the arena. 

“Hey,” your head snapped to your right where Darla took her seat. She looked tense. You took her hand and squeezed it, a silent reassurance. It’s not you. You’ll be ok. I’ll miss you. 

The district filed in for the ceremony, unusually unorganized. The only people the Peacemakers were concerned about policing, however, were already on stage. 

Your annoyingly vibrant district escort began the ceremony, and you ignored her for as long as you could bear it. “Ladies first,” you blinked to attention, head held high. This was it. Dug your nails into your palm to stop your hands from shaking. You swallowed. I volunteer as tribute. You willed the words to the front of your brain, hopefully convincing your mouth to form them when the time came. 

But you didn’t have to. She had called your name. You willed your face to remain impassive as you squared your shoulders. You forced yourself to take a proud step forward. Perception was everything here. You couldn’t look weak, not to the capitol, and not to your fellow tributes. 

“I volunteer as tribute!” 

Your well-crafted mask fell with the words. Shoulders sank as you turned to her in shock. Not once did you think she’d volunteer for you. But you could almost hear Finnick’s voice reminding you how similar you were. It was why you got along like a house on fire. Only, this time you had been so recklessly loyal to her you’d miscalculated. And it would almost certainly cost your tribute her life. 

“Darla,” you breathed, quiet enough for only her to heard, and sharp enough for it to come across as scolding. 

She didn’t even turn your way. 

You were escorted straight to the train before Darby could even be picked by default. The new (old) District Ten tributes were escorted straight to the train as well. Only then could you confront your mentee. 

“What the fuck was that?!” You stood in a rage. She walked right past you toward the couches, but you caught her wrist.  

“You don’t get to scold me for saving your life,” she shook her head, and tugged her wrist free.

“Sure I do, when you’ve acted like a fool! It was random, D! We agreed to let it be random!” 

“Oh, that’s rich!” She scoffed. 

“Excuse me?!” 

“You’re still lying! You really think I didn’t know you were going to volunteer for me?” Darla asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. She fell back onto the couch. 

You stepped back, anger fully dissipated. “What?” 

“You hung up on Finnick nearly every time I’d walk in,” she shrugged, “you’re brave not subtle.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you lowered yourself onto the luxurious Capitol sofa next to her. For a second, you let your head fall into your hands. 

“Still,” you persisted, looking straight ahead, “it was going to be me. You didn’t have to-“ 

“I know what all you’ve done for me,” she said simply. You sat straight up, finding her face with wide eyes. No.

“Finnick?” He wouldn’t. 

“Johanna,” she shook her head. Your shoulders sagged. It made sense that Johanna knew, she was almost in the same situation. And you wouldn’t have expected them to keep things from each other, not before they broke up at least. 

“Darla,” you started. Why hadn’t she confronted you when she found out? How long had she been holding on to this knowledge? Did she think differently of you? 

“You’ve been falling on your sword for me for five years,” Darla said solemnly, “it’s high time I took it away from you.” 

Your stomach ached, and tears blurred your vision, “D.” 

She pulled you in for a hug when your voice broke. “You gave me my life back,” she whispered, “I’m only doing the same.” 

You pulled away from her, wiping vigorously at your face. “I won’t watch you lose.” 

She sniffled a wry laugh, “then make me win. Maybe this time it'll stick.” 

————————————————————

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Sorry if you no longer want to be tagged and sorry for this formatting (Tumblr is confusing and it's the only way the tags would work?) ! Let me know and I'll remove you from (or add anyone who wants to be on) the list

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

𝐻𝒾𝓈 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇

Summary: You will do whatever it takes to protect Finnicnk in the Quater Qulle, even if that means sacrificing yourself.

Pairing: (mention) Annie X Finnick, Finnick x Reader.

Word count: 821

Warnings: unreciprocated feeling (one-sided on the reader's side) ANGST!!, love confessions, the reader being sad about the circumstances.

A/N: I watched TBOSBAS which made me rewatch all the THG movies... I fell in love with Finnick Odair again and wrote this. This is my FIRST time writing anything for the THG fandom so please be kind, this may not be the best but i like how it came out. As always let me know if I missed tagging something :)

Read part 2 here

"The male and Female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district"

As soon as President Snow said those words, the breath in your lungs physically disappeared from your body. You were immobile and felt as though you had been transported back in time to when you were a little 15-year-old girl and heard her name called at the 68th Hunger Games reaping.

You quickly knew what was to come, you had to volunteer as tribute. If Finnick's name was to be called you were willing to volunteer to protect him at any cost. You deeply loved Finnick even if he did not reciprocate your love back.

You also knew that if Annie were to be called Mags would volunteer to save her, but just like Mags, you couldn't fathom having Mags back in the games either. You stood up wiping your tears away; from this point on you needed to be strong.

Knowing that Annie's house would be where they would all be, you went there. As soon as you walked in, you could hear Annie's weak sobs as Finnick was holding her. The image broke your heart because, deep down, all you wanted was to be Annie, cuddled up in Finnick's cozy embrace, right now.

When Mags emerged from the kitchen, you sprang to give her a firm embrace. You whispered in her ear, "It will be okay mags, I promise I'll bring him back to you both," but all she did was hold you more tightly. You glanced up, meeting Finnick's gaze, and cracked a smile.

The days before the reaping passed quickly as you made an effort to avoid Finnick, which was initially successful. You were fully aware of the need for these precious moments between him and Annie.

When the day came sure enough Finnick's name was called, " Now our female tribute from District Four is Ma-" the mayor couldn't finish as you interrupted. " I volunteer as tribute!" you moved to stand next to Finnick holding his hand. " Wow! Our tributes from District Four Finnick Odair and Y/N L/N!"

Once your goodbyes were said and you stepped foot on the train you let out a sigh, Finnick looked up from where he was staring at the floor. You’ve tried to get him to move and stall the process of talking to him, but his feet are locked in place.

“Finnick, move.” You tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “It’s not happening, Y/n, why would you volunteer? You should've stayed here in District Four.” You take in a breath, shaking your head, “I need to start getting ready now if we plan on being on time to the capitol. We can talk about this as I get ready.” You point to the side to get him to move. “I’m serious, Finnick. Get out of the way.”

“I'm not moving” He shrugs. You huff out a sound of frustration." If you want to have this conversation right now then at least sit down please" you gestured for him to sit. He listened and sat down. " Why would you volunteer? I could've protected Mags and Annie"

"You're saying you wouldn't be able to protect me?" you questioned back with hurt. " no i- that's not what I meant, if something happens to you I can't let myself live knowing you died trying to protect me" he leans back looking out the window. " Mags told me what you whispered to her the night Snow announced the Quarter Quell. You'd promise to bring me back safe to them. But I can't let you do that because.." he pauses

"Because what fin?" you already know what he's going to say, every time he says it, it pushes you further into the deep end hurting your heart.

He looks to meet your gaze "Because I love you, and I can't lose you just for the benefit of protecting me. I just can't you mean too much to me"

You scoff at his admission "That's just it, you may love me Finnick, but you are not in love with me! I am the one who's in love with you, and I am the one suffering!" You smile sadly at him as you both know this was true and he hated himself for it."At the end of the day, I am willing to protect you at all costs, because you are the only person I have left in my life who I love. Mags and Annie need you more than I do" You wipe away the tears that are now freely falling. " So that's why I volunteered" You get up from the chair. " I think we should get ready now, we will be at the capitol soon" You leave the room fast to not cry anymore, you know now that Finnick knows he'd tried his best to protect you even more.

[flying-ham]

Names in The Hunger Games series obviously hold a lot of symbolic meaning. Whether it be a particularly on the nose name for characters like Peeta or the complete absence of one for characters like Mrs Everdeen, Suzanne Collins puts a lot of thought and care into names. One that I haven’t seen people talk about so far is Livia Cardew.

Livia Cardew is a rude, cruel classmate that Snow despises. When we are introduced to her character, Snow thinks that she, "had always been prone to gloating," (tbosas). She is assigned Facet, a strong boy from District 1 with a good chance of winning the games, and Snow hates that she acts, "As if the plum assignment was solely a reflection on her, and not on her mother running the largest bank in the Capitol," (tbosas).

The character Livia Cardew is named after Livia Drusilla, wife of the first Roman Emperor Augustus and mother of the Emperor Tiberius. Livia Drusilla came from a powerful Patrician family in Rome, with her father inheriting a substantial fortune around the time of her birth. She was married prior to her marriage with Augustus, giving birth to two sons before her divorce and subsequent remarriage to Augustus. Although he believed these sons to be proof of her high fertility, Livia was only able to give Augustus one stillborn child during their marriage. Livia Cardew reflects the early life of her namesake Livia Drusilla, in that she comes from an influential banking family that helps her get ahead in society. The advantage she has being assigned the District 1 boy only widens the gap, making her a frontrunner to win the scholarship. However, just as Livia Drusilla loses her child with Augustus, Livia Cardew's tribute dies before the games even begin, removing her from the competition entirely. Moreover, Livia attempts to "steal" Clemensia's tribute while she is ill, "demanding new tributes be brought from the districts, or at least that she be given Reaper, the boy assigned to Clemensia, who everyone thought had been hospitalized with the flu," (tbosas). Similarly, Livia Drusilla campaigned with her husband to make her son Tiberius his heir after she failed to give him a son, though she was only successful after the death of his nephew Marcellus and disgrace of his daughter Julia.

Further connecting Livia Cardew to her historical namesake, it is implied that Snow marries her after the events of tbosas. In the epilogue, Snow thinks, "If he ever married, he’d choose someone incapable of swaying his heart. Someone he hated, even, so they could never manipulate him the way Lucy Gray had. Never make him feel jealous. Or weak. Livia Cardew would be perfect. He imagined the two of them, the president and his first lady, presiding over the Hunger Games a few years from now," (tbosas). Just as Livia Drusilla became Empress of Rome, Livia Cardew would become the First Lady of Panem. Livia Drusilla was seen as the ideal matron in the early Roman Empire, as a steadfast and supportive wife who oversaw domestic affairs like the home and children. In the same way, Livia Cardew is Snow's ideal wife, a girl with an advantageous family name and no emotional ties to get in Snow's way.

Finally, Livia Drusilla was often villainized by Roman authors the same way Snow villainizes Livia Cardew. Annals by the author Tacitus portrays Livia as a murderous, evil woman in cahoots with her son Tiberius to steal the Empire after Augustus' death. Over and over he reveals his own prejudice against women in ancient Rome, inserting his personal opinions into a work he claims is unbiased truth.  He often uses negative language to describe Livia Drusilla, saying that, “There was also [Tiberius’] mother with her female unruliness,” (Tac. Ann., chap. 1).  Tacitus’ choice to specify that Livia’s shortcoming relates to her gender highlights his lack of respect for women, and his expectation that all Roman women fit a specific mold. In the same way, Snow constantly thinks the worst about Livia Cardew, thinking things like, "Unlike Livia, Clemensia received news of her good fortune with tact," (tbosas). Livia Drusilla was often associated with poison (a "woman's weapon"). There were many rumors about her killing enemies of herself or Augustus using the very method Snow adopted as his own by the events of the original trilogy.

tl:dr Livia Cardew is based on Livia Drusilla, wife of the first Roman Emperor and holds a lot of similarities to the historical figure

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Gabriella Ferrigine at Salon:

John Oliver on Sunday's episode of "Last Week Tonight" delved into how former President Donald Trump's second term could hypothetically play out given that polls give him an edge over President Joe Biden. “You can go on his website and see it all laid out, and it’s pretty alarming,” Oliver said, before playing a clip of Trump articulating his plans to dismantle trans rights. "I will ask Congress to pass a bill establishing that the only genders recognized by the United States government are male and female, and they are assigned at birth," Trump said in the clip. "No serious country should be telling its children that they were born with the wrong with the wrong gender," he added, claiming that it is a concept "never heard of in all of human history" until it was recently invented by "the radical left." "That is really the Trump experience in a nutshell right there," Oliver said. "Hateful ideology, a promise to make life harder for minorities, all wrapped up in a non sequitur so stupid it is inconveniently funny. The radical left invented trans people a few years ago? I’m sorry. What?!? Did they put it on 'Shark Tank' and I somehow missed it?” The host then brought up a number of Trump's other plans if he assumes the presidency again, including mass deportation, requiring local law enforcement agencies to implement controversial policing tactics such as stop-and-frisk, slashing funding for schools that implement a mask or vaccine mandate, and impose a universal tariff of at least 10% on all imports.

"He's promising to get revenge on his enemies," Oliver said. "At rallies he’s told supporters that ‘I am your retribution,’ which sounds like something you’d hear out of the mouth of Megatron rather than a major presidential candidate." "He's been specific about who will be on the receiving end of that retribution," Oliver added, before showing footage of Trump claiming that he will "root out communists, Marxists, fascists, and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country, that lie and steal and cheat on elections and will do anything possible — they'll do anything — whether legally or illegally to destroy America and destroy the American dream." "Was he falling asleep at the end there?" Oliver jokingly asked. "Second, it's not usually a great sign when a politician starts referring to groups as vermin, unless of course they're running for mayor of Zootopia and they're gunning for the little Rodentia votes."

[...] Project 2025's 900-page handbook, for example, includes plans for dismantling the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration because it is "one of the main drivers of the climate change alarm industry." Oliver observed other initiatives included in the handbook, such as installing a pro-life task force to replace Biden's reproductive healthcare task force, disassembling the FBI, defunding the Department of Justice, outlawing pornography, and more. Speaking about the two figures spearheading Project 2025, Trump associates Russ Vought and John McEntee, Oliver said, “Their goal here is clear: To assemble an army of vetted, trained staff who can begin dismantling the administrative state from day one."

On the most recent episode of HBO’s Last Week Tonight that aired last Sunday, host John Oliver had an alarming segment about how Project 2025 would harm America in a multitude of ways.

See Also:

The Guardian: On HBO's Last Week Tonight, John Oliver on a second Trump term: ‘Really does promise to be far, far worse’

Can We Still Govern?: The Public Opposes Trump's Plans to Politicize Public Services

From the 06.16.2024 edition of HBO's Last Week Tonight:

[vivacissimx]

some course correction on visenya targaryen

Current Visenya discourses are flawed because they presuppose forms of patriarchy that didn't exist yet & project it backwards (a trick Fire & Blood actually uses itself, in fact makes it cartoonishly obvious, because that's a mechanism of creating history. Ex. 'Baelon was the natural successor to Aemon and everybody definitely agreed' only for the issue to continue being debated for years to come). So the language of 'usurpation' is used for Visenya when the story that ultimately weaves into the usurpation of a female claimant is only beginning.

The Visenya who crowned Aegon beneath their brand new family heraldic banner, who publicly took on worship of the Seven despite privately continuing to observe Valyrian rites & rituals, is part of a trio who are participating in Westerosi cultural practices so as to legitimize themselves in the eyes of their subject. We are not coming as foreigners who will threaten your ways, it purposely says. These are compromises willingly made but they do not indicate that the Conquerors viewed themselves as within the paradigm of Westeros entirely. Does that even need to be said? They were quite literally a polygamous incestuous union! Their banner is a three-headed dragon, three parts to a whole, not one single dragon to rule them all (and one dragon is what we later see Aegon II use as his banner when he usurps Rhaenyra— indicating that unlike Aegon the Conqueror, he views himself as the one king, & there are no equal partners to him least of all in the form of pesky sisters).

The Visenya who equally participated in military campaigns, lawmaking, judgement, progresses, & holding of Dragonstone/King's Landing did not view herself as being usurped. Neither did this same Visenya show interest in having children until she absolutely had to (with Rhaenys dead and one single sickly heir remaining). The equipoise of the post-Conquest pre-Rhaenys' death years seems to be that Aegon & Visenya were not too fussed about having a child together because thankfully Rhaenys existed between them, Rhaenys who was much more interested/interesting wrt the matter which kept the two elder siblings in peace. As it goes, Rhaenys' death coincides with the fracturing of the Aegon & Visenya relationship. Nonetheless after Rhaenys dies Visenya takes several steps to protect their fledgling dynasty such as military invasion of Dorne for vengeance and to discourage further rebellion, establishing the Kingsguard to protect Aegon who she viewed as perhaps less capable than her, and, yes, getting pregnant herself. When Visenya did have a child, everything she did with Maegor can be viewed in the sense that she was reproducing herself for the next generation. Like Visenya, Maegor's education was a martial one. Like Visenya, he should wield Dark Sister. Like Visenya, he should be part of the heir-apparent-structure by marrying Rhaena (later the Black Bride). Like Visenya, he must show strength when the family is weak, and be in service to their House (by making peace with the Faith by marrying Ceryse Hightower, by putting down rebellion when Aenys couldn't, by returning from exile when Aenys died). Like Visenya, he was allowed to enter a polygamous union (indeed Visenya presided over that ceremony).

[And there are points to be made regarding the Visenya archetype, how Maegor explicitly rejected it in pursuit of his father's legacy, but that's a different round-up.]

Whether Visenya initially foresaw a trio for Maegor, that he'd be a first husband for Rhaena but that perhaps Rhaena could also marry a son of Aenys, brings up a really interesting question as to the nature of plural marriage (whether polyandry was also legitimated by acceptance of Targcest, which had not yet been codified as monogamous by Jaehaerys who notably did not marry both of his sisters— and this question is subtly brought up again mockingly with Saera, more seriously with Rhaenyra). But that's not the point of this post! The point of this post is to say that the nature of the Conqueror trios roles & responsibilities was much more fluid than the language of 'usurpation' allows for. Did Visenya's positioning set the stage for what would ultimately snowball into Rhaenyra's usurpation, a process which relied on Visenya, and Rhaena, and Alysanne, and Rhaenys TQWNW, and so on's circumstances to unfold the way it did? Of course. It's a lineage. But it's an error to say 'things were always that way.' Nothing is ever so flat as that. The point is more that 'one thing led to another.'

[bangtanhoneys]

The Grammy Awards - Part Three.

Part 2

It was amazing how quickly the South Korean government could move when it needed to. The news had arrived on the President’s desk the moment the Grammy’s had ended in Los Angeles, 17 hours behind them. It was all over other various media sites as Seoul and the rest of the nation were waking up to the news that BTS had secured two Grammy wins with their female member, Grace Chu. 

She had won 7 Rings - Record of the Year and In My Head - Album of the Year, with Bang-PD & PDogg also receiving their own Grammy’s as producers of the album. It was a huge accomplishment considering BTS had been up for similar awards so many times and had walked home empty handed every time. The fact that they had been even nominated was a huge accomplishment but now they could hold their heads up high and say their female member had won it for them. 

The military had given Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi & Namjoon an extra day of leave after the news had arrived so they could be part of Grace’s welcome home party. The government had been quick to act - a hero’s welcome home for opening the door to the rest of the world of idols and K-Pop that a Grammy could be won. 

Of course, some said it was because her song was in English and that she was British had a hand in it. Her citizenship was always a bone of contention amongst some Koreans that she had never given up her British identity, preferring to be dual. And there were the anti-fans who thought their groups deserved it more than she did, that she hadn’t done any hard work, hadn’t done any of the lyrics (although Grace had her name on every song credit) and it just continued as the news was pumped around. 

No one cared though. 

It came down to one simple thing: Grace Chu had won two Grammys in a single night, for an album she had worked her bum off for with two of the men that had always been number one supporters of her solo career. 

HYBE were already making plans to open a special display for the awards, her costumes, and her dress and hype it up even more. 

For Grace, it had been a blur. From the moment her name had been called for the first award, then the second, and then backstage where everyone had congratulated her and there were sooo many celebrities clambering to get a photo with her, and the boys were on the phone sending their congratulations and by the time they got back to the hotel with a police escort, Grace had simply asked: “What the hell has just happened?”

There was champagne, expensive bottles of it, being popped and her father had drunk at least one bottle on his own. Her mother had been calling Korea, telling their friends and family about the night and Sejin had been updating HYBE, Big Hit and the boys with what was going on. 

Grace sat down next to Bang-PD and he reached over, putting his hand on her knee to pat it. “Hell of a night?” he asked, laughing. 

“You could say that again,” she gently laughed and ran a hand over her face. She was more than ready to get the makeup off, get the dress off and have a long shower then crawl into bed. All the stress of the night had melted away the moment the hotel door opened.

“I’m proud of you though, Hea. You work exceedingly hard, double that of the boys and yet you never wanted anything at the end of the day. You simply go with the flow and if it happens, it happens. But look at what happened tonight - your performance and two awards in your name.”

“Our name,” Grace corrected with a grin. “Our name, PD-nim. You, me and PDogg. We each get our own in three months.”

“Three months?” he asked, looking horrified. “Hang on, I need to make some calls.”

She guessed he hadn’t heard that part when they had gone backstage to do photos and they had taken the awards off them, explaining that these were simply props and they would receive the actual ones in the post in three months. 

Sejin sat down next to her and let out a large breath, running a hand over his face, through his hair and slipped his glasses off. “Wonder if they're doing room service right now?” he asked, wiping the corner of his eye.

“I could do with a big greasy burger with extra pickles and a cola,” Grace sighed. If there was going to be a cheat day, now would be it. 

Bang-PD came back just as room service was bringing in trays of burgers and fries and cola, complimentary from the hotel for what she had won tonight. “Perfect timing,” he said as he swiped his own burger and took a seat next to his artist and her manager. 

“So, want to hear some good news?”

Grace and Sejin turned to look at him, eyebrows raised with matching expressions as their mouths were taking a bite out of their burgers. It made Bang-PD laugh and he waved a hand, letting them carry on eating.

“I spoke to the Grammys, we can pick up the awards on the way to the airport. They are going to rush-order them as it were. Took a bit of talking but we did it and the President has been on the phone.”

“President of South Korea?” both Grace and Sejin asked.

“That one. He’s got the information of our flight tomorrow and we’re landing in Incheon around 5:30pm so he’s going to roll out the red carpet as it were. It’s going to be a big hero’s welcome - press, photos, a little bit of a speech, and the boys are going to be there. They're off but they’ve been asked to come in their military dress for the day.”

“Jin is going to hate that,” Grace laughed as she threw the extra pickles in her mouth. “So is Yoongi.”

“From what I’ve heard, they're planning their own celebration dinner for you, us, and their families. So be warned,” Bang-PD said as he reached over to wipe some sauce from her chin.

“You always look after me,” Grace grinned as she took a napkin and wiped at her chin anyway.

“You are his favourite after all,” Sejin mentioned. 

Their flight was leaving Los Angeles at 10:50am so everyone said their goodnights and went to bed. The next morning, it was a bit of a hurry to get the crew moving though Grace’s parents had opted to stay an extra day to avoid the chaos that would be awaiting them when they got home. 

The airport was chaotic anyway and they had managed to get to the first class lounge without much issue even though there were plenty of people with cameras and phones out. The Grammy Awards, which had arrived three hours ago as promised, were locked in a large briefcase which went on with Bang-PD and a bodyguard and had to have special clearance. 

For Grace, it was still a bit of a blur. She hadn’t fully processed what had happened and she hadn’t fully realised the magnitude of winning such an award was going to bring to her, the boys, the company and the country. 

BTS had always talked about how the goal was a Grammy and though they didn’t need one to know their success, it would have been nice to point at it and say ‘We won that.’ No one had ever talked about what winning one would actually mean in the grander sense of things - it opened the doors for other artists out of South Korea to put forward for an award. That anything was now possible thanks to Grace opening up that opportunity. 

When she settled in her seat and they had taken off, she had sent a message to the group chat with the boys, unsure if any of them would be awake or active with the time difference.

‘On the flight home - it’s a 14-hour flight so I’ll see you at whatever time that is.’

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoongi who answered.

‘We have to wear our military dress uniforms. I hate you so much.’

Grace grinned and took a screenshot of the moment when her name flashed up on the screen when she had won her first Grammy and sent it over with the message: ‘Not my fault I won.’

He sent back a grumpy looking selfie but Grace knew underneath all that he was happy and excited and proud.

They were an hour away from landing when Sejin came over to her seat.

“So this is roughly how it’s going to happen - everyone is going off the plane first and us last. And then we’re going through like we normally do but they’ve laid out a red carpet and they're going to have military personnel lining the carpet. When we get to the doors, it’s the usual cameras, photos, bow and wave. There’s going to be a small stage with Bang-PD and we’ll have one Grammy out so they can take photos, answer a few questions and then finish.”

“All this because of the Grammys,” Grace groaned and rubbed her eyes. “They're making it sound like I won every championship in every sport for South Korea. Rather than it just being a music award.”

“They did this when Son Heung-min won his Golden Boot and they did this when the Parasite director, Bong Jun Ho came home after winning an Emmy,” Sejin reminded her. 

“God help them when someone wins an award worth winning then,” Grace yawned as she stretched up her arms and started getting herself ready. 

Her make up artist did a quick job of covering any eye bags and making her presentable, brushing out her long hair that had been tied up in a messy bun for the flight. It felt too much for something so little.

But then Grace had always been good at downplaying anything. 

Even something as big as this. 

She felt the nerves twist when the last passenger was off as was the rest of the team, leaving only Sejin, Bang-PD and three bodyguards left on the plane with Grace. The pilot bowed at her when she passed and thanked her for her contributions, to which she bowed back and thanked him for keeping her safe. 

As predicted, there was a red carpet from where she stepped off the plane to the long hallway which would take her to arrivals. Her bags were already collected by the team that had got off before her. 

Letting out a deep breath, Grace glanced towards Bang-PD who winked at her and gave her a gentle push forward so she would be the first one out of the doors with two bodyguards flanking her. 

She bowed in thanks to those military personnel who lined the hallway for her and she could hear the noise the closer she got towards the doors though they had been closed and blocked off by military and police. 

The moment they parted and the doors opened, the noise became overwhelming. Screams from fans, from the general public to ARMY, to the press as they all tried to get a picture as she stood there, bowing in thanks.

A hand on her back from Sejin gently pushed her towards a stand that was put up with a podium with a microphone on it, the backdrop a mix of big names like HYBE, Big Hit Entertainment, the Blue House, Korea Air and the Grammys. There Bang-PD pulled out one of the Grammys and handed it to her and for the first time, she could feel the proper weight of it.

The prop had been lighter, for obvious reasons, but this felt heavy with its full metal and she could see her name engraved on the plaque at the bottom - both in Korean and English. 

Then the questions started.

Was she happy to be back home? 100%.

What did she think of her performance?  She was very happy with it and happy it went to plan, there were no hiccups. 

Did she wish the boys had been with her? Of course.

What did she think of the Grammys now she had won it?

The question made her pause and out of the corner of her eye, she could see her boys lined up at the side but at the back so they weren’t in the crowd. They were all watching but waved the moment she looked over. 

“It’s a grand prize for a lot of hard work that myself, Bang-PD and PDogg have put into this. But I still think I’m undeserving of this when I know for a fact that Bangtan Sonyeondan is more deserving of it as a group rather than me as a solo artist. However, I’m proud and I’m proud that I’ve opened the door for others and that this brings honour to my family and to my country that I’ve called home since I was a child.”

It seemed the appropriate response as the crowd cheered and she stepped back, handing the award to Bang-PD so he could answer his questions. 

She kept her eyes on the boys though. 

One lot of people pleasing to get through with photos and then she could be out of here, back at HYBE with her people and onto the next thing. 

She was out in record time with a police escort driving her from the airport to the company building, the Grammy briefcase now with her rather than Bang-PD who had gone to see the President of Korea himself. 

“Noona!”

That’s all she needed to hear.

Her arms were trapped to her side as Jungkook rushed over, now in a t-shirt and shorts, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close. Jimin and Taehyung soon followed, Hobi followed straight after that with excited yells and finally, they were joined by Namjoon, Yoongi and Jin. 

“Thank god,” she sighed and leaned all her weight on her muscle bunny who happily accepted it. It felt good to be home, it felt good to be with her boys again. There was no need for more words even as the seven talked around her, mentioning the press conference. 

“Hang on,” Grace laughed as she pulled away. “Let me go and wash my face and wake up. That was a long flight and I don’t even know what time it is.”

They pulled away enough for her to grab the briefcase and hand it over to Namjoon, who blinked rapidly at her. “You can deal with that,” she said and headed off to the bathroom, with Seokjin following.

“This is going to look really weird if someone comes in,” Grace grinned as she watched him glance at the door as it closed behind him. She splashed cold water on her face and scrubbed at the make-up, splashing more water on her face.

Seokjin handed over a towel and leaned against the radiator, shrugging. “I’m sure the boys are betting on what we’re actually doing but I just wanted to say hello and I’m proud of you.”

The make up was off which made her skin felt a hundred times better and it felt like she could breathe for once as she used the towel to dry away the droplets. When it was all done, she walked over to her boyfriend and rested her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I wished you had been with me,” she sighed.

“I know but your parents had a blast from the sounds of it and the night was meant to be about you and you only. Not me, not the rest of the guys, though wait till you hear the stories from when they were at mine - you’ll laugh your socks off,” he laughed and gave her a good squeeze, taking hold of her hand. “I’m very proud of you though.”

“Our time will come,” Grace nodded and smiled at the forehead kiss. “All eight of us.”

Her boyfriend dragged her back to the room where the rest of the boys were looking at the Grammy award, Namjoon holding one and Jimin holding the other.

“It doesn’t look like much, does it?” Taehyung mentioned. “All the prep, stress and everything else for something so small.”

“So what’s going to happen when they introduce us now? Is it going to be BTS with two time Grammy awarded singer, Grace Chu?” Yoongi asked, grinning over at his sister who glared at him and then gave him a good push on the other shoulder.

“Shut up. It doesn’t change anything, not for me anyway,” Grace sat down and shrugged. “If anything it’s more work because they’ll expect another album from me.”

“I’m going to say this now,” Namjoon started as he placed the award on the table. “We’re all very proud of you and we were watching with big smiles on our faces, though the outfit and dance moves need to be talked about. But regardless, she’s BTS. If anything, she’s become more important than me because everyone will want to see her more than us.”

Namjoon got a disgruntled look from his female member and he grinned in return. “Sorry noona, it’s time for you to step up to the plate now. I’ve done my job.”

“What job? I trained you, don’t forget,” Grace pointed out then pointed at each boy in return, especially Seokjin. “Don’t start getting all lackadaisical now. ARMY is waiting for us and you’ve all got months to go before some of you are back.”

“Yeah we need SK1,” Jungkook pointed out.

“Exactly,” Grace agreed. 

“Anyway,” Hobi clapped his hands as he stood, distracting Seokjin from trying to strangle the youngest. “Let’s go and celebrate! Noona deserves to be wined and dined. And then sleepover?”

“Yeah Jin-hyung has plenty of space,” Jimin agreed as he helped lock up the Grammy award. 

“I do?” the man in question asked just as Jungkook said, “Yeah he does. We can all sleep on the couch.”

Big Hit would later upload two photos from the boys to Grace - one with all of them together at the dinner, the Grammy Awards in the centre of the table and the second photo from Jungkook, taking a selfie with all of them fast asleep in the background. 

The perfect welcome home for the two-time award winning singer, Grace Chu. 

[ndconceptarchive]

Adventure Classic Gaming Interview with Megan Gaiser, Carolyn Bickford, and Sheri Hargus

Adventure Classic Gaming was,

"the premiere website dedicated to classic and retro adventure gaming. We seek to be a comprehensive online resource on classic adventure games and interactive fiction. Our site covers all gaming platforms, both computers and consoles. We cover games by both independent and commercial developers."

It appears that it's now defunct seeing as the most recent articles were uploaded in 2014, but you can still access the website even though it appears to be missing a CSS file.

Here is an interview from the website with Megan Gaiser in promotion for Stay Tuned for Danger published on June 12, 2000:

Founded in 1995, Her Interactive has taken a pioneering role in attracting girls to computer technology through attractive role-playing. The mission of this Washington-based publisher is to design, develop, and market intelligent interactive games for girls.

In 1997, the company has obtained a license from Simon & Schuster to develop an interactive mystery game series based on the legendary teen detective Nancy Drew. Its flagship titles, Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill and Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger, have received high praises from both critics and parents.

In this exclusive interview, Megan Gaiser (President), Carolyn Bickford (VP Sales and Marketing), and Sheri Hargus (Development Manager) speak about the company's unique mission, the popularity of Nancy Drew, and what holds in the future for this interactive series.

Sheri Hargus, Development Manager; Carolyn Bickford, VP Sales and Marketing; Megan Gaiser, President (left to right).

What (or who) is the inspiration behind the idea of taking Nancy Drew onto the computer screen?

Megan Gaiser: There are many reasons why we chose Nancy Drew to star in her own computer game series. History was one. Nancy Drew has fascinated girls for generations. We remembered as girls how eagerly we looked forward to getting our hands on the next Nancy Drew book - and realized that if we could create the same kind of anticipation for our games we would have major hits. Also, Nancy Drew is a powerful role model - she's brilliant, intrepid, and successful.

The Nancy Drew mysteries fit our search for content that was non-violent and that didn't rely on gender stereotypes. And, last but not least, mysteries make a great foundation for intelligent entertainment. Their complex plots provide infinite opportunity for adventure, exploration, and problem solving. There's a ready-made sense of community, as players seek help and advice from characters inside the game, from friends and family, and from online resources. Community is key to our plans to enhance our online presence.

Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger is developed and published by HerInteractive.com. HerInteractive.com has a unique mandate in developing non-violent games specifically for girls. Can you explain more fully about your company's unique mission? How do you plan to accomplish this mandate?

Megan Gaiser: Indeed, we are the only developer in the U.S. focused exclusively on the girls market, which is rather bizarre. There are more than 70 million girls in our target age range, and they have about $45 billion to spend each year. All of this potential has been largely ignored by the computer game industry, which found it could sell a lot of violent action games targeting the male audience, and has stayed in that rut ever since.

The market penetration for male-targeted games is near the saturation point. But there's still a wide-open opportunity to target the female half of the population. A recent study published by the American Association of University Women found that girls were largely turned off by the violent and repetitive nature of most games. If they're not buying games in large numbers, it's not because they don't like to play games, it's because few developers are designing games that appeal to them.

And those that do tend to rely pretty heavily on pink packaging, boy-talk and clothes. To assume that those are the only things girls are interested in is absurd. Our games don't use gender stereotypes to appeal to girls. Instead, they rely on the intrigue of a good mystery, and a smart, gutsy heroine. We believe that there should be as many types of games as there are types of girls. That creates such an exciting opportunity, and Nancy Drew is just the beginning.

For those readers who are unfamiliar with Nancy Drew, can you tell us a bit about the background of the legendary teen detective?

Megan Gaiser: Nancy Drew has been solving mysteries and inspiring millions of avid fans for 70 years.

Back in 1905, a writer named Edward Stratemeyer started a company that developed series of books for children. Edward would dream up plots and characters, and hire ghostwriters to write the books under pen names. He created the Hardy Boys in 1927, and just a few years later, he created Nancy Drew. When he died, his daughters ran the company and continued the Nancy Drew tradition.

Edward Stratemeyer's daughters, Harriet Adams and Edna Stratemeyer, made all decisions about what would happen with the Nancy Drew character. This was back in the 1930s when it was highly unusual for women to run a business. Their first ghostwriter for Nancy Drew was a strong, independent woman named Mildred Wirt Benson.

She was an athlete and a journalist, and she wrote Nancy to be just as adventurous as she was. As a matter of fact, at age 94 she's still a journalist, writing for her small town paper. HerInteractive.com sent her a copy of our first title, Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill - and she loved it! "Your computer game does exactly what I did when I was writing the books," she wrote. "It makes girls feel like they ARE Nancy Drew!"

In 1979 the Stratemeyer Syndicate signed a deal with Simon & Schuster to publish new books in the Nancy Drew Mystery Stories series. In 1982 Harriet Adams died, and in 1984 Simon & Schuster purchased the Syndicate, becoming both owner and publisher of Nancy Drew. Pocket Books gave the heroine a new look and updated the setting to appeal to Nancy's most recent generation of readers.

Her loyal girl friends Bess Marvin and George (Georgia) Fayne are still at her side, as is her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. Nancy Drew's popularity spans the globe — she is currently translated into French, Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish, Dutch, Spanish, German, Brazilian, Portuguese, Czech, Hungarian, Polish and Malaysian. Over the years, she has been featured in movies and on television, and even had her own board game.

The core of the Nancy Drew publishing program, the Nancy Drew Mystery Stories, continues to be published six times a year by Pocket Books' Minstrel Book imprint. There are several other Nancy Drew series currently in publication, and a hot market exists for out-of-print copies of the original Nancy Drew books.

In 1998, HerInteractive.com brought Nancy Drew to the computer screen with the publication of Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill, followed in 1999 by Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger. Our goal is to make sure that the legendary teen detective clicks with a new generation.

Obtaining the license to use Nancy Drew must be a triumphal accomplishment for the company. How did you do it?

Megan Gaiser: We made a strong case to Simon and Schuster, convincing them that we had the talent, and the passion, to faithfully adapt their teen icon to the computer screen. The critical success of our earlier work played a big part. We have a highly qualified development team.

In addition, we demonstrated a clear understanding of what girls were looking for in computer games, based on extensive focus group research and input from our Teen Advisory Board.

Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill and Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger are two titles from the Nancy Drew: Interactive Mystery Games series. How many titles are planned for the series? At what stages of development are they now?

Megan Gaiser: Nancy Drew: Message in the Haunted Mansion is in development and scheduled for a September release. There are over 140 books in the Nancy Dew series - so we certainly have a wealth of content for future games. We believe that we can create a new generation of Nancy Drew fans who eagerly await each new interactive mystery. And now broadband and the Internet offer Nancy a whole new environment to explore, and we intend to take her there.

How long did it take to develop each game? Are all designing tools developed in-house?

Sheri Hargus: It takes from nine months to one year to develop each game. This is the total time from game conception to shipment. The entire team participates in the design process and we spend a good deal of time up front in developing the plot, characters, environments, puzzles and game flow. We have found that early attention to the entire design allows us to stay on schedule and create a superior product.

The art team uses mostly off-the-shelf tools such as Photoshop and 3D Studio Max. The programming is done in C++ and is built upon a proprietary game engine that has been developed internally. DirectDraw is also used and installed as part of the game installation.

At what age of audience do your games aim? What do you feel are the key attractions of the Nancy Drew Interactive Mystery Games?

Megan Gaiser: Our games are designed for girls ages 10 - 15. We are finding that their appeal is actually much broader than that; younger girls are playing them with their sisters or their moms.

And women who grew up devouring every Nancy Drew mystery are eagerly buying the games for themselves. Many computer games portray women in very limited roles - women are too often just the "prize" or the damsel in distress. Nancy Drew breaks many of these molds — she's smart, self-reliant, adventurous — and in the end she is always successful.

In the gaming industry, until recently, girls were never really asked what they wanted in computer games. We asked, and heard they were not satisfied with the status quo of computer gaming: the violence, the lack of storylines, the secret rules. This led us to breakthrough ideas that are a step forward for the gaming industry as a whole. We incorporated all of this knowledge into the Nancy Drew games. And we listen carefully, and then act on, all of the feedback we get from every game.

What is the style of game play in Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger?

Sheri Hargus: The game is a visually stunning single-person adventure and problem-solving interactive mystery. The player navigates smoothly through different game locations, seeing everything through the eyes of Nancy Drew. Each location has rooms and environments to explore; it's loaded with clues, puzzles and other characters. Interaction with characters is through a dialog box where the player is allowed to select different responses and questions while engaged in conversations with the game characters.

The player has the ability to turn completely around in any node by clicking on the left or right sides of the game window. Player input occurs through mouse clicking on hotspots with occasional keyboard input also needed. The player can fail the game in several ways but it is always possible to restart and try again from the same game position. On the average, it takes 10-20 hours for a player to successfully solve the mystery and complete the game.

Both Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill and Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger won numerous praises from critics, but what kind of feedback have you got from parents?

Megan Gaiser: We just found out that Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger is the winner of this year's prestigious Parents' Choice Gold Award for software in the 10 - 18 age group. That reflects the positive reception we've received from so many parents. Our games are cool without cruelty, the perfect answer for parents who would like to give their teen a non-violent game that's not totally lame.

We have heard from moms and daughters who have had a great time solving our interactive mysteries together. It takes on average about 15 hours to crack the case, and two heads are always better than one. Mothers tell us they really like sharing the Nancy they grew up with their daughters. Plus, they have a lot of fun playing the game. We have found that moms (and even dads) are avid participants in many of the online chats about the games - so we know that girls aren't the only people playing our games!

How can we order these games? Are they available only online (rather than retail sales)? If so, why?

Megan Gaiser: The games can be ordered through our own website, http://www.herinteractive.com They are also available through many online retailers, including Amazon (where Nancy Drew Stay Tuned for Danger has been in the Top Ten Children's Titles ever since it's release), eToys and Beyond.com.

Bricks and mortar shelf space has been hard to come by; we're a very small publisher in an emerging category. But we are making progress toward obtaining broader distribution by this Christmas — the critical and online sales successes of our first two titles are starting to open some doors.

What holds in the future for Nancy Drew (i.e. sequels)?

Megan Gaiser: Looking beyond the September release of Nancy Drew: Message in the Haunted Mansion; we have a long list of Nancy Drew stories that would translate into fabulous interactive games. We're also looking at other licenses to expand the game playing options "for girls who aren't afraid of a mouse." There are lots of different types of girls, and there are so many wonderful characters that could star as our next interactive idol!

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Finnick & the Princess

Note 1: Voters wanted this series to be fem!reader, so here she is. But I'm going to try to keep her as neutral as possible in other ways. Note 2: Also I'll be using Princess in place of y/n Note 3: Because we don't know exactly how Volunteering works in Career Districts other than "it's more complicated" I just decided to make up my own hc. In Career Districts after people stop volunteering the escort goes through a process of talking with each volunteer and then picks the one they think will be more entertaining for the Capitol. Pairings: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader Warning(s): Canon typical content - Violence, death, human trafficking, blackmail. Also parental neglect & emotional abuse.

Princess volunteered at the reapings of the 68th Hunger Games, not because she actually wanted to but because her parents had made it clear that if she didn't volunteer, be selected for, and win the Games before she aged out, she would be disowned.

So for years she'd been constructing a persona she knew would not only get her selected for the Games but would get her at least a few sponsors.

She spoke at a higher pitch than usual, she giggled and hummed and frolicked. And the Capitol ate it up. She only ever dropped the facade when she was completely alone with her mentors. Finnick liked to dip back and forth between complimenting her acting skills and teasing her for the things she did and said in her false persona. Not even her District partner saw her true personality, so he fell for the act as well.

As much as the Capitol citizens were enthralled with the District 4 girl, no one expected her to actually be skilled. She didn't engage in any combative skill in training, she skimmed over the survival skills and she didn't speak with the other Careers. Between her facade and her ignoring them, the Career Pack excluded her and only took in the boy from her District.

Then came the training scores. And everyone was shocked when Princess got a 10. What could she possibly have done to land a score that high? Many speculated that the Gamemakers had merely pitied her, or were so mesmerized by her that they accidentally added a 0 after her real score.

In her interview with Caesar Flickerman, Princess batted her eyes, and sounded naively optimistic.

During the countdown for the Bloodbath, everyone was betting Princess would be dead before the day's end. Then the gong sounded and Princess was off before anyone else could react. It was clear she was by far the fastest of this year's tributes. By the time the District 2 female (Lilith Creswick) and District 1 male (Riesling Munza) caught up to Princess, she'd grabbed a decent amount of supplies including 2 bags which she had shouldered, and a sword.

In what seemed like a single flowing motion, Princess slipped around Lilith, raised her sword arm, and sliced open Riesling's throat. She then proceeded to practically twirl past other tributes, snatching up a wicker basket full of food on her way and ran off.

Everyone was in shock from the Capitol elite, to the other tributes, even Finnick and Mags who were privy to the fact that Princess was putting on a fake persona. The only people who weren't surprised were those present for her private session with the Gamemakers.

Princess continued to surprise during her games, presenting a persona of a naive but mesmerizing girl one moment and in the next efficiently killing or otherwise causing the death of other tributes. One thing became clear to everyone Princess had a sharp mind.

After her win, Princess was able to drop her facade whenever she was home in District 4 and cameras weren't on her. Otherwise, she kept up her whimsical act.

Unfortunately, this persona didn't save her from President Snow threatening her family to force her into prostitution. If anything it increased demand to have her. Too many elite pricks manifested or discovered a corruption kink for Princess.

Princess' only reprieve from her trauma was Finnick. They couldn't make their quickly developing relationship public but that was fine with the both of them. It made their relationship feel more real because it was just for them and not for the Capitol.

[qqueenofhades]

I’ve had this feeling for a while, but the last few weeks have made it stronger: I feel like people are just sick of Trump, even people that are solid Republicans. Even aside from the politics and the threat to democracy that he represents, I’m just tired of hearing about him and all the vitriolic buffoonery that comes out of him. He’s a class clown that’s gone from occasionally funny to just annoying. And I’m sure there’s plenty of Republican voters that resent what an absolute cultish embarrassment he’s made of their party. Even if I had no other reason to vote, I would’ve still voted blue in the desperate hope that I might not have to hear about Trump anymore.

I mean... Yeah.

The other day, we had a whole group of Arizona Republicans (otherwise known as one of the most extreme and cultist state GOP parties in the country) coming out as the leaders of a Republicans for Harris taskforce. Republicans for Harris also immediately hit it big on Twitter. Haley Voters For Biden instantly changed their name to Haley Voters For Harris and told Haley herself to hit the bricks when she laughably threatened them with legal action. There were always a few Never Trump Republicans before, but like. Not many. And many of them have ventured like, one criticism and immediately fallen back into line when Trump posted one mean tweet about them, because they have spines like soufflés.

Now mind you, the entire national/establishment GOP is still completely and cravenly beholden to Trump in ways that defy all logical human understanding, but people who have voted Republican all their lives and did so habitually once or even twice for Trump are increasingly hitting breaking point, and that should be noted. If you want to know how much, the goddamn MORMONS are, allegedly, preparing to quit the GOP this election in larger volumes than they have voted for Democrats in at least 60 years. I don't know how much this will end up panning out, and they have always been at least somewhat skeptical of him in comparison to the completely deranged mainstream evangelical fundies, but. The Mormons. THE MORMONS. Voting for a black female Democrat for president? In my wildest fantasies, this makes me think of Blue Utah 2024 like Blue Indiana 2008 (yes, that happened, along with Blue Florida TWICE).

Trump does have and will always have his ever-dwindling base of diehard cultists, but they have not and will never be numerous enough to win a fair democratic election on their own, which is why the GOP has pulled every dirty trick in the book trying to ensure that they don't have to. But yes: there are many more of us than them, and if we finally pull together and quit arguing about dumb shit, we could get rid of Trump once and for all, and god. GOD. I long for that day so bad and I can finally think it might be coming. So let us NOT fucking screw this up, kay? Kay.

[ashleymasenado]

QSMP Reader Insert One-Shot: It's a Deal

Summary: You were one of the residents of Quesadilla Island running for presidency; at least, you were. Halfway through, you had decided to drop out due to some other runners having similar campaigns to yours. But after listening to them better, something about them makes you uneasy, so you decide to get back into the run…with one of the few people you would ever trust.

Hi everybody! Alexa here! I'm feeling quite optimistic about this little bit I'm writing today, even though I've told myself quite a few times to wait for when I'm getting to the real fic, but that's not important right now. What's important is that I get this out before the final elections on the QSMP, because that's what this one-shot is all about. And man, if you guys have time to read this, might wanna grab a snack and a drink cause this is lengthy; probably one of the longest solo pieces I've tried writing.

Anyway, this is a female reader insert, as those are easier for me to write and because we don't have much girl power on the QSMP. But, if you are not a girl who is reading this, feel free to change things up for your own preference. I am a fifteen-year-old Christian teenage girl, but I know I have to respect and be thoughtful of others. This takes place after the third debate (Day 106). As for what you're up to, well—you'll just have to find out.

Major spoilers if you're not following the QSMP, or if you're still catching up on it. I'm sorry if anything is not entirely accurate to the timeline of the QSMP; I've checked the characters' pages on the QSMP wiki yet they're not entirely up-to-date on events. This is actually the first one-shot in a collection of two or three, because I had to get this out soon with the recent lore on the QSMP being absolutely crazy and getting darker and deeper, and the elections being close to wrapping up. I hope you don't mind what I did to get this out soon, everyone. I just hope I did a good job.

Will also be posted on quotev.com, fanfiction.net, and archiveofourown.org, on my account with the same name: Ashley Masenado, except for fanfiction.net with the username being AshleyMasenado15.

I hope you all enjoy, and remember—stay safe, and stay weird.

——————————————————————————————————

I can't believe I'm doing this…

You pursed your lips together as you walked through the woods, far away from the town, one hand in your pocket as the chatters grew quieter and farther away from you as you walked. You shuffled around your fingers, trying to stay calm, as you went over the crazy plan in your head again, over and over, to make sure you had it.

This plan was crazy. You were going crazy, and you absolutely hated it. For a while, you always thought you were the only sane one left on the island—until now. But this—this idea changed that thought. There was no turning back—but now you wished there still was.

Your steps came to a halt as you glanced around your surroundings, then raised your left hand to look at the screen of your Portable Minecraft Guide (PMG). You pulled up the map to check your location, and your icon confirmed that this was exactly where you needed to be. Pulling up the inventory tab, you rummaged through one of your backpacks for the three item kinds you would be needing: lava buckets, water buckets, and a flint and steel.

Your plan was simple: create a Nether portal with the bucket method to get Cucurucho's attention so you could negotiate with it. Normally you wouldn't break the rules on purpose; you had strong morality boundaries after all (unlike a majority of the people on the island). But you had no choice. You had missed the chance and had to come up with this in desperation, especially after what had happened near the end of the debate today. The chaos had prevented you from even getting a chance to see Cucurucho, so this was your best and only shot. You were not going to waste this only chance.

Letting out a deep sigh, you began to build the portal as the afternoon sky gave way to night. The cool breeze cooled the heat on your face, calming your heart from the nerves of today's events. As you poured one lava bucket down, followed by a bucket of water following your exact calculations, your thoughts drifted to the past events that you were around for since the beginning of Quackity's QSMP. Some were fun and fueled your resolve for adventure and to solve the mysteries of the island, while some were quite…depressing. Ordo Theoritas had been reestablished, the Nether portals at the end of the train tracks were a huge discovery, Quackity's mysterious disappearance (which you were still trying to solve today), many eggs had died (including your own, which nearly destroyed you and you were absent for a week, even needing therapy once), and the beginning of the elections of presidency for the island.

That was actually where you were now. Out of pure curiosity you had actually opted to run for president; and being the "do-it to-it" person you were, you went for it. After a bit of hard brainstorming and plenty of rewritten drafts, you had the perfect campaign: a program designed to protect the eggs and the people, and everyone and everything on the island. Cellbit, whose primary goal you knew was to leave the island—you knew he was going to be against the idea. But that didn't bother you, even if he was a good partner outside the elections.

As the elections had gone further with the first debate, you grew bold enough to share your further ambition to bring down the Federation, as they had done nothing to stop the problems of the Binary Code Entity and its attacks on the other eggs. It had been the cause of so many deaths, of people and eggs alike, and all they did was sit back and watch? Well you had had enough. If this so-called government wasn't going to do anything about your problems, you would. You would make sure of that.

At least until the very next debate. After you had heard the proposals of Bad and Baghera, you had decided to drop out of the elections as they had similar ideas to yours, and you figured since they were older than you and had more experience with these things. And besides, you figured with your lack of self-control that you'd probably go mad with power the moment you started your first day. It was probably for the better that you had dropped out. Thanks to some negotiations with Cucurucho and having the official paperwork signed, you were out of the run for presidency.

What some people didn't know, was that not long after the second debate, you were having second thoughts. There were many things you knew that the others did not, and these things worried you. Had you made a mistake to drop out of the elections? Maybe. Especially with Bad's proposal, which you had reflected on more after reading back on your draft for the QSMP newspaper (you were the main editor as it gave you something to do after you lost your egg). You didn't want something like that to happen again; you couldn't let it. You would not let it. If anyone was going to actually make things better on this cursed island, it was going to be you.

As the heaviness of the load in your hands began to lighten, you stopped pouring and put down the empty bucket. The portal was finished and now it only needed to be lit. You stared at the flint and steel in your hand, seething through your teeth at the thought of the crime that was about to be committed. Standing in position and gripping the tools tight, you flicked the flames and the deed was done. Now all you had to do was wait.

As you stood there waiting for Cucurucho to come by and give you your news, you thought of the strange nature of this white robotic bear. Ever since your first interaction with it, you had thought it to be an A.I., due to its use of a soundboard to communicate, having no desire for itself, and its constant presence to ask questions to the reidents as surveys. You were very wary of Cucurucho, especially after its first jumpscare on you. You nearly had a heart attack that day. No joke; you had to pump your fist on your chest plenty of times and your child had to calm you down since you were even laughing your head off with insanity.

As time went on and you were noticing patterns in its behavior, you began to understand it more—at least, you hoped it did. Cucurucho was only doing its duty, given to it by the Federation. It was only doing what it was told, even if it did have some… interesting methods to getting the job done. It reminded you of yourself in a way, with your "get-right-to-it-before-I-get-too-lazy" attitude. Except you weren't the kind to use force to get your work done, so of course there were some major differences. At least you didn't laugh in someone's face when they were about to lose the last of their hearts.

A flash of white caught your eye from the trees in the left, and you immediately stepped back as Cucurucho came running. In a single click it destroyed the portal, one block at a time. Not a single trace was left, not even a particle. As soon as the portal was out of existence, it turned around and faced you with that same eerie smile, plastered on its white mask for hours at a time. It sent a chill down your spine whenever you saw it; it was like a prison it couldn't escape. If you still didn't think Cucurucho was just some AIR (Artificial Intelligent Robot, as you called it), you would have felt a little sympathy for it.

"Hello," it said, its iconic leather-cover notebook in its left hand. The feather pen was stuck in-between the pages, serving as a bookmark for where it could write when it had to communicate with the residents beyond its limited soundboard. Its white long-sleeved shirt, white pants, white fingerless gloves, and white socks and shoes were spotless as always, somehow completely free of stain. The white mask sported the usual shiny black eyes and button pink nose, and the unmoving mouth where the soundboard played its repeated words held the same old smile. "You have committed an illegal act. Please, follow me."

"Yes, Cucurucho, I know I did, but I only did this to get your attention," you muttered, holding your hands up in defense as it tried to walk away. "I just wanna talk alright? It's really important, so please just listen."

To your surprise, the bear stopped in its tracks and turned around, returning back to you as it had walked away a few paces. It opened its book and wrote down some quick scribbles, then handed it to you to read.

I'm listening; what is it you need? The text read; inwardly you sighed with relief. You didn't think this plan would have actually worked, and yet it did. You figured it was now best to move on to the next phase, so you explained that you wanted to get back into the elections, and you needed Cucurucho's help for it. The bear was quiet the whole time, completely still as you talked. Halfway through, you realized the danger of the current situation and frowned slightly, looking around to see if anyone was listening in. Internally you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose, reprimanding yourself for not thinking this entirely through.

"We're not safe talking about this out here," you said, turning around to the direction of your house. The bear had put the book away, its paws now empty as it stood there; perhaps contemplating its decision in the matter. "Would you mind if we have to go to my house? I think we're close enough to it."

"No."

"Okay cool," you said, as you began to walk towards the direction of your home. You turned around to check if Cucurucho was following, and you kept going as it stayed three blocks behind you. As you went, you kept your map window open to make sure you were taking the most inconspicuous route, even making sure no one was following you by checking behind you every minute of the way. Normally you wouldn't call yourself paranoid, but things on the QSMP were making you more and more afraid of the island everyday.

Ever since the death of your egg child, you had been feeling less like your old self. You had become more tense, more wary of your surroundings and especially very careful with who you made friends with. You even stopped frequently hanging out with people, which you used to do plenty before to make more friends and be more socialised. Sometimes when some players would come by to ask how you were, they would be answered with an "I'm fine" and a chill wave. But in reality, sometimes you forgot how to smile a genuinely happy smile.

It took a bit of a long walk and a bit of quick sidestepping to avoid some of the player residents, but you and Cucurucho finally arrived at your little wooden cottage in the larger cherry blossom biome, near a quaint little village where you had built your house. It stood on top of a hill where the sun could shine into your windows. You opened the door to let Osito Bimbo in, then after you closed it you flicked on the lights with your redstone-powered lever that went all the way to some lanterns up on the ceiling.

Your living room was simple, yet enough to make one feel right at home. The red couch on the right side of the house was enough to seat atleast five people, and it was clean and inviting. On the right armrest was a jukebox with a chest labeled "Non-Copyrighted Relaxation Music" on its right side. A window with shutters was on the left wall, the shutters having been pulled up so the sunlight could flow in and warm the room enough; albeit with nighttime coming through, it was more of the sunset coming in. A ceiling fan whirred on in the middle of the ceiling, surrounded by the warm glows of the lanterns above. At the far side of the room were the stairs leading to the upstairs, with the bedrooms and the guest rooms. A hallway to the far left of the room lead to the dining room and the kitchen, where you lead Cucurucho into. You gestured for it to take a seat at one of the chairs at your table, while you went into the kitchen to prepare some refreshments for the both of you.

"Hey Cucurucho," you called from the kitchen while you poured pre-prepared hot water into two little teacups. "Jaiden told me you like tea a few days ago. You want some honey in your green tea?"

"Yes."

Nodding, you took out two of your green tea bags from the second top cabinet, dipping them into the cups and stirring a tablespoon of honey into one of them. You quickly stirred it and carefully made sure to evade the steam quickly lifting from the cup, as to not burn yourself from it. While the cups cooled on the counter, you took out a few home-baked Fita crackers from another one of your storage cabinets and put them on a plate, then put them aside to make room for the cups. After you brought and distributed them on the table, you took one of your discs from the shelf in the living room and played it in the jukebox near the table, then took a seat as you took your cup to sip your tea.

With the comfy music, you took some time to collect your thoughts while you looked around the dining room. The place was rather homey as intended, nice and simple with a long wooden table and wooden cushioned chairs. It took up most of the dining room, but left enough space for people to walk around the table, especially when you needed to serve visitors their refreshments. Lanterns hung from the ceiling from reinforced iron chains, bathing the room in a warm and comfortable glow.

You put down your cup and chewed on some biscuits, then after another sip you took a deep breath and braced yourself. Gently clapping your hands, you turned your attention back to the white bear, who seemed to have not budged from its seat except for having opened its book on the table and the cup in front of it being noticeably half-empty.

"So, Cucurucho," you started, holding out your hands in a hopefully professional manner. "Like I said, I wanted to talk to you about the elections. I would like to get back into the run for presidency."

"Why?"

You shuddered inside; this was new. You didn't think Cucurucho could have its soundboard updated to include new vocabulary, especially since you were used to hearing its usual "Good morning" , "No", "What are you doing?" and its eerie monotone "Hahaha". But maybe it was always there and you just didn't get an opportunity to hear it before.

"I want to get back into the presidency because I am concerned about the proposals of some of the candidates. Not only because of what they plan to do, but also because I am wondering if they will actually do it. Many running candidates often tend to forget about their promises because of their want for power. Once they have the power offered to them, they often forget about what they've promised and only care about themselves. Do you follow me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not going to be like that. I've decided that if there's a fat chance that these candidates won't do what they've promised to do, then I'll do it myself, as I've always told myself all the while while I was in the run for presidency. Basically, I'd like to get back into the run for presidency because I want to help the island, and everyone in it, in my own way. What do you say?"

There was another reason you wanted to get back into the run for presidency, but it was one you would rather prefer to keep to yourself. Not only did it make you uncomfortable to think about, but it reminded you of terrible things that only further motivated you to get back into the run. You couldn't let something like that happen again, especially not with Bad and Foolish. They were some of your best friends on the island and the QSMP itself, and there was no way you would let history repeat itself over.

H̷͙͘ö̵̼́w̵̡̾ ̶̝͐c̵̦͝a̸̫̚n̵̞̊ ̷̥̏y̵̻̍ö̷̹́ū̴̠ ̷̭̿b̵̫̚e̶̱͌ ̷̖͠s̷͝ͅo̵̝̓ ̸͇̌c̷͚̚ǎ̵ͅl̴͍͗m̴̲̀ ̷̭̈́ȁ̵̼b̷̧̈́o̵̾ͅu̴̙̍t̶̲̀ ̴̣̋j̶̝̈́ú̸̹s̷̯̋t̵̙͐ ̷͙̊t̴̹̊ă̸͇k̷͚͊ī̶̧n̵͚͘ĝ̶̭ ̸͇̔s̵̤͠ỏ̸͓m̸̜̆e̵̱͊ō̶̫n̸͓̎é̶̩'̸̫͒s̶̔

"̸W̸h̴a̶t̴ ̸h̴a̸p̷p̶e̴n̵e̵d̸ ̷t̷o̴ ̷t̷h̶e̸ ̵B̴a̷d̴ ̵B̶o̶y̴ ̸H̸a̸l̵o̴ ̴I̴ ̵u̸s̵e̶d̴ ̷t̸o̷ ̶k̷n̵o̸w̴?̴!̷"̷

"̸I̴ ̶t̴r̷u̵s̸t̸e̶d̶ ̴y̶o̴u̶

Deciding not to dwell on the past, you looked up and noticed that Cucurucho's notebook was in front of you with the words written inside: "Please wait while I discuss this with my workmates." From across the room, Cucurucho had pulled up a window on its PMG, which you figured was where it was talking with its fellow workers of the Federation. You decided to be patient and think of what you could request to Cucurucho in case it would need you to do something to fulfill your requisition. You carefully closed the notebook with the pen inside as a bookmark and slid it back to the bear, chewing on the rest of the biscuits on the plate while leaving some for Cucurucho.

After only a few minutes, Cucurucho turned off the window and carefully took out a page from its notebook. Your eyes widened as you never thought Cucurucho was allowed to do such a thing. But you figured it was best to say nothing, so instead you opened the chat on your PMG and began to talk with your friend Foolish. The QSMP members were put into an all-members group chat where if a single person messaged, everyone would immediately be able to see it. Luckily, the QSMP admins had created something new for the players: a personal chat similar to the private messages in Minecraft, except without the /msg command which made things a little tedious. You were especially grateful for this new function, which you used plenty of times when you weren't busy building.

Hey Foolish, what's up? You put in the personal chat for Foolish Gamers, his profile picture of him in his shark hoodie and doing a silly face in his selfie. This always made you giggle and actually made you feel a little better when you were feeling down, especially since you all liked to joke about Foolish being a comic relief during all of these hard and angsty times.

Nothing much, just hanging out with Leo rn He typed, an adorable little peace sign emoji following after. An image of Leo with a poppy doing a little dance came on, which you immediately reacted with a little red heart for Leonarda exclusively.

She actually misses seeing you around He texted. Asking when you gonna be able to come see her again

Tell her I said I'm sorry that I can't like, come over cause of how busy I am with my house You replied, with a little sad face emoji with the little teardrop. I do miss seeing all the eggs, Leonarda especially

Cucurucho's usual "Good morning" made you look up from your PMG at the white bear, who gestured to two pieces of paper it slid across the table to you. Curiously, you tilted your head at it then looked down at the paper, and what you saw made your eyes widen.

A little ping made you look back onto the open window, with a message from Foolish saying You still there bud? with the little sad face with puppy eyes. You giggled for a second, then replied with Yeah, but I gotta go now though. On the next message you said Sorry bud Then a little wave emoji, brown for your skin color from your Asian heritage. Bye you texted, putting away the chat window without waiting for an answer. You glanced back at the paper on the table in front of you, your heart dropping once again as you picked it up with the utmost delicacy.

The papers were but pieces of a contract, written down with Cucurucho's iconic feather pen. Despite being written with a feather quill pen, it was very neatly in the Courier New font, as if it were written on a computer and printed. The Federation's logo was in the upper-left corner, as it always were in the bear's notebook (you noticed this logo a while after it would ask you to answer its surveys). You didn't know the Federation was now starting to print contracts for the residents, which was making you nervous, frightened even. Quietly you opted to ask Cucurucho when they had started writing these for the residents, albeit it only answered with an ominous "I don't know. Maybe". With a frown, you began to read through the paper's contents, remembering to read through the fine lines so as not to miss anything majorly important. The contract read as follows:

The rest of the paper read about an agreement to keep everything about tonight confidential: the meeting, the agreement, every single little detail. Not a word was to be uttered to anyone about what had occurred in this little cottage in the woods, on top of the hill above the village. You wondered how Cucurucho had been able to write this all down if it really wasn't an A.I. Perhaps it had had some help with its fellow members of the Federation, as it had been talking with them in a private chat window just a few minutes earlier.

Speaking of the Osito Bimbo—it was making you nervous; like, somewhat jittery in your seat as you tried not to let your heart pound so hard. It had been staring at you from its side of the table, never moving from its spot except for a few notably missing biscuits off the nearby plate. The cup was empty as well, which made you wonder if Cucurucho had been eating silently while you read as you had not heard a thing.

"So let me get this straight," you said, rubbing the side of your temple to get rid of a small headache and straighten your thoughts. "If I can fulfill the guidelines talked about in this contract, I can get back into the elections—back into the run for presidency right?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Mmhmm, right. So this is only effective until July 31 huh? That's plenty of time for such simple items, but I'm not asking for harder work."

Carefully you read the contract's fine lines over again at least three times before nodding and putting down the paper to face Cucurucho. Its black eyes stared back at you as if it were waiting for you to make a move first before it would, and you already knew what it was waiting for. To seal the deal and get you right to work.

You stood up, locking a firm gaze with the white bear as you held out your hand in agreement. This was it—the point of no return. "I've made my decision," you alluded. "I accept your offer, and I understand that there's no turning back from here. From here on out, it's a deal. I'll do my duties well and I'll make you proud."

Cucurucho stood up as well and took your hand in a rigid grip, the touch feeling cold despite the warm feel of the fingerless gloves. With a simple handshake and a quick signing, the deed was done, and the deal was sealed.

"I hope you enjoy the island."

"I will, thanks," you muttered as Cucurucho quietly left its seat, pushing back in the chair to the table. You figured it had other duties to attend to after this, so you knew it was time to bid goodbye for now—yet somehow you knew it would always be watching. Showing it the way out from the front door, you waved to it goodbye and good night as you tiredly stretched from the doorway. After it disappeared behind the trees below, you closed the door and went back to the dining room.

The papers still lay on the brown table, a stark contrast in the color scheme that was somehow pleasing to the eye. Your brows furrowed in worry as you picked it up, knowing there was no turning back now from this. You had to do it. For the island's sake, and your friends. Even if you had to explain a ton of things later down the line.

Deciding this needed to be secure, you sealed the document into a spare plastic bag and looked around for a good hiding spot. Your paranoia was making you worry about the thought that someone could come in here while you were gone and steal it out of pure curiosity, then your secret would be out and no one and nothing would be safe. It took you a while to find a secure location, but after that you figured you could rest easy. You pulled up the Settings window on your PMG, then logged off the QSMP for the day.

Back in the real world, you took off the VR helmet and shook the spare strands of hair out of your face. A quick stretch did you good, and then you opened your face cam to talk to your chat. You had been streaming on YouTube for atleast a few hours, and you needed some food and a quick nap; that sounded good enough. And the people in the chat definitely needed some of that too.

"Alright guys, I'd say this is a good time to end today's stream," you said to the camera, smiling for your viewers. You quickly read a few comments asking what was next for the lore, and you said there wasn't going to be too much major stuff except for what had just transpired, so they didn't have to expect much to happen except for stuff-gathering for the rest of the month if you could help it. Some joked that it was a bit like Jaiden's lore on the QSMP, and you couldn't help but agree that it was a bit similar in a way.

"Please note however that everything you have seen or will see in the QSMP is all heavily improvised roleplay, so please do not send any hate to the content creators for any action of theirs you find displeasing. Thank you, God bless, and have a great day."

From there, you ended your stream with your brief ending screen, then you stood up to prepare yourself for the rest of the day. Now out of role play mode, you couldn't wait to see what would await you in the QSMP the next day.

[alexbkrieger13]

M's newest column

Ive been thinking this week about Fifa’s plans to expand the Club World Cup and create a Women’s Club World Cup and wondering where the welfare of players ranks in their priorities.

At a time when we’re seeing so many serious injuries to top women players I found it alarming that they did not consult the leagues or the players. Instead, Fifa president Gianni Infantino just announced it out of the blue.

Fifpro, the players’ union, were right to complain about the lack of consultation. I’m all for new ideas but you have to think about the players. If you just add more and more games, there’ll come a time when it just becomes too much.

From my personal viewpoint, if Chelsea were to win the Champions League, I’d love to get the chance to play the best teams from other continents. I can also see the benefit of making the game less Eurocentric. However, you have to talk to the players’ union first.

As for a 32-team tournament for the men, the loading is already extreme for them and I’m intrigued to see how they cope when the Premier League returns on Boxing Day, just a week after the World Cup final and two weeks after England’s quarter-final exit.

When I think back to last summer after the Euro, it took me at least a week for my mind to stop playing back the images of all I’d experienced. For us, there was the trauma of losing a semi-final 4-0 and feeling humiliated. Emotionally that was tough and for three days I lay on a sunbed and tried to read a book but I just could not focus on the letters.

My head was still in the tournament, processing all I’d been through, and I needed at least 10 days to start feeling enthused about the new season. Then, when I went back into Chelsea, I had issues with tendinopathy – inflammation in my hamstring and achilles, which is the product of overloading. Every footballer has it somewhere once they reach a certain age, yet it was clear to me my body was struggling.

I’ve got friends in the Sweden national team who tell me they are still feeling fatigued from the Euro and the news this week about Vivianne Miedema’s ACL rupture – less than a month after Beth Mead suffered the same injury – only accentuates the need to give more serious thought to player welfare in the women’s game.

This isn’t just about Fifa either. We have so much to improve on regarding knowledge of women’s bodies and loading. At Chelsea we’re lucky as we have a big squad and they’re very good at monitoring load and thinking about physical and mental welfare.

However, only a handful of women’s clubs have it like this; few others can afford it. Before I came to Chelsea, I’d never worked with full-time physios, for example.

It’s just my hypothesis but I wonder whether women players might be less fragile if we’d received better medical attention early in our careers. It doesn’t help that all the research has been based on men’s bodies.

More women-specific research is required to understand how to train and load us. At Chelsea we’ve just taken part in a study by a woman who is scanning the feet of female footballers and collecting data about their foot shape, and this is what we need more of before Fifa start adding even more games.

I would also question the timing of women’s tournaments, which tend to run until late in the summer. Next year’s World Cup will start on 20 July and end on 20 August. It means you get a few weeks off before the tournament but you end up wanting to stay fit and doing some training on your own. It’s afterwards when you need the break and, as I’ve mentioned above, I don’t think two weeks is enough.

Ultimately, there are moments when your body says “enough” and I say this from personal experience. I look back to December last year when I suffered an ankle injury in a Champions League game at Wolfsburg, which ruled me out for three months.

In hindsight, I’m not surprised at all as I remember the way I felt in that period, just trying to get through games. With Sweden I’d got to the final of the Olympics the previous August but hadn’t had enough time to recover and then we had the challenge of the inaugural group stage of the Champions League, which meant more travel and more tough games.

I was tired and moody and just thinking, “When’s the break coming?”. I really feel my injury came as a result of that. I jumped and landed badly and damaged ligaments as well as sustaining bone bruising and a small fracture. It felt to me that my brain was simply too tired.

A year on, sadly, it’s my partner Pernille’s turn to be injured. Thankfully it wasn’t an ACL in her case but she had an operation on her hamstring last month and in the first few weeks afterwards needed help with everything, including putting on her socks and shoes. This is the personal cost that players face and it’s sad to see a loved one like that – yet another reason, therefore, why I feel so passionate about protecting my fellow players.

[whitehotharlots]

Tara Reade, Christine Blassey Ford, and the bleak limitations of pettiness feminism

For what it’s worth, I found the accusations made by Tara Reade and Christine Blassey Ford both imminently plausible. I’ve never met Joe Biden or Brett Kavanaugh, but I’ve spent more than enough time around entitled white collar pricks to realize that things like non-consensual workplace groping and wacky frat house sex pranks are a part of their worlds. There was nothing about either story that struck me as obviously false or otherwise disqualifying. Both very well may have happened.

But I also believe that there’s a wide chasm between plausibility and proof–especially in criminal matters, and extra especially in regards to the sort of accusations that could result in yearslong jail sentences. Sexual assault cases are notoriously hard to prosecute in their immediacy. If we’re talking about something that happened years or decades earlier, there’s no reasonable way to prove the accusations in a manner that would warrant a formal, judicial response.

By 2020, this belief of mine was considered hopelessly out of date, borderline sacrilegious. The Trump era ushered in a new diligence in regards to how the public was supposed to understand and react to accusations of sexual misconduct: women should be believed, full stop. Accused men should be punished, full stop. The crisis of the moment meant that all the old notions regarding due process and the fixed standards of what is or is not a crime had to be thrown out.

Remember that “Shitty Media Men” list from 2017? God, seems like forever ago. The list was a wholly anonymous Google Docs spreadsheet containing the names of several dozen men in media and a brief description of their alleged crimes. It was written about in glowing terms by publications big and small, heralded as a bold and exciting new chapter of social justice, and the list’s creator–Moria Donegan–was eventually granted status as a star commentator.

Did you read the list? I did. About one in every 15 or so entries contained a very severe accusation–something along the lines of “he raped me in the dumpster behind Arby’s” or “he keeps tricking me into getting stuck in a dryer.” But the vast, vast majority of entries alleged nothing more than minor interpersonal conflict: “he doesn’t respect my work,” “he raised his voice at me one time in 2012,” and other stuff along those lines. One entry really stuck out: the accuser admitted that she had never met the man. “But,” she said, “he must be a creep… just look at the stuff he writes!”

No doubt, at least some of these men were/are grade-A jerks. But the bulk of them appear to have just been disliked by a colleague or acquaintance who felt the need to take advantage of a social justice movement to exact revenge. This is how human interaction works. No one is beloved by everybody; everyone will experience some instances in which they treat others with less courtesy than they probably should; and, well, sometimes two people who are otherwise completely decent despise one another for reasons that are inscrutable to everyone but God.

The malignancy of the Shitty Media Men list is that it caused readers to conceptually associate minor interpersonal conflicts–some of which admittedly did not happen, most others of the sort that would cause no reasonable person to find one party entirely at fault, let alone worthy of expulsion from polite society–with major violations such as rape and assault. This was the new era: every accusation is proof of guilt, and all guilt is of the same severity. It’s too hard to definitively prove that a rape happened, ergo we needed to dismiss the usual evidentiary standards of criminal proceedings in regards to rape. And, also, mildly upsetting a female colleague is now the same thing as rape.

Wonderful stuff. Fantastic stuff.

A year passed. The Notorious RBG ascended to the great rap battle in the sky, and it was up to the dastard President Drumpf to appoint her successor. He settled upon a youth-pastor-cum-jurist who resembled a crude caricature from a late 1800’s anti-Irish political comic. The man had a rap sheet a mile long: lackey to Ken Starr (himself quite the defender of rape), Yalie, anti-abortion, corporate puppet, helped rig the Florida vote in 2000, Federalist Society member, blah blah blah all the horrible shit you expect from a GOP nominee to the Supreme Court.

None of these facts mattered much within the liberal imaginary, however, as they weren’t that far afield from the activities of the sort of justices liberals find inoffensive. No, the #Resistance had an ace up their sleeve: a lady said he had sexually assaulted her 30 years prior, and she was willing to say so in front of congress.

He must have been toast after that, right? Because everyone had spent the last few years hashtagging #BelieveWomen, right? They’re not gonna say they believe women and not believe them, right? It can’t be that this precedent we just set up would only be used to ruin the lives of low-level middle manager type guys who did inconsequential stuff, right? Right?

No. Of course not. Republicans never even pretended to care about that shit.

In the non-conservative press, Blassey Ford was treated as a hero. Her effort was brave, and her failure served to validate the premise upon which it was founded: women are not believed enough, and men can get away with anything.

Another few years passed. Due to a confluence of events of that ranged between skullduggery and outright rigging, the Democratic presidential primary narrowed down to a less-corrupt-than-average politician who was called a “socialist” because he was to the left of Grover Norquist, and a credit card lobbyist who was once accidentally appointed vice president.

The credit card lobbyist should have been considered especially ignominious, considering the degree to which the #BelieveWomen mantra was prevalent on the left. Decades earlier, in a situation quite similar to that faced by Blassey Ford, he led the charge in aggressively dismissing the accusations of a woman who had accused a SCOTUS nominee of sexual misconduct. Surely that was the sort of thing MeToo would not abide, right? Right?

Again, no. The semi-socialist was repeatedly smeared as a racist and sexist for reasons that no one could ever quite articulate. Social media figures openly solicited false allegations of sexual misconduct against him. In spite of being a leftist Jewish man, in spite studies showing that his supporters were actually far less aggressive and hateful than those of Hillary Clinton, he was still the most toxic and evil presence to ever enter into Democrat politics. #BelieveWomen and #MeToo precedents were very effectively invoked: there doesn’t need to be proof, and there doesn’t need even be an accusation. He’s evil because we say he’s evil. His name is on the spreadsheet.

But the guy who got Clarence Thomas onto the Supreme Court? That was regrettable, sure. But it was a youthful transgression! He’s apologized! It doesn’t matter.

Then we got a late-primary curveball: a woman who verifiably worked with Biden claimed he had jammed his hand down her pants. The allegation was decades old and therefore unprovable in a legal sense, and suddenly that was an issue where it hadn’t been just a few months before. The MeToo movement’s purveyors worked to clarify that she was a lying, mentally unstable, and possibly Russian slut.

A year earlier, we were told that due process was a misogynist construct, and that expressing skepticism toward politically opportune allegations was an expression of patriarchy and privilege. Now, faced with allegations that would force them to choose between a semi-leftist or Donald Trump, the progressive vanguard suddenly decided that these old principles of Enlightened Liberalism weren’t so evil after all.

Blassey Ford is about to embark on a book tour, receiving near-unanimous praise (and ample financial compensation) for her bravery. She might not be a household name, but among those who do remember her, she is revered as a hero.

Reade, meanwhile, is a permanent disgrace who had to defect to Russia.

In a sad way, the disparity between how these two women were treated demonstrates the conditions that spawned MeToo: a woman who makes an accusation against an unpopular or hated man will be, at least, believed. She will not suffer negative consequences. She may even be rewarded, even if the man himself isn’t punished. But a woman who goes against a man who is too important, too well-connected? She won’t even get a chance to testify. She’s actually even worse than the abusers. Every aspect of her account and character will be placed under a microscope, and anything she cannot prove with 100% fidelity will be held up as proof of how horrible she is. She’s also on the spreadsheet.

And in an even sadder way, this disparity demonstrates why the MeToo and BelieveWomen stuff was horribly misguided from the start. Removing the structures that allow society to function will not magically result in a more just society manifesting from the wreckage of the old. You might–might–remove some of the most malignant shitheads. But in the process you will ruin the lives of many who are either innocent or marginally guilty, and you will entrench the utter empowerment of those who are, only in some small ways, the lesser evils. There’s no path forward, here. There is no hope here.

[possiblylando]

Chainsaw Man Chapter 139 'Early' Analysis

Finally we're back into the fun chapters.

So this is a bit of interesting confirmation as to what happened at the end of Part 1. As a recap Pochita separated from Denji and become the Black Chainsaw man.

This confirms that the Hybrids that fought Pochita all retained the memories of the events. It also makes the weird Makima self insert fanfiction even more weird. Based on what Miri (Sword Man) says about regaining his freedom after Makima's death, they all seemed to be completely aware of their actions but unable to fight against them.

He MADE them say this shit. They are all aware of this having happened. THEY WERE AWARE WHILE THEY WERE FORCED TO PLAY THIS SHIT OUT! Fucking Nightmare scenario. Glad Denji ate her.

We get a name of Sword Man, Miri Sugo. We also get some more of his personality. I'm sure there will be speculation as to his sexuality because he's a character in chainsaw man.

What I do wanna touch on is this. I've seen a few interpretations of this line. It's a weirder one because it's clearly referencing the fact Miri's design is a reused version of Denji's beta versions.

But it could also mean they find Denji attractive. BUT it could also be a meta reference to the fact they're both hybrids, So they have similar "Auras" or something like that. I actually didn't remember who the student council president was so I had to look it up, And it's fucking Iseumi.

and honestly, I can kind of see how a combination of him and Denji would make Miri. Miri took Iseumi's eyes and hair color while he took the hair and head shape from Denji. Sorta interesting.

This whole scene strikes me as weird from a fandom perspective. Either people use it to say, "Miri is gay" or "Miri hates women". When in reality it doesn't seem to be either (for now). He literally stated moments ago that he didn't want to be bothered by anyone and these three girls come up and start bugging him with questions and requests he doesn't want to deal with. Most people would be annoyed as hell if this scenario happened to them. Denji obviously doesn't get this and is just mad that he's getting female attention.

I'm going to assume that this is still Denji hustling and this SEX OFFENDER paid him. I REALLY hope that he didn't just let her do this for free. We get full confirmation that the Weapon Hybrids are alive. We don't have confirmation as to which, Just that some of them are. I assume this probably means all the hybrids that fought against Pochita are alive.

oh I HATEEEEEEE how she gets along with Denji.

This woman needs to get the fuck off this MINOR

As much as I despise this woman, She has a point. Fami and some unknown figure have been puppeteering the Church (how realistic) for at least the past few days. It's likely been going on since the church was founded since we see Fami with the devil hunter club.

We get a look at Denji's full speed. This means Denji was able to perception blitz Miri to appear in front of him without him noticing. This means that Denji was able to move at approximately Mach 32. All of this is real look none of this up Denji solos demon slayer or whatever fuckin power scaling bullshit.

Looks like the next few chapters will be built around the church. It also likely means we'll be seeing Reze soon. If Asa is also there, I hope this doesn't turn into some wack love triangle shit. I REALLY hope Reze isn't like "You were trying to date other girls while you thought I was dead??". I have faith Fujimoto will handle it well but it has an un-ignorable chance to becoming fucking awful.