#booth victory campaign

[taylorwright27]

I fucking hate this

I keep seeing people blaming third party voters, which even if all those votes went to Harris (which there is no guarantee they were going to) She still wouldn't have won, and I just saw someone on tik tok talk about how people on the left who were critical of Harris and the party were taking the excitement out of voting. And that is complete bullshit, it is not the lefts job to make you feel good about the democratic party they should be doing that themselves. The Harris admin ran a dogshit campaign plain and simple.

People wanted Biden out, it took months but the party finally listened and replaced him with Harris, this made people excited. It seemed like maybe the democratic party was actually listening to its voters, then they picked Walz as VP and we got more excited. No more Biden and a VP who believes in free lunches for students, healthcare, abortion and education! It seemed like the party was moving a different direction. They started calling the Republican party weird, pointing out how crazy their ideas were and how actually invasive theri policies were.

Then the fucking DNC happened, they rejected Palestinian voices and gave the most bullshit fluff speeches imaginable. They made it clear that they had no intention of trying to get undecided and independent voters on their side, they just wanted republicans. They decided that the road to victory was to shift to the right. They now supported a border wall and deportations, things that would be unimaginable 8 years ago. They touted around ex-republicans that switched over, like Liz Cheney (whose father drove the country into useless wars and left the VP office with 13% approval). They decided that it was more important to adopt right wing framing on issues, then to actually listen to what their voters wanted. They sent fucking Bill Clinton to yell at Michiganders that Palestinians were going to die either way so vote for the other things on the ballot. They agreed with the narrative that illegal migrants are ruining the country with drugs and crime, when they should have been pointing out that the Haitians were here on legal status (and clearly not eating pets that was disgusting that they even allowed for that to be a talking point) that the Venezuelan "gangs" Trump was complaining about were also here legally (by Trump), not gangs, and not terrorizing the city. They did not point out the vast majority of fentanyl and other drugs are brought into the US by US citizens, that illegal immigrants commit way way less crime that natural borne US citizens, and that they pay into taxes much more than they use.

But no, the democratic party decided that they need the republican vote, and could do that by effectively saying "Trump was right". They did the same thing with fracking in Pennsylvania. Fracking in was not Pennsylvanians number 1 issue, not even close and the few people who would vote on that would not all the sudden see Harris as the "Fracking candidate" that would still be Trump.

They ignored popular issues like healthcare and student loan forgiveness, raising the minimum wage and instead championed a tax break for small business owners and a credit for first time home buyers. These things do not help the average american, so many more people are struggling to live off of minimum wage jobs than are small business owners, and the anyone I know who the house credit would have made it possible for them to buy a house could only do so because their parents were also able to chip in.

They also did nothing to earn the young vote. I think they though abortion was enough to carry the youth, but newsflash men don't fucking care about women. they show it time and time again, Trump went on Adin Ross and Joe Rogan (2 of the biggest pieces of shit to exist) and that won him a lot of votes. There were people at the voting booth who said that they voted for Trump because of the Rogan interview. Men were not left behind by the campaign, but Trump and Vance were able to convince them that they were.

Harris and the democratic party gave nothing for people to vote for, so don't fucking blame Dearborne Michigan for not voting for someone who said she wouldn't change anything done in the last 4 years and instead blame the Democratic party for a shitty campaign, shitty messaging and choosing republicans votes over yours.

[deadpresidents]

Was Trump's assassination attempt the first time people other than the president were also killed or hurt?

No, it definitely was not the first time. There have been a number of additional victims during Presidential assassinations or assassination attempts throughout American history.

Here are the incidents where someone other than the President was wounded in an assassination attempt on Presidents or Presidential candidates:

•April 14, 1865, Washington, D.C. At the same time that John Wilkes Booth was shooting Abraham Lincoln at Ford's Theatre, Booth's fellow conspirator, Lewis Powell, attacked Secretary of State William H. Seward at Seward's home in Washington. Seward had been injured earlier that month in a carriage accident and was bedridden from his injuries, and Powell viciously stabbed the Secretary of State after forcing his way into Seward's home by pretending to deliver medicine. Powell also attacked two of Seward's sons, a male nurse from the Army who was helping to care for Seward, and a messenger from the State Department. Another Booth conspirator, George Azterodt, was supposed to kill Vice President Andrew Johnson at the same time that Lincoln and Seward were being attacked in an attempt to decapitate the senior leadership of the Union government, but Azterodt lost his nerve and got drunk instead. A total of five people were wounded at the Seward home as part of the Booth conspiracy, but Lincoln was the only person who was killed.

•February 15, 1933, Miami, Florida Just 17 days before his first inauguration, President-elect Franklin D. Roosevelt was the target of an assassination attempt in Miami's Bayfront Park. Giuseppe Zangara fired five shots at Roosevelt as FDR was speaking from an open car. Roosevelt was not injured, but all five bullets hit people in the crowd, including Chicago Mayor Anton Cermak who was in the car with FDR. Roosevelt may have been saved by a woman in the crowd who hit Zangara's arm with her purse as she noticed he was aiming his gun at the President-elect and caused him to shoot wildly. Mayor Cermak was gravely wounded and immediately rushed to a Miami hospital where he died about two weeks later.

•November 1, 1950, Blair House, Washington, D.C. From 1949-1952, the White House was being extensively renovated with the interior being almost completely gutted and reconstructed. President Harry S. Truman and his family moved into Blair House, a Presidential guest house across the street from the White House that is normally used for visiting VIPs, for 3 1/2 years. On November 1, 1950 two Puerto Rican nationalists, Griselio Torresola and Oscar Collazo, tried to shoot their way into Blair House and attempt to kill President Truman, who was upstairs (reportedly napping) at the time. A wild shootout ensued on Pennsylvania Avenue, leaving White House Police Officer Leslie Coffelt and Torresola dead, and Collazo and two other White House Police Officers wounded.

•November 22, 1963, Dallas, Texas Texas Governor John Connally was severely wounded after being shot while riding in the open limousine with President John F. Kennedy when JFK was assassinated.

•June 5, 1968, Ambassador Hotel, Los Angeles, California When he finished delivering a victory speech after winning California's Democratic Presidential primary, Senator Robert F. Kennedy of New York was shot several times while walking through the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel. While RFK was mortally wounded and would die a little over a day later, five other people were also wounded in the shooting.

•May 15, 1972, Laurel, Maryland Segregationist Alabama Governor George Wallace was paralyzed from the waist down after being shot by Arthur Bremer at a campaign rally when he was running for the Democratic Presidential nomination. Three bystanders were also wounded in the shooting, but survived.

•September 22, 1975, San Francisco, California A taxi driver in San Francisco was wounded when Sara Jane Moore attempted to shoot President Gerald Ford as he left the St. Francis Hotel. Moore's first shot missed the President by several inches and the second shot, which hit the taxi driver, was altered when a Vietnam veteran in the crowd named Oliver Sipple grabbed her arm as she was firing. Just 17 days earlier and 90 miles away, Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme, a member of the Charles Manson family, had tried to shoot President Ford as he walked through Capitol Park in Sacramento but nobody was injured.

•March 30, 1981, Washington, D.C. President Ronald Reagan was shot and seriously wounded by as he left the Washington Hilton after giving a speech. Three other people were wounded in the shooting, including White House Press Secretary James Brady who was shot in the head and partially paralyzed, Washington D.C. Police Office Thomas Delahanty, and Secret Service agent Tim McCarthy. Video of the assassination attempt shows that when the shots were fired, McCarthy turned and made himself a bigger target in order to shield the President with his own body. President Reagan was struck by a bullet that ricocheted off of the Presidential limousine.

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

Chapter 11

"I have it on good authority," said Azriel slowly. "Kallias is intent on staying in the race through the fall debate cycle."

Rhysand looked up from the papers in front of him. The muscles in his jaw feathered. "Does he have enough funds to sustain him until the Iowa Caucuses?"

Azriel nodded. "It seems his strategy is to split the anti-Thesan block of the party -- prevent us from consolidating the votes."

Rhysand leaned back in his office chair, his head tipped towards the ceiling. "I see," he sighed.

Cassian hummed to himself in the corner of the office, crumpled into a small chair. "You don't suppose..." Cassian's voice trailed off.

"Kallias knows he doesn't have a pathway to victory," Azriel supplied. "It's personal. For him."

Rhysand dragged his hands down his face, looking suddenly more ragged and tired than ever before. "I was afraid that was the case." His violet eyes were dark.

Cassian looked down at the worn carpets. "This is my fault," he whispered, "it was my operation in Herat that killed his men."

Both Azriel and Rhysand bristled immediately.

"Cass, don't --"

"It's really not --"

Cassian stood, pulling himself to his full height. "I made a bad call, Rhys," he said. "Now you are paying the price."

"No, you made a strategic choice," replied Rhysand. "I was the one in the field with Kallias's platoon. It was -- " his voice faltered, "I made the bad call. I am responsible for their deaths. Kallias is right to blame me."

The air in the small office turned thick as if the war had never ended. Cassian let out a shaky breath.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence.

"Rhys, I need you to look at these polling numbers from -- " Nesta stopped. "Am I interrupting something? I can come back."

Cassian turned towards the door, his posture stiff. He frowned, eyes downcast, a man haunted. Azriel's face was blank, but his skin looked ashen.

Rhys recovered first. "I think we are done here," he said, clearing his throat.

Nesta shifted her weight, eyes bouncing between the three men, the skin on her back tingling as if something terrible had happened. "I can come back," she repeated.

"What about the polling numbers?" Rhys waved her in.

Nesta hesitated. Azriel looked at her blankly. Cassian refused to look at her.

"You would tell me if there is anything for me to know, right?" she asked, steadying her voice.

There was a beat -- she felt it. Azriel blinked. Cassian looked stricken. Rhys clenched his jaw.

She entered the office and placed the new polling numbers on the desk.

Rhys nodded stiffly. "Of course."

---

Tortilla Coast was a Capitol Hill institution -- an unassuming Tex-Mex restaurant just blocks from the Capitol Building and one block from the Cannon House Office. It was possibly the absolute closest restaurant to those seats of power, and everyone, really everyone, went there.

The windows are bedecked with decals promising "MARGARITAS" and "BBQ RIBS"; inside are worn vinyl booths, neon beer signs, and murals of leaping fish on walls of deep red and acid green. The interns showed up in droves every afternoon for cheap drinks and free chips and salsa. Yet, it was the unlikeliest power hub in town, one of Washington’s busiest venues for political fundraisers and power dealings.

During happy hour on a crisp September day, Tortilla Coast was practically bursting at the seams. Nesta begrudgingly followed the Starborn office staff to the promise of mediocre tacos and cheap beer.

Amren surveyed the clientele with a practiced eye.

The Capitol Hill set came here to be seen -- power plays were set in motion, alliances were soft launched, and deals were announced. By the door, Thesan Morgenstern was holding court. A gaggle of eager political underlings around him, holding on to his every word. Nesta immediately recognized the man next to him -- a feature writer from Vanity Fair.

"Looks like Thesan will have a profile in the next issue," she murmured to Amren.

Azriel and Cassian disappeared into a throng of top military brass and foreign policy types -- laughing and smiling like they were amongst old friends. Nesta had never gotten along with the hawkish foreign policy establishment -- The Blob, as they had been derisively termed amongst commentators -- that dominated Washington. They seemed to her like a bunch of outdated dinosaurs championing the old-time gospel of American leadership on the world stage like it was still the 1990s.

Nesta observed Cassian clap the backs of several men in sharp suits and regulation haircuts, reeking of the Pentagon. Their heads bent in hushed conversation. Cassian's face slowly turned stern and resigned, like when she had walked in on them all in Rhys's office last week.

What happened in Afghanistan? The question clanged through her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta spotted Eris by the bar -- his red hair clashing against the kitschy decor. As the Chief of Staff to the Speaker of the House -- Eris was, by the transitive property, the third most powerful man in the country. The crowd around him treated him almost reverently, giving him a wide berth while he made his order with the bartender.

"Proximity to power deludes some into thinking they wield it," Amren commented drily into her beer.

Nesta hummed in agreement. Part of what made Tortilla Coast special was how much one can learn by just observing the crowds.

"The first debate is scheduled in Nashua, New Hampshire, next month," Amren said, turning back to her. "I'm going to send you and Cassian a week ahead of time -- advance team. Bring whomever you need."

Nesta nodded, her mind compiling tasks and logistics immediately. "We'll start planning," she acknowledged.

Eris's gaze snagged on her as he turned from the bar. He greeted her with a nod, then walked away into a crowd of Capitol Hill staffers.

Nothing had sat right with her since the Hewn fundraiser. She needed to know.

Nesta frowned. "Excuse me," she muttered to Amren and pushed her way into the crowd where Eris's distinctive red hair could be seen through the gaps between bodies.

The jovial laughter from his companions died as soon as Nesta planted herself in front of Eris. He eyed her intently, a smirk on his lips.

She pulled his head down towards her shoulder -- the cacophony of music and voices buzzed loudly around them. "What's the play, Eris?" she hissed in his ear. "Is Thesan going after Rhys's military record? Not strong enough on defense?"

Eris chuckled, his breath hot against her cheeks. "Why, hello to you too, Nesta." He smelled like limes and cloves and something smokey.

She walked into him, needing answers. She pushed him through the crowd into the wall nearby. His amber eyes glittered, amused and dangerous. He let her into his personal space, the bodies around them shifting and squeezing them closer against the wall. The air between them was hot, sweaty, and tight.

"Now, now," he murmured, "the interns are going to gossip if you manhandle me in public."

Their faces were pressed so close together -- it was the only way they could talk in private with everyone drinking around them.

"Botched missions? Is that it?" She continued, undeterred.

Eris snorted. "Have a little imagination."

"Then it's to embarrass Rhys?"

He clicked his tongue.

"Why Cassian?"

He leaned back against the wall, and his head thudded against the wood. "So," he sneered, looking down at her from the refined ridge of his nose. "You've got a soft spot for the brute?"

Nesta felt a jolt of electricity run down her spine. "Honestly, I didn't think I meant enough to you to make you territorial, Eris."

"Are you fucking him?" he asked baldly.

She swallowed, her face heating with a heady mix of indignation and shock.

"No?" He studied her keenly, roaming from her eyes to her lips and back. "But you want to."

"You don't know anything about what I want," she snapped, indignation winning out.

His hand suddenly rose to cradle her face. He leaned against her ear, all heat and tequila on his breath. "Oh," his voice rumbled deep, "but I do."

Nesta shoved him back -- he went easily. "Don't touch me," she warned.

He lifted his hands, holding his palms up, satisfied that he got under her skin.

There was a version of Nesta who would have let him feel her up in the back of a crowded bar, who would have even taken him home after. Nesta had kissed Eris for the first time at Tortilla Coast, years ago when she had started working on the politics beat at her first newspaper. She had been desperate and reckless and damaged -- Eris seemed right for her back then. She remembered the weight of his body between her thighs, how he'd made her keen, how she'd made him weak.

She never liked that version of herself.

"That part of our relationship is over," said Nesta, her voice firm.

Eris grunted. "I know." Something flashed across his face -- contrition.

He kept his hands raised and away. Nesta decided to press back into him, taking back control. He let her pin him against the wall -- the bar too cramped and boisterous for anyone to notice them.

"What will Beron do with the oppo research on Rhys?" she asked him. "Did you already give it to the Morgenstern campaign?"

Eris relaxed against her. "Thesan doesn't want to get his hands dirty," he replied quietly. He tilted his head, looking over her into the crowd. "He wants a clean primary, save the hard hits for Hybern. He's far enough ahead in the polls to stay above the fray. No sense in getting involved in petty party in-fighting."

She nodded. "So it's Kallias," she said. "The oppo research is for Kallias. He's meant to take down Rhys so Thesan can skate through to the general unscathed."

Eris smiled -- he always appreciated her intellect. It almost bordered on affection.

"The party higher-ups are rigging the primary for Thesan," Nesta concluded.

"You didn't hear it from me," he said as he slipped away.

Nesta watched him go. She could still smell the limes and cloves and smoke he left behind.

---

Cassian was pushing through the drunken masses towards her.

Tortilla Coast was getting rowdier by the minute as Happy Hour drew to a close -- the cheap beers and margaritas loosened everyone up. Laughter pealed over the hum of conversations, punctuated by the occasional shout as someone called for another round. Standing head and shoulders above the crowd, Cassian was striking -- a dark beacon in the dimly lit bar, his eyes locked on her alone.

He was close now, close enough for her to notice the faint stubble along his jaw and the slight upturn of his lips as he leaned in. His words were a deep thrum against the clamor of the bar, "Ready to get out of here?" His body aligned with hers in the small space, pressing solidly against her.

Nesta nodded quickly.

His hand dropped to the small of her back, a commanding pressure guiding her. Together, they began to make their way towards the exit, his presence a shielding force from the jostling bodies around them.

They spilled out onto the street and into the sunset -- it felt like coming up for air.

He stepped away from her. The loss of heat from his hand on her back made her acutely aware of the early evening chill.

"What did Eris want this time?" He pushed his hand through his hair, loose out of its usual neat tie from the workday.

She looked up at him, momentarily taken aback by his rugged features. He had taken off his necktie, too, collar open. The one drink she had earlier had worked through her system, loosening up her usual defenses.

She needed to know.

"Do you trust me?" asked Nesta.

His brow furrowed. "Of course," replied Cassian immediately.

"I know I'm crashing your little inner circle," Nesta began, unable to keep the bite out of her voice after months of feeling like she was on the outside. "You don't have to tell me everything. But I need to know -- I need to be able to do my job."

"You know everything, Nes." He was staring at her -- hazel eyes burning into her, completely open and all-consuming. Has anyone ever looked at her like that before?

"I swear I would never keep anything from you."

She felt like her skin was on fire.

"What happened in Afghanistan?" She whispered the question.

He blinked. "What -- " Then, his face twisted at the non sequitur. "Afghanistan? What does that have to do with -- "

"I don't care if -- "

"Rhys's service record is exemplary. You have access to his service record, his commendations."

Nesta steeled herself. "What did you do in Afghanistan?"

"Me?" Cassian eyebrows shot up. "What -- ? How is that -- ?"

"Eris pulled your FBI file."

She watched Cassian's entire demeanor change. His body went rigid, his expression closed. "That's classified," he said carefully.

"Eris mentioned that most of your personnel file was redacted," said Nesta, letting out a long exhale. "I need to know if there is anything in there that could be damaging to the candidate."

"Damaging?" Cassian startled. "Where is this coming from? I don't understand how this is relevant to -- "

"You can tell me what happened," she cut in, her heart beating hard against her ribcage.

Please tell me what happened.

Suddenly, he was bending down close to her, his hazel eyes intense, glowing like bronze in the low evening light. "Nes," he breathed. "I want to -- believe me -- but I need you to -- "

She felt goosebumps all over her arms; she couldn't look away from his beautiful face, frozen in place.

"Cassian," she inhaled. "I won't -- " She didn't know how to finish that thought -- tell? care? judge him? She couldn't promise him anything.

His face was only a few inches from hers, and his eyes dipped to her lips.

"My missions were top secret." His voice was low and pleading. "I can neither deny nor confirm anything he's told you. I would do anything, Nes, just ask me -- "

"There you two are! Ready for our run?"

They both snapped to attention at the door behind them, where Azriel had just stumbled out of Tortilla Coast. He observed the scant distance between their bodies and immediately pivoted.

"Nevermind, Amren said she was buying the next round -- "

Nesta took a step back, breathing hard.

"It's fine, Az," she said, surprised her voice was steady. "I need to get a run in."

Cassian looked away -- even in the disappearing light, his face was luminous -- and nodded.

---

First, they had to stop by the Congressional Staff Wellness Center to change out of their work clothes and into athletic wear. Then, the three of them took their usual 8-mile route around the National Mall. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, but the sky was still bright. The yellow September dusk made the monuments glow otherwordly.

This evening's post-work run was uncharacteristically silent. Usually, Cassian teased her. The three of them frequently talked about campaign strategy or upcoming legislation while they warmed up or paused at stoplights.

Tonight, Cassian was particularly solemn. Azriel was silent in his own unique way -- hyperaware, assessing. Nesta focused on her body, feeling her muscles work as they passed the Reflection Pool and then on to the Washington Monument. She pushed herself especially hard, needing to resolve all the tension that had built up in her body from her talk with Eris and then Cassian.

She had meant what she said to Eris, that the sexual part of their relationship had ended. After the spring charity gala at the Hewn Mansion, she felt a kind of finality to their intimacy. They used each other and for a long time, Nesta thought that it was enough. It took leaving DC and coming back years later -- older and only marginally wiser -- for her to finally be ready to let him go completely. Eris made every decision based on a calculus of power -- always looking for the upper hand in every interaction. He could never be what she needed.

But what did she need?

Nesta was a stranger to herself.

She had spent the entirety of her adult life closing herself off to her needs. She left home at 18 -- after her mother died and her father disappeared in all but name -- and never looked back. Her departure was as much self-preservation as it was an act of retaliation.

She was barely a teenager when her mother wasted away in front of her eyes. Her sisters were too young, too soft. Her father... he couldn't bear it. Nesta held a 10-day vigil over her mother's deathbed. She didn't have a good relationship with her mother, but she also couldn't leave her alone in that sterile hospital room.

Those last days were a cruel torture.

Her mother drifted in and out of consciousness -- cancer and morphine consumed everything that had made Elinor Archeron the formidable woman she had been in her wakeful life. She had asked for her sisters, for her father -- each time, all Nesta could do was shake her head, unable to speak, until finally, Elinor had stopped saying anything at all and just stared at Nesta like she wasn't there either.

Nesta would never forget her mother's last words to her. In a rare moment of lucidity, Elinor had whispered, with a ragged breath, "It's better if he loves you a little bit more."

Those words imprinted themselves on her like a tattoo across her heart. Nesta had resented her father's weakness, his absence, his failures. But she resented him, most of all, for not loving them enough to stay.

It's better if he loves you a little bit more.

Eris never loved her. She wasn't sure he could -- not with her, at least. And Nesta needed -- no.

She needed more than what she'd allowed herself to hope for.

---

Azriel peeled off from them at the last mile, making some vague excuse about needing to take a detour on the way home. He gave Cassian a meaningful squeeze on the shoulder and Nesta a soft smile before heading in the opposite direction.

Nesta followed Cassian toward the Lincoln Memorial, where they usually started or ended their evening workouts. They slowed at the far side of the steps, finding a private spot and avoiding the few tourists coming through.

The sun had set entirely now. The white marble edifice was bathed in spotlights, its magnificent columns rising like ancient sentinels into the starless sky.

Cassian turned to face her, his chest rising and falling from their run, breath heavy. His eyes were clear and intent, the exercise seeming to focus his mind.

"I trust you, Nesta," he said, using her full name for the first time in weeks.

She considered, eyes searching his handsome face, then slowly nodded.

"Do you trust me?" Cassian asked.

She could feel her heart beating hard against her ribcage -- adrenaline and endorphins flooding her senses.

When she did not reply, he asked again, "Nesta, do you trust me?"

She felt light-headed, but her words felt right as she spoke them, "I trust you, Cassian."

He stepped towards her, their chests inches apart. His hands reached out to gently grip her biceps, the contact grounding her. The professional boundary between them suddenly felt permeable. She felt a tug towards him, like falling into gravity.

"I served on Delta Force for 15 years," he began softly, his voice tinged with resigned anguish. "I was deployed with the United States Central Command and Southern Command. My focus was on unconventional warfare and counterinsurgency. I've been through hundreds of missions… done things that haunt me every day. The war was brutal. I have scars -- " his right hand moved from her bicep to her wrist, guiding her hand to rest against his right hipbone, "shrapnel wounds here -- "

He gently pushed her hand down the length of his muscled thigh, tracing the wound. Her breath hitched at the intimacy of the gesture and the horror it represented.

"I fractured my femur in three places," Cassian continued his voice a hushed murmur as she explored the outlines of his quadriceps through the thin fabric of his gym shorts.

"And here -- " he placed her left hand over the center of his chest " -- a bullet just missed my heart." His voice was low, and Nesta imagined the tattoo across his skin there, camouflaging the puckered scar. His chest was hot and solid beneath her palm -- she could feel his pounding heart.

"I've had to make impossible choices, ones that I can never take back." The intensity of his attention on her was overwhelming. Nesta listened silently, rapt. "The guilt, the weight of it all… it’s always there, like a shadow I can’t outrun. But I don't want to hide any of that from you."

"Stop," she murmured, removing her hands from his thigh and chest before she did something she would regret. "You don't have to -- "

"I do," he interrupted. "I want you to know everything about me."

She took a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill her lungs. He smelled like black truffles, bergamot, and something distinctly Cassian.

Feeling bold from touching him earlier, she reached out and cradled his face in her hands. His eyes fell immediately, nuzzling into her touch.

"How many people have you killed?" she asked in a whisper.

Cassian's eyes remained closed, but his brows furrowed immediately, and he frowned. She traced the notched scar along his eyebrow with her thumb, wondering how that particular wound came to be.

She needed to know if she could bear it.

"I don't know," he finally said, opening his eyes -- hazel and pained. "I stopped keeping track. I don't know how many enemy combatants I have killed. There are always unintentional consequences of war. The civilians, I -- " His voice broke, looking like he was on the edge of tears.

Nesta softened. It was like she could finally see him in his totality for once -- all the jagged edges and the aching tenderness underneath. "That's why you left the military," she supplied for him.

He nodded, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. "Nesta, my ledger is red as sin," he said. "And I'll try to rebalance it for the rest of my life if I have to. When I first enlisted, I believed in the mission, in the idea of fighting for the greater good. But war changes you. It strips away the illusions... There were times when I had to prioritize the strategic objectives over my conscience. The faces of those I've lost, of those I've hurt, they never leave me. I live with the consequences."

His voice wavered, and Nesta could see the pain etched deeply in his features. "I've tried to make amends in whatever ways I can. I work with veterans, advocate for survivors of armed conflicts, help get Rhys elected -- I'll do anything to give back, tip the scales... but it'll never be enough, I know."

He paused, his confession hanging between them, suspended in the autumn night. Nesta felt his sorrow, his regret -- a raw, untamed thing that resonated within her own soul.

"Cassian," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand gently brushed away a tear that escaped down his cheek. "You are a good man."

His eyes snapped to hers, searching, hopeful. The evening lights caught the edges of his irises, gilding them with a golden hue that made them appear almost like a painting. Cassian’s hand reached up to touch hers, his fingers trembling slightly as they interlocked with her own. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. It was one of the most erotic moments of her life.

"That’s more than I ever hoped to be," he said against her skin, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine.

Nesta felt time slow down, the world narrowing down to just the two of them, their faces inches apart.

He moved first, a slow and deliberate motion that closed the remaining distance between them. His lips met hers with an unexpected gentleness. Nesta responded instinctively, her lips parting slightly as she melted into the kiss.

Cassian's hands, callous from so much destruction, now held her with a careful reverence, fingertips tracing the lines of her jaw, then behind her ear, down her back as if memorizing the map of her body. Nesta's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss. The taste of him -- spicy with a hint of something darker, more primal -- was intoxicating, driving her to explore further, her tongue seeking his with a boldness that matched his own.

As the kiss went on, Nesta moaned against his mouth, hands roaming over the hard planes of his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if she could somehow pull him even closer. Cassian reacted with equal fervor, his lips trailing burning kisses down her neck, finding the tender spot that made her gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

Cassian’s mouth found hers again, this time his kiss demanding, consuming, as if trying to drink her in, to drown in the very essence of her. His teeth grazed her lower lip, coaxing a gasp from her that he swallowed with a deep, throaty groan.

Nesta's heart raced, her senses overwhelmed by the wet heat of his mouth and the hot press of his body against hers -- every inch of her tingled like lightning was about to strike. It was like getting everything she wanted and everything she feared at the same time. She desperately wanted to lose herself in what it might feel like to fully let go of the past.

She never wanted the kiss to end.

[slavicviking]

Long Odds (Steddie)

“Steve. My buddy. My pal.”

“No.”

Dustin purses his lips, tugging harder on the plastic wire of the phone. The school courtyard behind him is buzzing with life, warm and welcoming - finally - after a particularly harsh winter, for Indiana standards at least. A group of freshmen he faintly recognizes from one of his classes walks by, shrieking and laughing at a severely unfunny joke. He’s been subjected to Robin’s atrocious puns often enough to say so with confidence. He winces.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he informs Steve because, well, rude.

“I’m guessing one of you annoying shrimps need a favor,” the phone responds in a bored monotone “and I don’t know if you know, but I actually have a life outside of babysitting you all.”

“Steve, watching The Breakfast Club for the fourth time this month is not having a life.” An offended ‘dude’ from the other side of the line feels like a warning sign. He realizes he only has one chance to do it right. If Steve hangs up now, he’s done for.

“Have I ever told you you’re my best friend?” Dustin tries instead.

“Jesus Christ-”

Dustin taps his finger on the booth. Shit. He’s hanging on by a thread, he can feel it.

“Look, this is an emergency, okay? I need you to play D&D with us tonight! Lucas can’t come and we need someone to fill in his spot, that’s, like, life or death, Steve.” After a breath, he adds. “Pretty please.”

A pause.

“Henderson, that’s the least life or death thing I’ve heard in a while.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, sucking in a heavy sigh. It’s progress, though, he can feel the scale tipping in his favor ever so slightly. He knows Steve.

“You haven’t seen Eddie when we asked to reschedule,” he pleads, full-well knowing the super senior in question hasn’t yet been informed of their predicament. It’s better this way, Dustin tells himself. Eddie will be miffed they haven’t told him, sure, but if they find a replacement, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? “He looked like that one time when we were sleeping in the woods and all our stuff was stolen and then-”

 “Wait, hold on, somebody robbed you?” Steve asks, muffled by how he, no-doubt, mashed the phone closer to his face to hear better. At least Dustin is sure he’s paying attention now. “And why the hell were you in the woods at night with this Eddie in the first place? Isn’t being chased by, uh, by dogs enough for you?”

“During a campaign, Steve,” Dustin quickly interjects. “It was part of the storyline. We weren’t actually in the woods.”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” the voice on the other side echoes, this time from some distance away and there’s shuffling that indicates Steve running his hand through his mop of hair,probably in order to calm himself. Dustin, for the record, does feel guilty. A little bit. “You and the rest of the little gremlins will be the death of me, I swear. Not cool, man.”

 “Sorry,” Dustin tells him sincerely. Pauses. And then, “so?”

 “So?”

 “Steve.”

 What follows is a long-suffering sigh. Dustin’s lip twitches.

 “I don’t even know how to play your stupid game.”

 It should be known that Dustin absolutely did not pump his fist in the air in a silent sign of victory. He did not. But the smile that broke out on his face? Yeah, he won’t deny that.

 “I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I promise.”

 -&-

There’s a familiar buzz in the air, absorbing all the pre-game excitement and nerves. Gareth and Jeff heatedly discuss their respective strategies from last week, while Grant feverishly writes something down in his notebook, be it a new song lyric or an addition to his character’s backstory. Just as Eddie finishes rearranging the chairs around the table, the doors open, and his favorite freshmen flood into the classroom.

Except-

“Heard you’re one person short for your Dancers and Dweebs game, Munson,” Steve Harrington (Steve Harrington, his brain supplies helpfully) smirks up at him, jacket sliding off one of his shoulders. On anyone else it would look awkward, for sure, but on Steve, it looks, well, it looks-

“Uh,” is what Eddie responds with initially, a streak of panic flashing through his gut and straightening his back.  Where the hell is Sinclair? Why is He here, instead? There’s so much to address - as he stands there, blinking owlishly, fingers wrapped tightly around the back of a cheap plastic chair - with a witty remark of sorts most fitting, surely. He adds, then, seemingly for no other purpose but to dig his grave just a little deeper. “Um.”

“You know it’s Dungeons and Dragons,” Mike’s annoyed reply snaps Eddie back to reality just a little bit. He feels very much out of his depth, here, in his club, with his campaign notes strewn around, with his closest friends, and-and Steve Harrington? Granted, Dustin has been babbling his ear off about Steve, how awesome he is and the like; not that Eddie believed it for a second since it seemed like a highly idealized big-brother situation at best. But here he is, the King himself. Doing – what exactly?

No, he can make it work. He can, really. He’s made it out of situations much more awkward than this.

 Steve wouldn’t beat him up in front of a kid, right?

Right?

Though, considering the amount of times he’s seen Steve Harrington walking around school with his face punched in, Eddie’s not so sure the guy knows how to actually win a fight.

Eddie definitely doesn’t, and so he’s not going to push it. Too much.

He’s curious, is the thing. It’s tempting, very tempting, to poke the bear - just a little bit. It’s not every day that the former King of Hawkins High enters your humble abode, not with snot-nosed freshmen trailing after him like he’s their personal hero (and yes, that does include Mini Wheeler, even though he’d surely throw a fit if Eddie as much as implied it). Steve Harrington should feel more out of place, surrounded by everything his former so-called ‘King’ persona would mock outright not even two or three years ago but, somehow, he does not and the thought weighs down on Eddie’s gut. He’s not sure if it’s dread or adrenaline yet.

So, in the end, Eddie does what he does best - he acts.

“We are, indeed, in dire need of a player,” he laments, clutching at his heart and leaning his head back. Tilting his head to the side, gazing at Harrington almost upside down, he smirks. “Why, has the king himself decided to join us this fine evening?”

Harrington rolls his eyes in response, brow twitching, but Eddie doesn’t mind. This is normal, expected. Usually accompanied with an insult of sorts but he can really do without one, and so he’s silently grateful. Small victories and all that motivational shit.

So. Here’s the thing.

Steve Harrington actually knows the basics (“I did all the work!” “Yes, Dustin, we know.”). First thing the poor jock (ex-jock?) does is fling a half-filled out character sheet in Eddie’s face with a proud glint in his eye which he does not find endearing at all – he does not, stop laughing, Gareth, for fuck’s sake-. Things get worse from there. Steve’s adorably confused through most of the three-hour playthrough, terribly, tragically unimaginative with the way he makes his choices, but he pays attention, or at least tries to, which is a lot more than Eddie has expected of him.

And, fuck, it’s attractive. It’s embarrassing as it is, to fall for a jock, Steve Harrington of all people at that. But then the guy turns out not to be a complete and utter douche? It’s confusing but exhilarating, in a way, makes Eddie want to push and poke and want. Eddie’s not a brave person, he’ll be first to admit that, but he sees Harrington’s confused pout or tentative smile and is tempted to do something utterly stupid and reckless, like kiss him, for example. And isn’t that a thought. A dangerous and foolish one, but a thought that clings to him the whole evening nonetheless.

Eddie can’t help the sigh of relief the moment Steve Harrington leaves the Hellfire Club with a wave and red-splotchy cheeks, throwing out a loose ‘see you around, Munson’ at the door. See you never, hopefully, he muses, if not a bit unkindly. Because Steve Harrington makes him feel confused and scared and hopeful and he wants more after only a few hours – and he knows, God, he knows, that could never happen. He and Harrington belong to two different worlds, two clashing ecosystems and it was nice, for an evening, but they’d always be just out of reach of each other.

Tomorrow, he’ll drive by Family Video and think nothing of it. In a week Steve would be waiting outside the school to pick up the little rascals and they will not talk.

A month from now, Chrissy Cunningham will die in Eddie Munson’s trailer.

Come find me at InsertACreativeNameHere__SlavicViking on ao3

[captainpains]

Just a Little Courage (Tup x reader)

Cute little trash for Tup! For the @clonexreaderbingo. I was so excited to write this! Enjoy 💕

Promt: “Kiss me”

Warnings: gn reader, underconfidence, alcohol consumption, 501st are trying to be wingmen, dubious consent (?), bad writing.

~~~~~

Tup wasn’t shy. 

He was, by all means, a very confident soldier, if a little bit awkward. He was very creative when it came to his tactics. It seemed that he had the making of a fine ARC trooper. He was a little hard on himself, but he was confident enough in his abilities.

However, Tup was very shy around you, a mechanic.

He would awkwardly stay off to the side and only listen to conversations that the others had with you. His brothers would try to push him to speak, but he couldn’t. He was just a stuttering mess around you, a puddle on the floor that couldn’t even look you in the eye.

“I’d just ask that mechanic out already! The worst that can happen is being told no.” Some brothers would try to encourage. But to Tup, he thought you’d laugh in his face and hate him for the rest of his life. He was a confident person 

“Tup!” Jesse yelled as he walked over to the table at. “Hey! Can we get another round for our hero here?!”

“I’m no hero.” Tup replied with a grin.

“You’re too modest!” Fives yelled over the music. 

The whole table chuckled as Tup sat down. He didn’t go to 79's often, but whenever he did, it was to celebrate a victory with his brothers. Tup grabbed a drink from a server droid moving past them. He took a sip as his brothers joked about something that happened on the last campaign. 

Tup was mindlessly scanning the dance floor. But he nearly choked on his drink when he saw you standing by the bar. He had never seen you here before.

“Ya alright Tup?” Jesse asked, slapping his back to help expel whatever was causing him to cough so much.

Jesse followed his gaze and grinned mischievously. He leaned over to Fives, pointing you out to him. Fives got a shit eating grin, then he started to wave you over to their table, shouting your name over the loud music. You noticed and waved, before starting to walk over. Tup meanwhile wanted to be swallowed by the ground, and debated if he should try to hide under the table..

“Hey, guys! What are you up to?

“Just celebrating Tup’s heroics!” Jesse said, slapping his back.

“Oh, I heard about that! You really put your life on the line. You should get a medal!” You gave Tup a little nudge with your arm. 

He felt his face heat up. He looked down, staring into his glass to avoid the conversation.

“Ah, our brother’s too modest for his own good.” Jesse said, patting his shoulder.

“You wanna sit with us?” Fives ask.

“Sure,” you replied.

You sat down on the other side of the booth from him. Tup kept looking down, wishing to be swallowed by the floor. 

As the night went on, people came and left the booth. Until it was only the two of you. You and Tup sat in silence for a while. He was trying to think of what to say, when you broke the silence.

“Tup, Do you wanna dance?”

Tup nodded dumbly, allowing you to take his hand.

You dragged him onto the dance floor, staying near the edge of the dancing bodies. You grabbed his other hand and started to do a funny little dance. You both laughed a little at it, maybe because of how awkward you both were. As you danced. You both started to feel more comfortable. You got closer and closer together.

“Kiss me?” You asked him, out of the blue.

Tup was utterly stunned. Was he dreaming? You reached up and rested your hand on his cheek, thumb storking his tattoo. He had to be dreaming.

“Are you drunk?” Tup asked, frowning. That had to be the only way that you would want for him to kiss you.

“No,” you replied.

Tup scanned you, looking for signs of intoxication. You weren’t off balance, your speech wasn’t slurred, and you were still very coordinated. 

“A-are you sure?” He asked, uncertain.

You nodded, looking into his eyes.

He slowly leaned in until his lips gently touched yours.

Maybe it was the alcohol that gave him the courage to finally kiss you.

[tomorrowusa]

To take back the country from climate-denying, abortion-forbidding, homophobic religious fanatics, we need to quit ignoring state governments. State legislatures in particular deserve far more of our attention. It's such attention which has helped flip legislative chambers in the past couple of years in states like Virginia, Michigan, and Minnesota.

In Florida this week a Democrat flipped a seat in a special election for the state House of Representatives. Although the Florida legislature still has a gerrymandered GOP supermajority in both chambers, the Republican defeat comes a day after the poor showing by Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis in the Iowa caucuses.

Florida Democrats kicked off the new year with a major victory as businessman and Navy veteran Tom Keen flipped a Republican-held seat in the state House―a development that represents Gov. Ron DeSantis' second electoral humiliation in the span of 24 hours. Keen defeated his Republican rival, Osceola County School Board member Erika Booth, 51-49 in Tuesday's special election for the 35th House District, a constituency in the Orlando suburbs that Joe Biden carried 52-47. The Democrat will succeed Republican Fred Hawkins, whom Gov. Ron DeSantis appointed in June to serve as president of South Florida State College despite lacking any background in higher education. Republicans will hold an 84-36 supermajority in the state House as well as a similarly lopsided edge in the state Senate, so Keen's victory won't jeopardize the party's iron grip on state government. But Sunshine State Democrats are hoping that this win, which comes less than a year after the party flipped control of the mayor's office in Jacksonville, will give them another chance to convince Biden's reelection campaign and other deep-pocketed organizations that this longtime swing state is still winnable.   Former Rep. Debbie Mucarsel-Powell, who stumped for Keen over the weekend, is making the same argument as she tries to persuade national Democrats that her campaign against Republican Sen. Rick Scott is worth investing in. She's linked the two races in arguing that Floridians "can’t afford to pay their bills" thanks to "the failed policies" that began while Scott was governor.

WFTV offers this bit of analysis about Democrat Tom Keen's victory.

Digging into the numbers shows Keen overperformed with non-party affiliated voters, winning roughly 65% of the NPA vote, enough to overcome a raw vote lead in the race where Republicans cast some 900 more votes in the contest. Keen also overperformed in Orange County, where he beat Booth by 1,859 votes.

If you're thinking about getting a little more active in politics, becoming a volunteer for a local Democratic candidate for state legislature is an excellent place to begin.

Check to see who currently represents you in the legislature.

Find Your Legislators Look your legislators up by address or use your current location.

If you are represented by Republicans, contact your county or state Democratic Party and ask them who to get in touch with. You might also try contacting the DLCC.

Democratic Legislative Campaign Committee - Elect State Dems

If we need to take back the country one legislative seat at a time then we'd better get started right now.

[abhishekpandey123]

Elections in India

India’s national election will take place in phases over 44 days. Here’s why it takes so long

Nearly 970 million people or over 10% of the global population are eligible to vote in India’s general elections. The mammoth exercise is the biggest anywhere in the world and will take 44 days before results are announced on June 4.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi is aiming for a third consecutive term in office. He is set to compete against a diverse yet faltering coalition of opposition parties who are finding it difficult to counter his popularity. The majority of polls forecast a comfortable victory for the nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party, solidifying his position as one of the most prominent and influential leaders in the country.

WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG?

Two primary factors contribute to this situation: the vast expanse of India, the most populous nation globally, and the intricate logistics required to enable each eligible voter to participate in the electoral process.

Over the years, the duration of voting has wavered. It took nearly four months to complete the vote in India’s first elections in 1951-1952, after it gained independence from British rule, and just four days in 1980. In 2019, voting took 39 days, and this year’s election is the second longest.

With 969 million registered voters, the size of India’s electorate is bigger than the combined population of the 27 European Union member states. This includes 18 million first-time voters, and around 197 million who are in their 20s.

The vote to choose 543 lawmakers for the lower house of Parliament takes place over seven phases. India’s 28 states and eight federal territories will vote at different times. Each phase is one day, with the first held on April 19 and the last on June 1.

Some states may complete their voting process within a day, while others might require more time. For instance, Uttar Pradesh, the largest state in India with a population of 200 million, equivalent to the size of Brazil, will conduct voting over seven days. This extended duration of the voting process in India's general elections has been criticized by Modi's opponents, who argue that it provides an advantage to the prime minister in terms of campaigning and travel, particularly in states where his party is not as strong.

EVERY VOTE COUNTS

The Election Commission of India is responsible for ensuring that a voting booth is accessible within a 2-kilometer radius of each voter. Chakshu Roy from PRS Legislative Research emphasized the extensive efforts election officials must undertake to enable every voter to cast their ballot. Around 15 million election officials and security personnel will travel across deserts and mountains, utilizing various modes of transportation such as boats, walking, and even horseback riding, to reach all voters.

It can be especially arduous. In 2019, when India last held elections, a team of polling officers trekked over 480 kilometers (300 miles) for four days just so a single voter in a hamlet in the remote state of Arunachal Pradesh, which borders China, could exercise their right.

Officials also traveled to a village tucked away high up in the Himalayas in 2019 to install a booth at 15,256 feet (4,650 meters), the highest polling station anywhere in the world.

This time too, polling stations will be installed in remote places, including one inside a wildlife sanctuary in southern Kerala state and another in a shipping container in western Gujarat state.

TIGHT SECURITY

Security is cited as a significant factor behind the multi-phase elections in India, according to experts. In order to ensure safety, a large number of federal security forces, who typically guard borders, are mobilized and work in conjunction with state police. Their primary responsibilities include preventing violence, escorting electoral officials, and transporting voting machines. Previous elections in India have been marred by deadly clashes between supporters of rival political parties, particularly in West Bengal. However, the presence of heavy security forces has contributed to a decrease in such incidents over the years, resulting in relatively peaceful voting. The geographical diversity of the country, with its rivers, mountains, snow, and jungles, poses challenges for the movements of security forces. Despite these obstacles, the chief election commissioner, Rajiv Kumar, has emphasized their commitment to ensuring a smooth voting process by going the extra mile for the convenience of voters.

[hereforanepilogue]

these things are clear (from time to time)

on ao3

1

Life’s not perfect since Eddie got out of the hospital, but it’s pretty good and - weirdly - getting better. He was beaten to shit by the time Steve and the others had dragged him out through the portal out on the road by the trailer park, and when he’d gotten out of the hospital months later he’s still beaten to shit enough that the good townsfolk believed he was a victim.

He thinks, somehow, that he’s lucky he’s so messed up. The scar on his face will never fade, his doctors say, but it makes the old church ladies - and their daughters, and their begrudging sons - look at him with pity when he passes. Not ideal, but it’s better than getting mobbed.

Between that and the nearly eight months it took for him to be healthy (and brave) enough to leave the new trailer the government had set him and Wayne up with, most of the people who haven’t forgotten the witch hunt have at least decided it was misguided.

Of course he says yes whenever anyone in the party asks him to go anywhere. At first it’s because he doesn’t like being in town alone, and he wants to make the most of his time with them before they gently oust him from the group through clashing schedules. Not that he really thinks they would do that, but it’s hard to believe that the golden haze of victory will carry them through the real-world issues of being friends with the capital-’F’ Freak.

So when Steve invites him to the diner on a Friday night, Eddie assumes it’s going to be with the girls, or maybe Jonathan since he’s in town and his breakup with Nancy has led to a weird friendship with Steve. Instead, he shows up and Steve is there alone.

“Nobody else is coming?” Eddie asks. He looks around nervously, but Steve’s managed to swipe the corner booth, and even let Eddie take the bench on the wall. The place is full of couples on dates,

“Uh, no,” Steve says awkwardly. “Do you want a milkshake?”

“Oh, sure, man,” Eddie says. He doesn’t bother picking up a menu, since he orders the same thing every time, and neither does Steve. “So what’s up? Is Robin working?”

“Oh, uh, I think she had plans with Vickie,” Steve says. He’s being weird, Eddie thinks, but then the waitress is appearing, and she’s putting a strawberry milkshake in front of him. She puts a vanilla - which Eddie knows is malted - in front of Steve.

“You boys ready to order?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. He shifts on his seat, pulling his foot up underneath him, and his shoe squeaks on the vinyl. “Can I just get a cheeseburger with fries?”

Eddie busies himself squishing his straw wrapper as low as he can before he takes it off. He sets the accordioned wrapper aside and stirs the whipped cream into the drink as much as he can, then takes a long sip. By the time he’s done fucking around, the waitress is gone.

“Anyway,” Steve says. “We haven’t hung out in a while, what’ve you been up to?”

“Steve, we hung out last weekend,” Eddie says. But it’s the perfect opening, and Eddie’s never pretended not to want to talk about the shit he’s into, so he takes it for what it is. Steve is a good listener, anyway, even if the kids don’t agree. When Eddie starts talking about the new campaign he’s building, he stays away from technical stuff - Steve doesn’t really get it - but the guy can follow a story, and he has a knack for picking up on the weird details that Eddie includes just for himself.

“Wait,” Steve says. He covers his mouth with his hand, and Eddie waits for him to finish chewing. “Is that a reference to that song? The one you kept playing last week. The Mordoer one.”

“Yes! Jesus Christ, man, I didn’t think anyone would notice,” Eddie says.

“I mean, I don’t think the kids will? Or they’ll think it’s a Steve Nicks thing,” Steve says. Steve is staring at him over their food, and then he’s moving his feet forward and pushing his ankles into Eddies. Which would seem weird, maybe, but Steve’s a touchy guy - he drapes himself over Robin so much that he shouldn’t be surprised the kids think they’re dating.

A while later, Eddie is pouring the last of his extra shake into his cup, and Steve’s ankle is still warm against Eddie’s.

“Do you want this?” Steve asks. He gestures at the metal cup in front of him. “I won’t drink it.”

“You sure, man?” Steve nods, so Eddie grabs the cup and pours the dregs of it into his shake too. He takes a long sip. “I’ve gotta say I’m kind of glad Robin isn’t here, I love the strawberry vanilla.”

“You could just ask for half and half, you know,” Steve says. He’s got his elbow on the table, now, and his cheek is resting on his hand.

“Nah, it’s not the same as my ill-gotten gains. And they wouldn’t half malt it.” Eddie takes another big sip, and they chat about what goofy shit their friends are probably up to while Eddie finishes the shake.

Steve insists on getting the bill, but that’s not weird either, Eddie knows - they trade off, sometimes, and Steve’s parents still drop money into his bank account randomly from time to time even though he’s working full time again and still at their place. They’re parked next to each other - Eddie’s good planning - so they part ways outside and Steve gives him a jockly half- hug. Eddie pats him a couple times on the shoulder.

When he gets home, Wayne is just coming out of his bedroom (thank god for government double-wide money) and getting his lunch out of the fridge.

“Where were you?” Wayne asks.

“Steve and I got dinner,” Eddie says.

“Oh you did, did you? That sounds nice.” Eddie narrows his eyes. Wayne isn’t doing his ‘you idiot’ voice, but he’s not not doing it, either.

“I think Robin ditched him for a date,” Eddie says. He flops down on the couch and watches Wayne get his jacket on.

“Well, I hope that works out for you,” Wayne says. He’s out the door before Eddie can question it, so Eddie just rolls over and shoves his face between the seat and the back of the couch.

on ao3

[ultramaga]

The Democrats continue in their push to streamline the electoral process, with their "you have no choice" campaign platform. By simply reducing the ballot to fellow Leftists, they aim to eliminate the time and waste of elections and voting altogether, giving themselves Victory Eternal over the democratic struggles.

Old joke: Here is the voting booth. To vote, just put one hand through a slot. The right one is for the King. The left slot is ... What if I want to vote for someone else?

You'll still have one hand left to vote for the King!

[nezumasa]

The total number of 3rd party voters would not have gotten K. Harris the victory.

Not to mention all the gerrymandering, voter suppression and interference (Russian Bomb threats, ballot boxes on fire, thousands of ballots currently being considered “curable,” university poll places being understaffed, 8 to 5 hours [ie. Working Hours] for voting booths during early vote, etc.), misinformation campaigns, and numerous other issues.

[skeletonmoths]

To all of my American followers and mutuals

I feel for you, all of your anger, grief and fear. I stayed up all night refreshing the results of the the presidential race from Canada, waiting in anticipation, crossing my fingers and just praying that Trump would not win. There was hope for a while that Kamala would catch up and reach her victory, when I refreshed and saw that Trumps votes hit 266 my heart and stomach dropped , I have never felt so much disappointment and grief

I tried to hold on to the hope that a miracle would happen, and the mail in ballots would flip the vote by morning, unfortunately from what I have read, not every vote had been counted once he had hit the goal, I saw many videos of people standing outside of designated voting areas during the race being denied their right to vote even while voting booths were still open, the amount of people, who did not get to vote because lines were too long, or they were too young, or too old and unable to leave the house even the people who are disabled and in hospitals not having the resources to go out and vote saddens me. I’m not here to say the vote was rigged. It wasn’t , but the system is terribly broken and inaccessible , many people did not get their mail in ballots. And this happens every 4 years, and somehow this was the quickest counted vote in a long time despite how many struggles and technical difficulties the counters had experienced. . I am not going to blame Kamala for the lack of votes she received, she inspired many young people to vote even if they chose to not vote for her, she gave many people hope for a better future, she inspired many elderly women to go against their husbands cruel judgment and vote for a black women. Kamala inspired people all over the world, her campaign was fun and fresh, I do not agree with everything she had said or done, but I did have faith in her and still do. . The reality of this situation is that America HATES Women, POC, and LGBTQ+ people. America is a capitalist country that is not so slowly turning into a Fascist country. With Donald Trump in power. People will die. No if ands or buts. His supporters claim that he will “fix the economy” which is untrue, everything will become more expensive, groceries will continue to get more expensive, housing will be unaffordable for everyone including the upper middle class. The working class will experience higher taxes. The poor will have less than nothing. Women will no longer have rights to their own body and healthcare. Consent will be entirely taken away from women and young girls, especially women and girls of colour. Abortion will be banned. Which will cause more deaths. Child abuse and neglect will become more common. Women will be charged for murder in some states for getting an abortion or miscarrying. Doctors will lose their licenses for saving lives. Birth control will be banned (likely including condoms) This does not mean abortions will stop, they will become more dangerous and experimental. This will effect men too. Violence and crime will be at an all time high. Education will be ripped out of our hands. If you voted for Donald Trump, block me, I do not want white supremacists/Neo Nazis following me, this is not a safe space for you. I do not want to be surrounded by people who would rather want a Rapist Felon instead women in power. Donald Trump is a disgusting man who will only cause harm. If you support trump you are in a cult. If you voted for Kamala or were too young to vote I feel for you, I am angry for you, I am grieving for you.

Sincerely: A very angry Canadian 🖤

[ivankahasbeentreatedsounfairly]

By Michael GoldMaggie Haberman and Shane Goldmacher

With two days left in his third presidential campaign, former President Donald J. Trump told supporters at a Pennsylvania rally on Sunday that he “shouldn’t have left” the White House at the end of his term, escalated his unfounded claims of voter fraud and said “I don’t mind” if reporters are shot at.

With the remarks, Mr. Trump used the final days of his campaign to offer voters a stark reminder of the violence that came at the end of his term when, after weeks of his false claims that he had won an election he had lost, a mob of his supporters stormed the Capitol to try to prevent the certification of President Biden’s victory.

Mr. Trump has not committed to accepting the 2024 election results unless he believes they are fair, and he has repeatedly suggested in recent weeks that the only plausible explanation for him losing in 2024 would be if Democrats “cheat.”

On Sunday, at an airport in Lititz, Pa., Mr. Trump diverted from a closing argument about the stakes of the race with Vice President Kamala Harris and instead, his voice audibly hoarse and his speech sluggish, indulged in his personal grievances as he called the Democratic Party “demonic.”

Reflecting on the state of border security at the end of his tenure, Mr. Trump said he regretted ever leaving office.

“I shouldn’t have left, I mean, honestly,” Mr. Trump said, adding, “we did so well, we had such a great—” and then cut himself off. He then immediately noted “so now, every polling booth has hundreds of lawyers standing there.”

The remark echoed what Mr. Trump told some aides within days of his 2020 election loss: that he wasn’t going to leave the White House.

“I’m just not going to leave,” Mr. Trump told one aide. He told another, “We’re never leaving,” and added: “How can you leave when you won an election?”

His renewed focus on denying the last election’s result was not the only dark note in his speech on Sunday, the first of three stops he is making in the penultimate day of the race. At one point Mr. Trump was discussing the protective glass that has encased him at outdoor rallies since he survived an assassination attempt in Butler, Pa., on July 13.

blob:https://www.tumblr.com/201cc9cd-eeb3-48d4-92b1-2fc65d57dfbd

“To get to me, somebody would have to shoot through fake news, and I don’t mind that much, ’cause, I don’t mind. I don’t mind,” he said, as some in the crowd laughed and howled.

Later, acknowledging a gap in the protective glass, he gestured to the press area. “They’re my glass,” he said. “Those people are my glass.”

As Mr. Trump approached the end of his remarks, his top adviser, Susie Wiles, appeared and seemed to be trying to have him wrap up his speech.

His spokesman, Steven Cheung, later claimed that the comments from Mr. Trump — who has recently increased his attacks against the news media, called for revoking the licenses of broadcast outfits and said that if The Washington Post disappeared it would be positive for the nation — had “nothing to do with the media being harmed” but rather “actually looking out for their welfare.”

Mr. Cheung’s statement did not address Mr. Trump saying that he never should have left the White House.

Mr. Trump has intensified his use of threatening language recently. He has called for prosecuting a range of people if he deems they cheated in the election, and said that Liz Cheney, a prominent Republican critic campaigning with Ms. Harris, should be put somewhere “with a rifle standing there with nine barrels shooting at her” as he accused her of sending people into battle while not having to risk doing so herself.

Mr. Trump has never been a disciplined candidate, often taking pride in following tangents and at times incoherent digressions.

But in the campaign’s final stretch, he had been making a greater effort to stick to the script that advisers have been urging him to follow: making the argument that the Biden administration had ruined the economy, that illegal immigration was out of control and that only he could improve a country that had gone downhill since voters tossed him out of the White House in 2020.

However, Mr. Trump’s weekend was marked by a spate of new polls showing a tight race, including a Des Moines Register poll showing him behind in Iowa, which his team disputed and called an outlier. Those polls were very much on his mind as he spoke on Sunday morning. Mr. Trump suggested that some polls — presumably the ones tilted against him — should be illegal.

Mr. Trump appeared visibly fatigued on Sunday, speaking slowly and with a scratchy voice.

At his rally in Lititz Mr. Trump voiced disdain for the speech he has been giving during the final stretch of his campaign and made clear his preference for a freewheeling rant. He then made a host of baseless claims of widespread fraud, suggesting he was at the center of a conspiracy to keep him from returning to the White House.

Mr. Trump claimed that voter machines would be hacked, that only Election Day voting and paper ballots could be trusted and that a fair election was one that could called by 11 p.m. on election night. He argued that efforts to extend polling hours to allow more people to vote — something his own party has pushed for in Pennsylvania — were tantamount to fraud.

“I’m the only one that talks about it because everyone is afraid to damn talk about it,” Mr. Trump said. “And then they accuse you of being a conspiracy theorist, ‘He’s a conspiracy theorist,’” he went on, using a singsong voice. “And they want to lock you up, they want to put you in jail. The ones that should be locked up are the ones that cheat on these horrible elections that we go through in our country.”

Mr. Trump has in recent months threatened a wide group of people that includes lawyers, political donors and operatives with prosecution if he wins the election and people have been found to have “cheated” in connection with voting.

He bragged about the size and attendance of his rallies, falsely claiming he had packed an arena in Milwaukee two nights earlier where there had been a number of empty seats.

“Isn’t this better than my speech?” Mr. Trump asked the crowd. Later, he added, “I love being off these stupid teleprompters, because the truth comes out.”

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/03/us/politics/trump-pa-rally-election.html

[qnewsau]

Clover Moore claims record sixth term as Sydney lord mayor

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/clover-moore-claims-record-sixth-term-as-sydney-lord-mayor/

Clover Moore claims record sixth term as Sydney lord mayor

Clover Moore is on track to secure a record sixth term as Lord Mayor of the City of Sydney, claiming victory on Saturday night after what she called the “toughest campaign” she’s had.

Voters across New South Wales headed to the polls for the state’s local government elections on Saturday. Counting of votes was paused late last night and will resume on Monday.

On Saturday night, Australia’s longest-serving lord mayor had an early lead over her Labor, Liberal, Greens and independent challengers.

Cr Moore was up against nine other candidates but with 35,000 votes counted she had secured 37 per cent of first preferences

This was double the closest contender, Labor’s Zann Maxwell, who was at just under 18 per cent.

Cr Moore acknowledged the final result was still some time away but declared she was “winning in every booth” and was on track for another four-year term.

“Thank you, Sydney! I am grateful for your support and excited about continuing the work to ensure our city is the best place to live, work in and visit,” she wrote on Instagram

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Clover Moore AO (@clovermoore)

Clover Moore says campaign was ‘pretty nasty’

Clover told her supporters at the Arthouse Hotel in Sydney, “I think the toughest campaign I’ve ever had. There was a really concerted campaign to try and get rid of me.

“I didn’t think any of the other candidates had anything to offer.

“They said we need a change and fresh ideas. I listened very carefully to hear what the fresh ideas were and there weren’t any.

“There was a sense of real desperation about trying to get me out of Town Hall. That was expressed in the candidates’ forums, which I think were pretty nasty.

“No one really talked about fresh ideas or new policy. They were just attacking me. It was a pretty weird campaign, actually.”

She said affordable housing, action on climate change, Oxford Street and Chinatown as among her priorities in the next term.

Read more: ‘I love the work. I’m a worker’: Sydney Lord Mayor Clover Moore talks to QNews

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[follow-up-news]

Venezuela’s opposition claimed victory in Sunday’s presidential election, setting up a showdown with the government, which earlier declared President Nicolás Maduro the winner. “The Venezuelans and the entire world know what happened,” opposition candidate Edmundo González said in his first remarks. Opposition leader Maria Corina Machado said the margin of González’s victory was “overwhelming” based on voting tallies it had received from campaign representatives from about 40% of ballot boxes nationwide. The National Electoral Council, which is controlled by Maduro loyalists, earlier said Maduro had secured 51% of the vote to 44% for González. But it didn’t release the tallies from each of the 30,000 polling booths nationwide, promising only to do so in the “coming hours,” hampering the ability to verify the results. Foreign leaders held off recognizing the results.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 4.26 (before 1950)

1336 – Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) ascends Mont Ventoux. 1478 – The Pazzi family attack on Lorenzo de' Medici in order to displace the ruling Medici family kills his brother Giuliano during High Mass in Florence Cathedral. 1564 – Playwright William Shakespeare is baptized in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, England (date of birth is unknown). 1607 – The Virginia Company colonists make landfall at Cape Henry. 1721 – A massive earthquake devastates the Iranian city of Tabriz. 1777 – Sybil Ludington, aged 16, allegedly rode 40 miles (64 km) to alert American colonial forces to the approach of the British regular forces 1794 – Battle of Beaumont during the Flanders Campaign of the War of the First Coalition. 1802 – Napoleon Bonaparte signs a general amnesty to allow all but about one thousand of the most notorious émigrés of the French Revolution to return to France. 1803 – Thousands of meteor fragments fall from the skies of L'Aigle, France; the event convinces European scientists that meteors exist. 1805 – First Barbary War: United States Marines captured Derne under the command of First Lieutenant Presley O'Bannon. 1865 – Union cavalry troopers corner and shoot dead John Wilkes Booth, assassin of President Abraham Lincoln, in Virginia. 1900 – Fires destroy Canadian cities Ottawa and Hull, reducing them to ashes in 12 hours. Twelve thousand people are left without a home. 1903 – Atlético Madrid Association football club is founded 1915 – World War I: Italy secretly signs the Treaty of London pledging to join the Allied Powers. 1916 – Easter Rising: Battle of Mount Street Bridge. 1920 – Ice hockey makes its Olympic debut at the Antwerp Games with center Frank Fredrickson scoring seven goals in Canada's 12–1 drubbing of Sweden in the gold medal match. 1923 – The Duke of York weds Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon at Westminster Abbey. 1925 – Paul von Hindenburg defeats Wilhelm Marx in the second round of the German presidential election to become the first directly elected head of state of the Weimar Republic. 1933 – The Gestapo, the official secret police force of Nazi Germany, is established by Hermann Göring. 1937 – Spanish Civil War: Guernica, Spain, is bombed by German Luftwaffe. 1942 – Benxihu Colliery accident in Manchukuo leaves 1549 Chinese miners dead. 1943 – The Easter Riots break out in Uppsala, Sweden. 1944 – Georgios Papandreou becomes head of the Greek government-in-exile based in Egypt. 1944 – Heinrich Kreipe is captured by Allied commandos in occupied Crete. 1945 – World War II: Battle of Bautzen: Last successful German tank-offensive of the war and last noteworthy victory of the Wehrmacht. 1945 – World War II: Filipino troops of the 66th Infantry Regiment, Philippine Commonwealth Army, USAFIP-NL and the American troops of the 33rd and 37th Infantry Division, United States Army liberate Baguio as they fight against the Japanese forces under General Tomoyuki Yamashita.

[jworthingtonreview]

The Importance of Local Elections: Why Every Vote Truly Counts

In the grand spectrum of politics, there's an often-underplayed stage where every community member could be a star—the local elections. Unlike the high-drama of presidential campaigns, local elections seem unassuming. Yet, they have a profound, direct impact on people's daily lives and are crucial to shaping the nation's political fabric. This undercurrent of civic responsibility is where true change begins, and every vote carries a weight far heavier than its physical presence on a ballot.

Forming the Cornerstone of Democracy

Local elections are the bedrock of democratic representation. A single vote can determine the outcome of school board decisions, zoning laws, public safety measures, and countless other policies that frame the fabric of localized living. It's within these offices and corridors of local governance that citizens see the most explicit and immediate influence. School systems, city council, and mayoral positions wield substantial authority to influence the quality of life for communities.

Power to the People

Participation in local elections is not just a right; it's an opportunity and a responsibility. Unlike federal elections where the path to victory often relies heavily on party politics and mammoth-sized campaign budgets, local elections can be deeply personal and community-focused. They offer an arena where citizens can engage directly with candidates and issues, fostering a localized sense of political activism.

Amplifying Community Voices

Communities are dynamic organisms, continually evolving in response to social, economic, and environmental changes. Local government acts as the voice of reason within this cacophony—balancing individual rights with collective well-being. Each vote in a local election is a shout-out for the values and visions that community members hold dear. It informs policy-making that is not just reflective but responsive, ensuring that the laws of the land are as diverse and dynamic as the people they govern.

The Ripple Effect in Action

The impact of local elections is not confined to neighborhood fences and street corners. What starts as a polling booth decision can lead to broader trends and movements that shape national politics. Many prominent political figures began their careers in local office, using it as a springboard for broader impact. Local election outcomes also serve as a temperature check for the larger political climate, often heralding the winds of change that might sweep through state and national elections.

Empowerment in Knowledge

For first-time voters, navigating the electoral process can seem daunting. Understanding where and when to vote, how to register, and the significance of local positions can be overwhelming. The key to overcoming this political paralysis is knowledge. Being informed about the candidates, their platforms, and the importance of procedural aspects like early voting or absentee ballots can empower individuals to make their vote count.

Elections are not just about numbers, but narratives—stories of a collective forging shared destiny through the power of the ballot. In the mosaic of democratic processes, every local election is a mosaic piece, unique yet connected, to paint the picture of our nation's civic health and future. This understanding is what urges us, as citizens, to not just participate but to eagerly engage in the direction our localities and our country move in. After all, democracy is not a spectator sport, and the game is won not by cheering from the sidelines but by the collective action of every participant.