#high-stakes examination security

[townpostin]

Modi Govt Saved NTA Skin Before Supreme Court: Dr. Ajoy Kumar

Former MP Criticizes Verdict, Questions Government’s Stance on Paper Leak Responsibility In the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision not to order a re-examination of NEET UG 2024, concerns have been raised about the integrity of the testing process and the impact on aspiring medical students across India. JAMSHEDPUR – Dr. Ajoy Kumar, the former MP from Jamshedpur, has slammed the central…

[jenosbliss]

pairing. agent!reader x agent!haechan | genre. enemies to lovers | wc. 2.2k | warnings. none except mentions of gunshots | requested. here

You always thought Haechan was more of a problem than a solution.

From the moment you were paired together as partners in the agency, you had clashed. Where you were precise and calculated, he was reckless and unpredictable. He had a smirk that could infuriate you within seconds and a habit of throwing out snide comments at the worst possible moments.

He was everything you despised in a partner. Every mission with him felt like a battle—except instead of fighting the enemy, you were fighting the urge to throttle him.

For three years, you’d been stuck with him—on every mission, in every briefing, and in every shared debriefing room. Every single time, he managed to both annoy and outperform you. And you hated it.

No, you hated him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The truth was harder to face. Haechan wasn’t just annoying—he was good. Too good. He was brilliant under pressure, and no matter how much he mocked you or teased you, he always had your back when it counted. That might have been the most infuriating thing about him.

But liking him? Admitting that you admired him, even for a second? That would never happen. Not if you could help it.

He thrived on pushing your buttons, from his arrogant smirks to his snide remarks. It didn’t matter how high-stakes the mission was; Haechan always found a way to get under your skin. And yet, for some reason, your superiors kept pairing you together. You balance each other out, they’d said. Your focus and his resourcefulness make you an excellent team.

You didn’t see it that way. To you, Haechan was a liability. A walking, talking headache.

But tonight? Tonight was going to test every boundary you had.

The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a secure facility, retrieve classified intel, and get out undetected. Simple. Clean. A mission you could’ve completed on your own if the agency didn’t insist on sending Haechan with you.

The two of you had argued in the car on the way there, as usual.“You’re not taking point,” you said firmly, checking your weapon.

“Why not?” Haechan leaned back in his seat, his legs spread lazily as if the mission was just another stroll through the park. “Because you’re reckless,” you snapped. “And you’re uptight,” he shot back, grinning. “We’re a perfect match.” Your jaw clenched. “You’ll follow my lead, or I swear—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, leaning closer. “Yell at me again? Go ahead. It’s kind of hot when you talk back.” You glared at him, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t want to examine. “Inform Jaemin to be ready with the car at the end of the third alley.” You muttered getting out of the car and Haechan just smirked following your suit. “Already did Princess” 

God! You absolutely hated him.

The facility’s interior was cold and sterile, the hum of machinery filling the silence as the two of you navigated the dimly lit hallways. Your footsteps were soft, your breaths measured as you scanned for signs of movement.

“The server room should be up ahead,” you whispered, glancing at the map on your wrist display.

Haechan nodded, his eyes darting around as he took in the surroundings. Despite his constant teasing, you couldn’t deny that he was good at what he did. His movements were fluid, his reflexes sharp, and his ability to stay calm under pressure was something you begrudgingly admired.

As you approached the server room, you stopped, holding up a hand to signal him to halt. A security camera was mounted on the wall, its lens sweeping back and forth.

“Wait for it,” you murmured, your heart pounding as you timed its movement. The moment the lens turned away, you darted forward, disabling the camera with a quick tap on your wrist display.

“Impressive,” Haechan said as he followed. “Almost like you know what you’re doing.” You ignored him, walking ahead.

“I don’t like this,” Haechan said, his gaze darting down the hallway. “You don’t like anything,” you shot back. “Yeah, well, something’s off,” he said, his voice tighter now.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the sound of boots echoed in the distance. Haechan stiffened yanking you back. You stumbled into him, your back colliding with his chest.

“Get behind me,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

“What—”

“Get. Behind. Me.”

Something in his tone made you obey without question.

A group of guards appeared at the end of the hallway, their weapons raised. Before you could even process what was happening, Haechan stepped forward, his gun already aimed.

The next few seconds were a blur of gunfire and movement. Haechan was quick, his aim precise as he took down each guard with terrifying efficiency. You watched, frozen, as he moved with the kind of confidence and control you rarely saw in the field.

When the last guard fell, he turned to you, his breathing heavy. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

You nodded, your throat dry. “I’m fine.”He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “Don’t scare me like that again.” You blinked, taken aback by the raw emotion in his voice. “I—”

“Let’s go,” he said, cutting you off as he grabbed your hand again.

You thought you were safe when you reached the control room, but the moment you stepped inside, you knew something was wrong. It felt quite too easy to retrieve the intel. The server room was small and unassuming, its walls lined with blinking lights and rows of humming machinery. You worked quickly, plugging in your device to extract the intel.

Haechan stood by the door, his weapon drawn, his body tense as he kept watch. The playful smirk he usually wore was gone, replaced by a look of intense focus.

“How much longer?” he asked, his voice low. “Two minutes,” you replied, your eyes glued to the screen. “That’s two minutes too long,” he muttered.

You ignored him, your fingers flying over the keyboard. The progress bar crawled forward agonizingly slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. The moment there was green ‘completed’ pop up on the screen you smiled quickly removing your device as you whispered to Haechan “Done.” He nodded and carefully stepped out of the server room.

Then there was it…

The first shot rang out, shattering the silence and kicking your instincts into overdrive. Haechan moved like he was made for chaos, his body a blur of precision and control. He fired with deadly accuracy, each shot taking down another guard as you covered his back. But there were too many.

“Go left!” he shouted, shoving you toward an open corridor. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, his smirk returning despite the gunfire. “Just don’t slow me down.”

You didn’t have time to argue. You sprinted down the corridor, your heart hammering in your chest. But you didn’t get far.

A guard stepped out of the shadows, grabbing you from behind and slamming you against the wall. Your gun clattered to the ground as his grip tightened around your arm.

“Touch her, and you’re dead,” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. The guard hesitated, and in that split second, Haechan took the shot. The man crumpled to the floor, his grip on you loosening as you stumbled forward.

“You okay?” Haechan asked, his hands steadying you. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t look fine,” he said, his gaze scanning you for injuries.

“Can we save the commentary for later?” you snapped, stepping away from him.

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Stay close,” he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument. Haechan’s grip on your wrist was firm as he led you through the labyrinth of hallways, dodging guards and weaving between crates and machinery. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could barely hear the shouts behind you. Suddenly you saw more guards marching in your direction. Haechan shoved you behind a pillar, his body shielding yours as he fired back. The heat of him against you, the sheer intensity in his gaze as he protected you—it made your breath hitch in a way that had nothing to do with fear. “Stay behind me,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos.“No,” you said, your own weapon raised. “I can handle myself.”

“Damn it, Y/N!” he snapped, his eyes blazing. “Why can’t you just let me protect you for once?”

“Because I don’t need you to!” you shouted back. “Yell at me again,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “and I’ll give you a real reason to scream.”

The tension between you was palpable, even in the midst of the fight. But there was no time to dwell on it. As he took the guards down you both moved ahead finding a potential exit. The two of you burst through a set of double doors and onto the roof, the cool night air hitting you like a slap in the face. The city lights stretched out below, a dizzying reminder of how high up you were. “This was your plan?” you asked, your voice tinged with panic as you looked around. “There’s no way down from here!”

“Relax,” Haechan said, pulling a grappling device from his belt. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re kidding,” you said, eyeing the device warily. He smirked, his confidence infuriating as always. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Before you could argue, the sound of footsteps echoed behind you. You spun around, your weapon raised, as more guards spilled onto the roof.

“We’re out of time,” Haechan said, tossing you the grappling hook. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Use it to get out of here,” he said, firing at the advancing guards. “And leave you behind?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised. You attached the hook to the edge of the roof, your heart pounding as you prepared to rappel down the side of the building. he drop was dizzying, the ground far below illuminated by the glow of streetlights.

The sounds of gunfire faded as you neared the ground, replaced by the rush of blood in your ears. When your feet finally touched solid ground, you looked up, your chest tightening as you saw Haechan still on the roof, firing at the remaining guards.

“Haechan!” you shouted, your voice breaking. Moments later, he secured his own grappling hook and leapt off the roof, the rope unspooling as he descended rapidly.

Your breath caught as he landed beside you, his chest heaving, his face streaked with sweat and dirt.

“Miss me?” he asked, flashing you a tired grin. “Shut Up” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of relief and anger.

The two of you didn’t stop running until you were several blocks away, getting inside the car Jaemin had already parked. Without wasting a second Haechan drove off, getting away from the chasing guards as soon as he could. The car ride was silent, as he drove to the secret headquarters of the security agency. You gave your superior the intel you both somehow managed to retrieve. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, breaking the silence as you turned around the corner and into an empty hallway after exiting your superior’s office.

“Believe what?” he asked, leaning against a crate. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room. “Every mission with you turns into a disaster. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to work with someone who doesn’t take anything seriously?”

He frowned, his playful demeanor fading. “You think I don’t take this seriously?”

“Obviously not,” you said, turning to face him. “All you ever do is joke around and make everything harder for everyone else.” His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. “You think this is easy for me? Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand next to you every day, knowing you hate me?”

You froze, his words catching you off guard. “What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice softer now. He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Forget it,” he said, turning away.

“No,” you said, stepping closer. “What do you mean?” He exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. “Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You hesitated, your heart pounding. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. “All I’ve ever wanted,” he said quietly, “is for you to trust me. To look at me the way you look at anyone else. All I want is for you to see me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the vulnerability in his voice breaking through every wall you’d built between you.

“Haechan…”

Before you could finish, he stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fiery, desperate, filled with all the anger, frustration, and unspoken emotion that had been simmering between you for so long. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as you tangled your fingers in his hair, giving as good as you got.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“This changes everything,” you whispered. “Maybe,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “But at least now, we’re on the same side.”

The mission might have been a disaster, but for the first time, you didn’t mind.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv navigation.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Elite Serial Killer (2)

Part 1

Like frightened deer you scatter

In your opinion, you get pretty far

At one point climbing up high to see where the lights of the small town were

You were making great time 

“(Y/n)! Down here!”

The sun was rising and while you were hesitant you did go to meet ‘Piggie’

She seems high-spirited for such a horrible situation

But she shares the berries she’s found that weren’t poisonous

And clues you in on some helpful camping knowledge

So you’re none the wiser when you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head 

 Waking bleary-eyed to the tight hold of a bloody rope around you 

The sun has long since set and all you can gather is that you're tied to a tree 

You hesitate to call for the girl only for somebody’s nails to dig into your scalp

It's her and she looks deranged covered in dirt and blood (it doesn’t look like it's hers)

Being sure to throw rocks and kick at you for emphasis she explains how she already knows the major twist of this hunt

They own the town 

No help would have been given if you had arrived there

Or even to the airport 

So she says she’s going to stand her ground to entrap them the second they come for the bait

And the bait just so happens to be you

When you ask her why it’s because she hates your pity

“At least when they kick me in the dirt they have the decency to know I belong there!”

She sounds demented 

But determined

So much so you’re sure if this was a movie she’d be the 'final girl'

But you’re here so that’s not happening

Hearing sticks snap and bushes shake you’re sure they’re on the way

So you shut your eyes in fear

Saying your final prayers as you feel the heat of another person stalking up to you

“How disappointing I expected you to get farther.”

It sounds like something he’d say before lobbing off your head

So you prepare for the oncoming blow 

Only to hear a shotgun fire off 

‘Piggie’ screams

So you look up to see Wille grinning madly in that direction before turning back to you 

He holds your face gently but firmly

Turning your head as he examines you 

“She really did a number on you.” 

He sighs snapping his fingers 

An unknown masked person cuts through the ropes 

Holding you on their back and securing the back of your knees

“Take them back to my room and patch them up I’ll gladly delight in my prize once I’ve finished.”

Wille takes off in a giddy sprint as he watches another masked servant drive off in a quad bike with you on the back

Now that the only real stake in this hunt is out he can really let loose

He’s been doing this for a long while

Enticing the masses at whatever new college or preparatory school he could 

Providing a plentiful harvest for his family 

And it’s great for a while but unfortunately, he just hasn’t found what’s missing 

His mother and father have each other and their pets respectively

His brother does as well

And then his sister…well she enjoys just hunting

But he was never like her

He took care of his appearance more, grew his hair long, and wasn’t pretending to be an apathetic prick

Though he could see how easy it was to become that way

He hates how forward people are when they want something from him or his family

He does admire the tenacity of the poor

But among the fellow rich? 

Absolutely unforgivable

He can only imagine the terrified faces he stalks being that of those hated elites

And of course, in the midst of a mission to harvest is when he becomes aware of you

It’s not really any one thing you do 

You just happen to exist close enough to his latest harvest grounds

It’s not your college but something of a rival school

And all it takes is one mutual and he’s whipped

Suddenly he’s decided that you're the perfect one for him

The prize  that’s greater than anything he could buy

To be Continued

[bunnyb0ne]

The second post, yuppie! This time I bring you my Dialtown children, exactly two of them. I have more, but these two are the most complex and I've actually put a lot of thought in them.

This is M. O. N. O (Многофункциональный-Модуль-для-Охраны-и-Наблюдения/Multifunctional-Module-for-Security-and-Surveillance). It works as a guard/policeman and is very efficient at its job. It is well-trained, disciplined, and even kind of scary to its clients and coworkers.  However, this is its 'job mode.' This is exactly why it behaves and talks like a robot during his shift—I guess you can call it a coping mechanism. During work hours it must always be ready to jump into action and sometimes behave in a violent way. It must fight and act aggressively to protect people, but in reality he's a gentle and kind soul known as Adam—the name his mother gave to him. By 'pulling a switch,' Adam allows himself to quickly shut off any emotions or feelings that might get in the way and become M. O. N. O.  The module itself was created by his father, who always taught his son to be not just a man, but a brave soldier.  Adam is afraid that one day M. O. N. O won't turn off in time and it will result in a serious accident, but so far things go well. I actually didn't have much lore for him, but the more I think, the more I like him. His neck is supposed to be a pole completely covered with wires, but I don't have the skill to depict this.  M. O. N. O has a full vision on all of its cameras. If it loses its vision on all three cameras, it will be able to fully see with the fourth one.

Hunter Hunter (same name as the surname AND the fan itself is called Hunter as well lol) is a former host of a controversial show, 'Thrill of the Hunt,' and a reporter and a journalist who currently works at Dialtown News Network.  He is just 23 years old, but has been through a lot because of his former workplace. Extreme sports, spider-scorpion-beetle-eating, stupid but crazy challenges, near-death experiences, and so on. This continued until the last episode, when the stakes became so high for everyone that he couldn't take it anymore. He got injured, more mentally, but also physically, left the channel, and his hometown to find some peace in a quiet and seemingly peaceful Dialtown. Hunter is an introvert who is not afraid to talk to people but gets tired of long, empty chatter. He can be seen as cynical and cold, and he is to some extent. He thinks pretty highly of himself and is fixated on an idea of improving his mind and body and meeting people who are on the same or higher level than his. He also heavily implies that he's normal and definitely-not-freaky, but... do you believe people who say that? His main hobby is gardening; he keeps a small company of plants at home and takes care of an ant farm and his hissing cockroach, Ashley III, who is named after his school crush. He often goes for one-night stands and avoids deep relationships as he's still holding on to the idea that one day he'll meet Ashley again and they'll fall in true love. I have more info on Hunter, but I'm not sure if anyone is interesting, so I don't wanna bother translating it. He is my 'main' OC, so I hope you like him too!

+ some artworks from my dear mates @karfecc-dreamer and @alexzahhak!! Hunter being handsome in a suit (he almost always wears those, actually), Hunter being...uhh...examined by Gingi, I guess, and a chibi-smol-bean Huntw aww how c00t!

[formulaphoe]

the brutality and unfairness of formula 1

image source: f1

formula 1 is often hailed as the pinnacle of motorsport—a glamorous world filled with speed, technology, and the elites of racing. yet beneath the polished surface lies a brutal reality that often leaves drivers and teams at the mercy of ruthless decisions and the cold calculus of performance. with the controversies surrounding recent driver sackings and the ever-looming shadow of financial disparity, it's high time to examine why many argue that f1 is not a fair sport.

ruthless reality

image source: williams racing

just recently, valtteri bottas made headlines by bluntly stating that formula 1 is "not a fair sport." this sentiment resonates deeply with fans and insiders alike, especially in light of the way teams handle their drivers. for instance, williams' mid-season decision to replace logan sargeant has raised eyebrows and sparked heated debates. was it a ruthless move? or was it justified based on performance? the circumstances around logan's sacking were especially harsh, underlining the pressure to deliver results in a sport that doesn't tolerate anything below excellence.

these decisions are just business, but they reflect a culture where loyalty and patience often take a backseat to immediate results and instant gratification. a planetf1 analysis of f1 driver sackings reveals a history of brutal firings that underscore the cutthroat nature of the sport. one moment a driver is a team's new big thing, and the next they can find themselves out of a job—often with little explanation and even less sympathy.

money talks

image source: planetf1

one of the most damning realities of formula 1 is the pervasive influence of money. while talent is certainly a necessity for success, it's increasingly clear that without financial backing, even the most skilled drivers can find their careers stymied. talent alone isn't enough—financial resources play a critical role in a driver's future on track.

the narrative is all too familiar: drivers from wealthy backgrounds secure seats, while those without such financial support are often left scrambling for alternatives. the talent pool is vast, but the pathways to success are often barricaded by financial constraints, leaving many deserving drivers in the dust.

pressure cooker environment

image source: f1

the intense pressure in f1 extends beyond just performance; it creates a hostile environment where mental health often takes a back seat. with every race being a high-stakes affair, the neverending pressure to perform can lead to a decline in mental health, resulting in public scrutiny and harsh critiques from fans and pundits alike.

this culture can be devastating, particularly for young drivers like sargeant, who may not yet have developed the thick skin required to withstand the scrutiny that comes with the job. in a sport where every mistake is magnified, the fear of failure looms large, creating a vicious cycle of anxiety and poor performance.

a system rigged against fair play

image source: valtteri bottas

as bottas pointed out, the very structure of f1 seems rigged. with teams prioritising sponsorship over pure driving skill, the sport can sometimes feel more like a corporate machine than a celebration of racing talent. the narrative that emerges is one where drivers are mere cogs in a vast, profit-driven engine—evaluated not just on their ability to race, but on their marketability and financial backing too.

this is a trend that not only alienates talented drivers, but also undermines the essence of competition. when financial clout trumps sheer talent, fans are left wondering if they are witnessing trye sporting excellence or merely a financial showcase.

a call for change

image source: reddit

the brutality and unfairness of formula 1 cannot be ignored. as we witness the rise and fall of drivers like logan sargeant and daniel ricciardo and hear the stark words of valtteri bottas, it's clear that something needs to change. the sport should be a true meritocracy, where talent is the primary determinant of success, rather than the size of a driver's bank account and mental health is valued and supported.

in a world that often glorifies the fast and the furious, it's time to take a step back and consider the humans behind the helmets. the brutal realities of f1 deserve a spotlight, not just for the sake of drivers like logan and daniel, but for the integrity of the sport as a whole. it's high time formula 1 balanced its fierce competitiveness with a sense of fairness, allowing true talent to shine without the heavy hand of financial disparity and mental turmoil looming overhead.

sources

woodhouse, jamie. "valtteri bottas delivers brutal f1 'not a fair sport' verdict after '10 per cent driver' claim." planetf1, 16 aug. 2024, www.planetf1.com/news/valterri-bottas-formula-1-not-a-fair-sport

beevi, zuhrah. "williams replacing logan sargeant mid-season: brutal or deserved?" medium, 28 aug. 2024, www.medium.com/formula-one-forever/williams-replacing-logan-sargeant-mid-season-brutal-or-deserved-b0bd57de94b9

mitchell-malm, scott. "the most damning part of william's ruthless f1 sacking." the race, 28 aug. 2024, www.the-race.com/formula-1/most-damning-part-williams-ruthless-sacking-logan-sargeant/

maher, thomas. "f1 driver sackings: the most brutal firings and bitter disputes in f1 history." planetf1, 17 july 2024, www.planetf1.com/features/brutal-f1-driver-sackings

"the cruel side of formula 1: talent not enough, without money there is no future on the track." scuderia fans, 8 sept. 2024, www.scuderiafans.com/the-cruel-side-of-formula-1-talent-not-enough-without-money-there-is-no-future-on-the-track/

if any errors or typos are noticed, PLS PLS point them out via comment, ask, or dm. if there is a specific topic you would like me to cover, send in an ask and i'll look into it!

[mariacallous]

As U.S. Vice President Kamala Harris was nearing the end of her meeting with German Chancellor Olaf Scholz at the Munich Security Conference in February, she requested all staff leave the room, aside from one aide each, according to a White House official and senior U.S. official familiar with the meeting. 

Amid high-stakes negotiations to secure the release of a number of U.S. citizens wrongfully detained in Russia, including Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich and former Marine Paul Whelan, it had become clear that a Russian assassin imprisoned in Germany—Vadim Krasikov—was the key to unlocking a long-sought-after prisoner exchange with Moscow. 

Scholz had been reluctant to release Krasikov, who was convicted of murdering a Georgian citizen in broad daylight in Berlin’s Tiergarten Park and was serving a life sentence. 

Harris raised the matter with the German chancellor during the Munich meeting, echoing a request made by U.S. President Joe Biden earlier that month during Scholz’s visit to the White House.

“It was in the run of high-level engagements and a back-and-forth that the president and the chancellor were having that Vice President Harris was actually able to sit face to face with Chancellor Scholz and talk through the elements of this,” said U.S. National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan in a press briefing on Thursday.

While Thursday’s historic multi-country prisoner exchange, which saw the release of 16 people from Russian prisons, was the result of years of diplomatic efforts across the U.S. government and in collaboration with partners in Europe, Harris’s meetings in Munich helped to move negotiations forward, according to the two officials who spoke to Foreign Policy on condition of anonymity. 

“The VP certainly moved the ball forward in the meeting with Scholz,” said the White House official. 

Harris also tasked her staff with setting up a meeting with Slovenian Prime Minister Robert Golob at Munich upon learning that the country had detained two Russians on suspicion of espionage, which could possibly be used as part of a trade with Moscow. That made Harris the most senior U.S. official to engage with the Slovenian leader on the matter at the time. The two Russians were ultimately released by Slovenia as part of the trade on Thursday, alongside six others from Poland, Norway, Germany, and the United States.

News of the vice president’s role in the negotiations comes as her foreign-policy record is being closely examined as she emerges as the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee following Biden’s announcement last month that he had decided not to seek reelection. 

In remarks on Thursday, Harris said of the prisoner swap, “We never stopped fighting for their release. And today, in spite of all of their suffering, it gives me great comfort to know that their horrible ordeal is finally over.”

[strawberrysunsets]

The Empty World (Ch. 10)

Donald Pierce x fReader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: The mutant sets out on their first assignment for Transigen, amid mounting tension with the Reavers.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, mention of cannon death, mention of cannon torture, mention of cannon suicide, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: Hiiiii yes tis I another six months later lol hope you enjoy💓

It was late when you woke the next day. The alarm clock by your bed flashed red digits– 3:00pm – and you only had a moment to float in the thoughtless peace of waking before a knot of anxiety settled in your stomach.  

While last night’s encounter with Pierce was still fresh in your mind – a little thrill of revulsion dancing through you at the thought – it wasn’t the cause for your nerves. Nor was it the constant worry over whether Laura and the other mutants were safe. No; the adrenaline mounting in your system as you stumbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth was solely a result of the fact that after a week of waiting, and briefing, and training your injured shoulder back into shape, the day of your assignment had finally arrived. 

You washed your face, drying it with a hand towel before dressing in the uniform you’d laid out the day before. 

You hadn’t lasted long in high school before taking to the road, but you remembered the feeling of walking into a room to take a test you knew you weren’t prepared for. This was something like that. Except you were surrounded by literal enemies, here – not just the disapproving gazes of teachers – and the stakes of this test were life and death. If you failed this assignment, would Transigen even bother keeping to your deal? Or would they decide you were of more use to them chained to a table in a lab than out in the field?

…and if you succeeded? You’d tried not to think about it. But how many lives might suffer the consequences of Zenith Lab’s scientist falling into Transigen’s hands?

You found yourself gripping the edge of the table by your window, your knuckles turning white as you stared emptily out at the view before you. The empty lot, where last night, you'd confronted Pierce. You turned away, massaging your temples. It was an exercise in futility, trying to predict the possible outcomes of your actions. For now, only one thing was certain: as long as you worked for Transigen, Laura and the others were safe. Or as safe as you could make them. And they'd been through enough. You squeezed your eyes shut against the barrage of horrible images your mind threatened to dredge up from Gabriela's video. You had to focus. 

Your mission was simple. 

The target was Zenith Lab’s complex, a skyscraper in the downtown core of Mexico City with a security system designed specifically to keep intruders like Transigen’s agents out. So, for the Reavers to gain entry to the building, that security system had to be disabled. There was only one issue: the security hub lay on the high rise’s twenty-seventh floor, and no aircraft could deploy an air team to reach it without being detected by the lab’s scanners. Something smaller, though–say, a winged mutant–wouldn’t trip those sensors. There was a reason Clark, the security coordinator, had had you memorizing floor plans for a week. 

It would be up to you to take out the security mainframe, allowing the Reavers access to the building.  

Seeing as I’m carrying this whole damn plan on my shoulders, you thought, sifting through the equipment you’d acquired from the recon manager– you’d think this job would at least come with dental. But no; just the slim promise of freedom for Laura and the other mutants, and an even slimmer paycheck. 

You pulled on the bullet proof vest and slotted the taser into its holster at your hip–silently glad they’d only given you nonlethal means of disarming the guards–then examined the final item in your kit. It was an armpiece, meant to be worn like a cuff around your bicep. Upon turning it over, the only identifying information you could find were a barcode and manufacturer’s label, and you scrutinized it for a moment before putting it on. 

A tracker? To make sure you stayed on course? It seemed superfluous, since you weren’t going anywhere with Transigen’s threat looming over Laura and the others. And since Clark had said you’d be out of radio contact until you’d disabled the mainframe to avoid detection, it couldn’t be a transmitter of any sort. What, then? 

You mulled over the question as you made your way through the lab’s stark hallways, even as you mentally reviewed the stages of tonight’s plan. Fly to Zenith Labs. Break in through the roof door, which would be locked but unguarded, then take out whatever skeleton staff were on the nightshift at the security hub. Finally, meet Pierce and his Reavers as they executed the rest of the plan, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Simple, if not exactly easy. 

The rest of the late day passed in the same gray blur as all your days at Transigen, different only because of your mounting anxiety. 

Nightfall found you in the lobby as a Reaver named ‘Kills’ dispersed earpieces to Reavers who waited impatiently by the door or cracked jokes in groups along the walls. There were less than a dozen in total; all the same rough, macho-sadist types who seemed drawn to the Reaver corps like moths to a flame. You stood out amongst them like a sore thumb, even as you tried to make yourself invisible. It would've been hard enough to keep a low profile as the only non leather-wearing, gun-toting one among them, let alone the only woman, mutant, and goddamn avian. As it was, you tried to look as cold and disinterested as possible in order to repulse their attention. Pierce hadn’t yet appeared, and it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that you thought of running into him tonight.

Finally the Reavers began moving towards the lab’s doors, and you followed them out, the night air quickly snapping everything into hyperfocus. 

It was a warm, humid night, and the sounds of the city felt alien to you after days in the quiet sterility of the lab. It felt like ages since you’d last walked a city’s streets, and been a part of that noise. Some part of you wondered if you ever would again. 

Three black trucks were parked in a line down the lab’s drive, and the Reavers were moving around them and climbing inside. Someone directed you towards one, and you climbed inside, pulling your wings in tight to avoid brushing the doors. 

There were five Reavers already inside the truck, and all glanced up as you entered, save the man typing away on a laptop. Their faces were cold and dispassionate, but beneath that mask, you recognized a plethora of emotions. Disgust. Hatred. Malicious interest. Once again, your instincts told you to run –that this was a tiger’s cage, and you were a fool for stepping into it. 

But these assholes aren’t hunting me anymore, you thought to yourself, forcefully. They already won. I’m here by choice.  

The truck’s door slid shut behind you, and you set your jaw. Go figures the actual mission would be the least of your problems tonight. These men seemed primed for a fight, and you could feel their sights quickly settling on you. 

“You can sit down here, doll,” a man with a thick bullet-proof vest and an abundance of side holsters said, grinning as he nodded to his lap. “C’mon over.”

You glared at him, and lowered yourself into the nearest empty seat. “I’d rather not catch whatever brain-eating disease you have,” you snapped back, “thanks.” 

“Damned if we gotta work with a fucking mutey,” one of the other men muttered, clicking his gun into its holster emphatically.  

“Hey, she’s on our side, now!” Another laughed. He had stubbled cheeks and a purple bandana tied around his neck. “Gonna help us take out her own kind, just like that albino traitor,” he taunted lazily. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

A hot flush of anger overtook you, along with a sudden sense of claustrophobia at the van’s tight quarters. They don’t get to fucking mention Caliban. For a moment there was a loud buzzing in your ears, and a tide of memories and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Then you shoved the thoughts of Caliban back behind their wall , and turned on the Reavers. 

“We’re not hunting mutants tonight, piss-brain,” you shot back at the man with the bandana. “Did you miss the briefing? I know reading comprehension is above your paygrade, but it’s a fucking scientist you’re after.” 

It felt good to see the man’s gaze darken. “Guess that depends if we find any,” he replied, lip curling in a humorless smile. “Who knows what they’re hiding up there?” He leaned towards you conspiratorially, revealing the line of tattoos that stretched down his neck below the bandana. “Me, I'm hope there’s a few mutts,” his smile grew colder, and his eyes raked over your face in search of a reaction. “It’d be nice to have a little target practice.” 

Heat prickled down your spine, and you didn’t break his gaze. You weren’t going to be baited by this asshole. 

One of the other men–the bald one–was smiling, too; the same lazy malice written on his face as he watched you. “It has been a while since we got some hunting in,” he agreed. “Heard those kids gave quite the chase. But I’m sure ol’ Wolvey took the cake.” 

Your skin flushed hotter before you could get a handle on yourself. 

“How many shots did he take before he went down?” The bald man continued, turning to the other quizzically as bandana-man pursed his lips in thought. “Fuck, gotta be two-dozen?” He smiled, turning his gaze back to you as he let out a low whistle. 

The tension in the truck was thick as tar, and finally even the man on the laptop looked up, glancing between you and the Reavers. 

The buzzing in your mind felt like it was growing louder, like a freight train overtaking you; and all at once, the hot, prickling sensation on your skin resolved itself into something familiar. Something like crackling energy, and an awful golden light lurking just beyond your fingertips. 

The blood drained from your face. 

“You know ‘bout that, feathers?” The first man was asking, leaning forward as if in earnest. “Naw, she wasn’t there,” the other Reaver replied. “Missed the whole thing! Gotta tell her about it.”

What would happen if your powers returned, here and now? If your Ether flared inside this truck?

You had no idea, but you doubted there’d be any survivors. 

And would that be so bad? Some dark part of you whispered, lulling you towards the crackling energy. To end this awful game, and go out with a fucking bang? To take some of these assholes with you? 

Some distant, reasonable part of you was shouting for your attention, but far nearer was the forgefire of everything you’d shoved behind a wall in your mind. It was rage, and fear, and months of unprocessed grief–and that dam wasn’t going to hold forever. 

Somewhere outside the truck, there were voices, and engines revving–but they seemed far away compared to the dark, taunting eyes of the men before you. One little slip, one burst of energy–and they’d be gone, and you’d be gone from this place. 

The stillness of the truck was shattered as the front passenger door swung open, and a familiar figure climbed inside, blond hair tousled from the wind. The man with the bandana leaned back in his seat, breaking eye contact, and the bald man smiled sardonically as he shifted away, too. 

“Boys,” Pierce greeted, his gaze roving over the Reavers before settling on you. “Playin’ nicely?” 

The heat was high in your cheeks, and the buzzing in your mind still grappled for your attention as you tried to regain control. Now’s not the time to lose it, you told yourself, trying to shove the energy back behind its wall. Not with so much on the line. You couldn’t be so selfish. 

You could feel Pierce’s gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye you saw when the man on the computer glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Pierce as they seemed to exchange some sort of information. Pierce sat back in his seat, sighed once through his nose, then swung back out of the truck. You barely registered it when he appeared at your side door, sliding it open and taking hold of your arm as he pulled you back out into the night. 

Too surprised to resist, you landed on the sidewalk, and he shoved the door shut behind you, suddenly cutting you off from the scene within. 

“What are you doing?” You asked dumbly, slowly returning to yourself as he shepherded you down the walkway. Pierce only snorted, directing you towards one of the other trucks. “C’mon, baby,” he drawled, opening its door and herding you inside. “We're gonna ride recon.” 

***

The inside of the recon truck was quiet as it rumbled through the city streets, lights and the occasional bright storefront flashing past outside. The radio played a late-night mexican station and the transceiver crackled with brief messages and replies from the convoy, while the man in the passenger seat watched what appeared to be a live feed from outside Zenith Labs. 

They were headed to a drop point, from which you’d get airborn and make your way to the building while the Reavers followed from the ground. 

Pierce was listening to the transceiver's chatter, judging by the tilt of his head, and idly adjusting one of the components of his mechanical arm as the driver wove the truck through the midnight streets. The Reaver Commander wore his usual fatigues, black t-shirt, and leather jacket; but now with the addition of a kevlar vest, and holsters on either side of his hips. He was ready for a fight; but then again, he always looked ready for a fight. 

Finally, Pierce sighed.  

“I spent plenty of time around soldiers,” he said conversationally, shifting back against the truck's netted wall. “After a while, you learn the look of someone who’s about to break.” He met your gaze briefly, knowingly, as he twisted the metal dial that was his forearm in a series of smooth clicks.

You looked away, trying not to think about what had happened with the Reavers in the other truck. How you’d almost lost control. So easily, so quickly–and still, how the energy behind your mind’s wall seemed agitated, like a pot of water on too high heat. 

“Seen it happen,” Pierce continued. “Watched ‘em puke up their guts, or run for home…usually at the first fight, or first kill. First time facing bad odds,” he smiled drily. “And I wouldn’t care a whit about you going haywire on us,” he sighed, “except I seen what you can do when you break.” 

That day on the overpass. A car wreck, and an explosion of swirling golden Ether. 

You winced, and you could feel your usual composure eluding you. You knew that bits of your feelings were getting through; the shame. The anger. Fear. There was no stopping them. You swallowed, taking a deep breath. The least you could do was try to settle your stomach. There was a chance you might lose control and vaporize someone tonight, but you were not going to puke. 

Pierce was unfazed, staring at you as he leaned back. “Thing is, baby-" His mouth curved in an unfeeling smile. “-there’s a whole lot of people riding on tonight’s little operation. So I'll thank you not to blow the whole thing sky-high before we even get started.” 

“I’m not going to jeopardize your precious little kidnapping mission,” you snapped back. “I’m not going to break.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you returned your gaze to the window as you ignored the hollowness of your own words. 

In truth, you were relieved beyond measure that he’d pulled you away from the Reavers in that moment. You didn’t know what might have happened if you’d stayed, and didn’t want to consider it. Stupid, perceptive bastard. As it was, you still felt like your control was balancing on a knife’s edge–and the mission which that afternoon had felt impossible now felt like a death sentence. If you wanted to get through this, you couldn’t delve into your feelings. You had to do –not think. Not feel. 

“I’m not going to break,” you breathed, repeating it more to yourself than anyone else. Pierce sighed through his nose, not bothering to argue the point, then leaned forward and tugged at one of the straps of your vest, unfastening it.

“Hey–” you jerked away in surprise. His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me help you, sugar. You done it up all wrong.” 

Your breathing grew shallow as he leaned forward, his hands working deftly to pull the strap from its loop.

This close, his stature was even more intimidating than usual; your entire world taken up by his tall frame and thick arms. As if sensing your thoughts, Pierce smirked. His face was shadowed in the darkened car, but you could feel it. Asshole. 

"Easy, baby. Can't have your gear on wrong, now, can we?" 

His arms encircled you as he crossed the straps behind your back, and for a moment the warmth of his biceps pressed into your shoulders, and you could smell the musky, cheap scent of his aftershave. You turned your eyes skyward, ignoring the proximity of his neck and jaw, and tried to keep your thoughts from straying inevitably towards last night. Futilely. Your cheeks reddened. 

Then he was before you once more, fastening the straps tightly; his face shadowed, though the flash of the streetlamps illuminated the skull and crossbones inked across his neck. You made a mental note to mention to him how tacky the tattoo was, as soon as you'd regained your focus. Right now, you were too distracted; torn somewhere between the vile, magnetic pull of him, and the unnervingness of his physicality. Even without his robotic arm, he was frighteningly strong-and exactly the wrong kind of person to wield that power.

Still, his proximity calmed a small part of you by some infinitesimal amount. For even after witnessing your near loss of control, Donald Pierce didn’t seem scared of you. And in some way, that helped you feel less scared of yourself. Even if his character tended to counteract that effect. 

He finished with the vest, and you took a breath, nerves zinging as he leaned away. 

“There you go, sweetheart. All good,” he said, half mocking.

You thought his assessment over, but then his gaze fell to your arm. You’d almost forgotten the armband, but Pierce reached forward to grip your bicep, turning it into his view. His hands were firm; clinical in their assessment, but still the smirk remained. 

“No one told you how to put the damn thing on?” He asked, fiddling with something on the armband so that it clicked more firmly into place. 

“I didn’t exactly get workplace training,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady and unbothered by your racing heart.

The truck was beginning to slow, finally, and you examined the sharp lines of his face in the halflight. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Pierce sat back, finally widening the space between you as he took his radio from the wall, slotting it into his belt. 

“Technical,” he replied. “Keeps your gear from emitting frequencies scanners might pick up while you’re on the way in.” 

You processed this information, idly straightening your shirt as the van rolled to a stop. Sometimes it was easy to forget that beyond the gun-obsessed, vaping, muscle-shirt wearing exterior, Pierce was smart. You'd worked as a mechanic, and were a dab hand at fixing basic wiring and the like-but Pierce was on another level. He'd designed his own mechanical arm out of advanced robotics, along with the enhancements on other Reavers-and seemed to have a disturbingly good understanding of things like energy signatures and transmissions. Power, in the worst possible hands. 

You heard other engines cutting off outside, and Pierce leaned forwards, pulling open the truck's side door as the night wind rushed in. You climbed unsteadily out, wings flaring for balance as you found your footing on the rocky ground. 

The place where the trucks had stopped appeared to be a dusty, dead-end road, slightly elevated from the rest of the city by a small hill. It was bordered on one side by a chainlink fence, and on the other by a grassy expanse which led down towards the roofs of some houses. 

“Now, you do what you gotta do to hold up your end of the bargain tonight, sugar,” Pierce said, swinging out of the truck after you. “No room for anything else. We’re gonna be right behind you.” He grinned. “In spirit, if not in the flesh.” 

The truck stopped across from you was the one from before, and as you watched, the Reavers from within climbed out to lean against the doors or hang from the windows. Purple bandana leaned against its side, while the bald man watched from the open door. His gaze was gloating, but you ignored it. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching you-sizing you up; as if waiting for something.

Pierce leaned against the recon truck, his tall frame impossible to ignore at your back; and you realized what they were all waiting for. 

You. Of course they were going to watch you take off; for you were a freak, and they had front row seats to the show.

A pang of anxiety shot through you at the thought. You'd always known how much the Reavers hated you; hated all mutants-but it was a different beast to feel it. This was truly what you were to them. An aberration; some strange, depraved mistake that nature made, and on which they had the chance to profit. You didn't feel confidant under their scrutiny, but you sure as hell weren't going to show them how much it rattled you.

Might as well make it worth their while, you thought, jaw clenching. You took a few anticipatory breaths, and bounced on the balls of your feet as you worked up your courage.

Just do. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Take the damn sociopath's advice, and do what you have to do to get through the night. 

“Catch you on the other side,” Pierce grinned, wolflike in the darkness. 

Without waiting to reply, you took a running start towards the grassy slope. The air was cool on your hot cheeks as you sprinted, leaving all thought behind. The chainlink fence and red roofs of the houses at the bottom of the slope grew nearer, and then your feet left the ground, and the sudden sensation of weightlessness hit you like a wall as your wings fanned out on either side. 

They’d chosen a good take-off point. The natural updraft of the hill caught you almost immediately, carrying you effortlessly up and away from the shrinking roofs. 

Your newly-healed muscles ached at the exertion, but the ache was dull, dampened by the sudden thrill of flight. It felt like leaving it all behind; like escaping the tethers of your mind, and throwing fear to the wind. 

How long had it been, since you really flew ? But you couldn’t think about that now; only the task ahead. 

Far below, truck doors slammed as Reavers climbed back inside and the black vans pulled away from the drop point. And high above, you wheeled towards the city; focus honed to a single point of intent as you worked to pick out the dark shape of one specific skyscraper among the rest.

Taglist:

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[bulletin-attal-sejourne]

A Oui for Stephane; the Nons for Gabriel

When the executive head met the parliament head in Brussels and Paris, respectively. It's interesting how the roles of the duo have switched ever since Q3 2024.

Time: 241125 - 241127

Bonjour à tous! It's Wednesday, 27 November 2024, a big day for the Eurocrats as the MEP voted for the European Commission for a very slight margin; Meanwhile, the budgetary tightrope walk in Paris could boil down to a motion of censure thus the downfall of the government

Welcome to BAT, for the mid-week recap of manoeuvres, and challenges of the former couple at the heart of power.

STEPHANE SEJOURNE

This morning, the European Parliament has just given Ursula von der Leyen's new Commission the green light. That's...that's it. Regardless of how marginal the approval votes was, after weeks of nail-biting hearings, France's very own Stéphane Séjourné is officially part of the team.

Big shoes to fill. The real challenges begin after the appointment, as Séjourné steps into the crucial role of overseeing Europe's industrial strategy. It's a high-stakes game with Russia, China, and the US all jostling for position. Delivering on VDL's promise of a "holistic simplification" approach (with the sheer annoying amount of Euro-red-rapes we have) and making Europe a global industrial powerhouse (our version of MEGA but less toxic), will not be an easy job.

Green industry is the name of the game. Séjourné will work closely with Spain's Teresa Ribera, the new competition and green transition chief. Together, they'll need to find a way to balance economic growth with climate ambitions, all while navigating the tricky waters of EU competition policy. Expect fireworks! (And not the romantic and fun one this time.)

Speaking of (unromantic) fireworks, some MEPs weren't too thrilled with the Commission's rightward tilt. French Socialists voted against the entire college, protesting the inclusion of Italy's far-right Raffaele Fitto as one of the vice presidents. Not a good sign for the future 5 years of cooperation, really.

Again, this is just the beginning. Séjourné has a busy 100 days ahead of him. He'll need to craft a plan to boost Europe's digital startups and help the continent secure its supply of critical raw materials. Plus, there's that little thing about making sure Europe's car industry stays in Europe. He really needs to get it working, with no effort spared, as he claims so!

(I just realised these three sources are written in 3 different languages. Speaking of European diversity!)

GABRIEL ATTAL

Sainte-Catherine agricultural fair! It was Monday, November 25th. While the budget brouhaha continues to consume the Parisian political class, the former Prime Minister and current Renaissance maestro, might as well recharge himself and ventured into the heartland of France, the Orne region to be precise. Was it a desperate attempt to escape the censure storm brewing in the capital or a cunning move to woo the rural vote? Let's examine the evidence, shall we?

The Scene: Attal arrived fashionably late, a mere 45 minutes behind schedule, but hey, even in the world of cattle auctions, a bit of Parisian flair is to be expected. Upon arrival, he was greeted with the full pomp and ceremony befitting a political heavyweight: local officials beaming, senators nodding sagely, a "parade of television cameras" jostling for the best angle, and the local député, Jérôme Nury, looking particularly pleased with himself1.

The Gifts: Attal was showered with local delicacies: a charming basket of regional produce from the mayor and, the pièce de résistance, a vintage bottle of calvados from Nury, who quipped: "It's the Élysée's official supplier, you need to start getting used to it". Was Nury hinting at Attal's presidential ambitions? ●

The People's Champion: Attal worked the crowd like a seasoned politician, charming the locals with selfies and fielding questions from farmers with ease. Whispers of "You're handsome," "He's so good looking" and "He's really young" followed him as he navigated the fairgrounds. Even the normally stern-faced president of the FNSEA Normandie, Anne-Marie Denis, seemed to soften in his presence.

Master of the Moment: Attal showed a willingness to engage with the issues that matter to rural voters, discussing bovine tuberculosis, agricultural regulations, and the ever-controversial Mercosur trade deal. He even tried his hand at the traditional Sainte-Catherine game of guessing the weight of an ox, displaying a playful side that likely resonated with the fairgoers.

Verdict: The mayor of Briouze, Jacques Fortis, who had previously threatened to resign over the town's exclusion from a rural revitalisation scheme, seemed positively smitten with Attal. He declared the streets "full" for Attal's visit and described the former PM as "very friendly, very simple". High praise indeed from a mayor who, just a few months ago, was ready to walk away from it all.

So, was Attal's agricultural adventure a success? Judging by the smiles, the selfies, and the mayor's glowing review, it seems the former PM made a positive impression. Whether this translates into actual votes in future elections remains to be seen. But one thing's certain: Attal is a master of the political stage, and he knows how to play to his audience of Norman farmers.

It is however a bit more complicated when he is playing 3D chess with a broken board – battling rebels in his own camp, haggling over budget crumbs, and trying to keep a government that looks shakier than a Jenga tower in a windstorm. Former pals? They're already plotting their great escape, eyeing up alternative political real estate. Another day, another drama for our young maestro of mayhem! To let us understand the complexity we shall begin with the topic flying all over TV and newspaper headlines:

Budget Battleground

We need to save!: Prime Minister Michel Barnier, facing a record deficit and mounting debt, has proposed a budget characterized by austerity measures. These include cuts to public spending and, most controversially, a reduction in employer contribution relief.

Opposition from All Sides: The budget has been met with fierce opposition from various political factions. The left, led by the Socialist Party and La France Insoumise, condemns it as "austeritarian" and damaging to social welfare. Meanwhile, even members of Barnier's own "socle commun" coalition, particularly Gabriel Attal's EPR group, are pushing back against specific measures.

Sounds boring right?: Well, let's talk about the stakes. The budget fight goes beyond mere numbers. It represents a struggle for political power and a clash of ideologies. The outcome will have a significant impact on France's economic trajectory and the social well-being of its citizens.

The Censorship Sword

Threat of a No-Confidence Motion: The left has explicitly threatened to table a censure motion if Barnier fails to address their concerns regarding the budget. This motion, if successful, could lead to the government's collapse and potentially trigger early elections.

Marine Le Pen's Crucial Role: The outcome of the censure motion hinges on the stance of RN, which holds the largest opposition bloc in the Assembly. Le Pen has expressed strong criticism of Barnier's budget, threatening to vote against it. Her decision could make or break the government.

A High-Stakes Gamble for Everyone: The censure threat creates a complex strategic dilemma for all parties involved. For the left, it's an opportunity to topple the government and potentially gain power. For Le Pen, it's a chance to assert her influence and advance her own agenda. For Barnier, it's a battle for survival, requiring him to carefully navigate the demands of his opponents and his own allies.

Attal's Role: While Attal is primarily seeking concessions, not a government collapse, the line between the two is blurry. His aggressive stance could be interpreted as a calculated gamble: pushing Barnier to the edge to extract maximum concessions, but risking a censure motion that could empower the RN. Adding to the complexity, Attal needs to manage internal disagreements within EPR. Some members are eager for a showdown with Barnier, while others are more cautious. A misstep could alienate potential allies and weaken his leadership. The management of disagreements is particularly essential when he is facing this problem of:

The traitors

A Resignation With a Message: Martine Madelaine and Sélim Denoyelle, former leaders of the Renaissance party in Charente-Maritime, resigned, citing the movement's "rightward shift." They specifically objected to the government's policies on pensions and immigration, arguing that these measures betrayed the party's original values. This resignation highlights the growing discontent among some Macronists who feel the party has abandoned its centrist platform in favour of a more right-wing agenda.

Minister of Ocean Seeking a New Horizon: Hervé Berville, who served as Secretary of State for the Sea in both the Borne and Attal governments, is also charting a course away from the Macronist core. While he maintains loyalty to Macron, he's looking beyond the current administration, expressing a desire to return to his social-democratic roots. Berville has reportedly been in contact with former President François Hollande and former Prime Minister Bernard Cazeneuve, figures associated with the traditional left and plotting for a solid left wing presidential movement in 2027. He's openly critical of the Macronist alliance with the right, particularly on the budget, which he sees as a drift towards "an Orléanist and bourgeois right."

Your ex's bestman, The Justice Crusader: Gone were the days in the Moines Oyster yard, now Sacha Houlie, still invited Stephane Sejourne as his bestman on his own wedding, emerged as the lead dissenter of the formerly Renaissance AN group, and sat as an independent (after the failed attempt to pull more deputies from EPR) and voiced strong opposition to Gabriel Attal's proposed law on juvenile justice, calling it a "very bad text" that undermines the principles of specialized justice for minors. This time, he was successful. With EPR elected officials Stéphane Travert, Belkhir Belhaddad and Lionel Causse, he significantly amended the text in commission, aligning himself with the left and pushing for a more preventative approach, a move that dealt a major blow to Attal and the EPR group, when the person concerned, very interestingly, was not present in thorough the voting process...

Gabriel Attal would like to make this text a marker. He himself did not show up to defend it. 

And why betray? As the saying goes, "There are no permanent friends or enemies; only permanent interests." Some started with genuine convictions, believing in a transformative vision, but found themselves gradually disillusioned. Others, always pragmatic, view political parties like career elevators – when one falls, they're quick to find a more promising route.

A classic cocktail blend of opportunistic moves with genuine ideological differences. For our future RE Secretary General, the challenge is clear: craft a compelling vision that speaks to the post-Macron era. It's about creating a narrative and direction that resonates with current members and potentially attracts new supporters. The goal is to provide enough clarity, inspiration, and strategic direction to keep the party united and motivated through this transitional period...And possibly even for a new presidency.

fin.

[woodsfae]

B5 S03e15 Interludes and Examinations  previous episode - table of contents 

I don't think we've heard from Ivanova's personal diary before....it's totally possible that I'm forgetting one, but still! Exciting! Hearing a personal entry isn't common on B5 iirc. I will never turn down a peek into Susan Ivanova's head. 

And it's factual, bad news. The shadows have been attacking openly for ten days, randomly, all over the place. And there's an older guy looking suspicious on B5! The younger guy he's talking to I thought was Morden The Asshole at first, but that was just my moderate faceblindness tricking me, I think. 

Ooooo I am excited for the return of Adira! I'm tired, very very tired, of sad genocide Londo. Let's get some character arc in here, and I liked Adira. 

Wait no it is Mordan! Ah! That asshole! 

There's a new alien species reaching out for aid that Sheridan isn't giving much inspiration or help to. Well, I typed too soon: he has contacts and negotiations in his toolkit of resources. 

"I'm not questioning you, I'm saying you're flat wrong!"

is a great line. 

Dr Franklin is definitely still on the sims, but Garibaldi should have been yelled at. The security chief has no place tyring to talk to the emergency room doctors trying to save a patient's life. Get out of there Michael Garibaldi. No room for cops in the operating room, scoot. 

Morden: make your government start more wars or else Londo: I have stared death in the face and said "meh"

Elsewhere...

Garibaldi: I think you should do less legal speed and sleep more. Dr Franklin: I'm going to do more legal speed and sleep less, actually. 

Delenn and Sheridan's interaction made me laugh. And perhaps it foretells of the return of Kosh to the main storyline? 

This Garibaldi/Sheridan foreplay is getting intense. Garibaldi is staging a full-on intervention on the legal level. The hamfisted AA commerical is a little dull for me but could be way more annoying, as far as a storyline goes. 

Morden the asshole is continuing to be an asshole, charming the caterer slash personal shopped Vir was meeting with on Londo's behalf. 

lmao dr franklin. staring into the cold abyss of realizing you really really like coke. 

So Sheridan slash humans see an angelic, glowing figure when they see Kosh. Which doesn't explain why the original doctor from the pilot movie was so affected by a glimpse. Me, I'd be more "huh, glowing kinda looks like an angel...the universe is weird. Stitch him up!"

"You said you wanted to teach me to fight legends? Well you're a legend too." 

LEGENDARY. So legendary that's Sheridan's going to have to fight himself. 

"You do not understand. But you will."

Yeah I wouldn't like to hear that after making a bargain with an inexplicable and incomprehensible higher being. 

I'm too high to follow this space battle at all so it's great to hear Ivanova report that the Vorlons engaged the Shadows and were winning. 

o.O they brought back Adira just long enough to have her killed before she arrived! Morden, you asshole. 

Well, Lord whatshisface of Centaur who Londo half-poisoned. But Morden, ultimately, I'm sure. 

Bye Adira, sorry you got fridged. 

Sheridan's bargain with Kosh paid off, and now he will be alone and without Kosh's help when he goes to die on Z'ha'dum. 

Which is almost as ominous as Sheridan's dream vision. Seeing Kosh, Shadows appearing and disappearing, and then his father-bit-actually-Kosh apologizing for not believing him and ...dying? Seems like if Kosh could see this coming, then he could also arrange for some like, shielding, or some other Vorlon tech for protection. But it is about time for the stakes to be raised and the mentor figure to be killed off in this hero's quest, I suppose! 

The Vorlons think it's a bad idea to announce that Kosh slash a Vorlon? has died. So they're going to send a new Vorlon to replace him?? new character alert! I look forward to meeting Kosh-notKosh-Kosh. 

Londo still buying Morden's shit! Londo's revenge arc is, I glumly foresee, going to include more war crimes, and continue to be sad.  

Hmmm. I didn't expect Dr Franklin to resign! I'll be interested in finding out what he gets up to while he tries to do less speed. 

But not in the next!

[pixel7777]

The Downside of Daring Rescues Chapter 8: Smooth Criminal(s)

⏱️🚨 A daring disguise, impeccable timing, and just a little magical trickery—Darla and the crew take on Candlekeep's most secure secrets. High-stakes tension meets devilish charm as our favorite adventurers navigate danger, deception, and an unexpected reward. 📿🌞

Darla's heart raced beneath her illusory disguise as Sage Evendur. She led their small group toward the restricted section's entrance. This was exactly the kind of moment she lived for—danger, drama, and the chance to pull off something spectacular.

The guards stood at attention as they approached, and Darla swept forward with all the authority she'd observed in the real Evendur's mannerisms.

"Good evening. I'm escorting these researchers to examine some texts on theoretical transmutation." She kept her voice crisp and precise, just like Evendur's.

The moment they crossed the threshold into the detection field, magical energy hummed through the air. A soft chime rang out, and the guards' expressions sharpened.

"Pardon me, Sage, but we're detecting an illusion effect.  No magical effects or items are allowed into the restricted section without special clearance."

Astarion stepped forward, his own disguise making him appear as a scholarly apprentice. "Oh! My apologies." He twisted a ring off his finger with an embarrassed smile. "It's just a minor glamour—helps with some old scars. I didn't realize it would cause an issue."

Darla held her breath as Syl worked her magic behind them. The permanent magic detection field flickered almost imperceptibly—if Darla hadn't known to watch for it, she would have missed it entirely.

"Here." Astarion handed the ring to the nearest guard. "I know the vanity is silly, I just...."

The chiming stopped. The guards examined the ring, then placed it in a chest behind the guard desk.

"You may retrieve it upon exit, scholar." The guard said to Astarion before turning to Darla.  "You may proceed, Sage Evendur."

Darla swept past them, maintaining Evendur's dignified bearing while internally bouncing with excitement. She'd never felt more alive than in these moments of perfect deception, every gesture a performance, every word carrying double meaning. The fact that they were breaking into one of the most secure libraries in Faerûn only added to the thrill.

As they moved deeper into the restricted section, Darla caught Astarion's subtle wink. She didn't dare break character to respond, but she felt the same rush of success in her veins. They had exactly one hour before Syl's suppression spell wore off. The real heist was about to begin.

Darla forced herself to maintain Evendur's measured pace as they moved deeper into the restricted section, though excitement bubbled beneath her scholarly facade. The ancient tomes lining the shelves seemed to watch their progress, their spines gleaming with gilt letters and magical wards.

"That was brilliant," Syl whispered, her own disguise making her appear as a young apprentice. "I wasn't sure the suppression would work—the magic detection field was stronger than I expected."

"Save the celebration," Darla murmured back. "We've got at least three more wards ahead."

Astarion moved with practiced grace, checking corners and listening for guard rotations. His expertise at infiltration showed in every silent step, every careful gesture. When they reached the first locked gate, he produced his tools with fluid efficiency.

"Two minutes until the next patrol," Darla warned, keeping Evendur's commanding posture while her heart raced.

The lock clicked open just as footsteps echoed from the adjacent corridor. They slipped through, Syl quietly dispelling a magical trap that would have triggered another alarm.  They had no scholar's key to open the way, so Astarion and Syl did it for them.

Section by section, they penetrated deeper into the library's most guarded areas. Each barrier required perfect timing—Astarion's lockpicking between patrols, Syl's stack of scrolls of Dispel Magic. Darla kept count in her head, matching the rhythm of their progress to the guard rotations she'd memorized.  One lock, two, the dash down the stairs to give themselves time to deal with the next obstacle.  All ticked along to Darla's careful count… and then the count ran over.

Darla's muscles tensed as Syl knelt before the shimmering ward, her friend's fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air.  Darla had expected to be past this door already, but Syl was still working. The magical barrier rippled with dangerous energy, far more complex than the previous ones they'd encountered.

"How much longer?" Darla whispered, still maintaining Evendur's posture despite her rising anxiety.

"It's not responding to the standard counter." Syl's voice carried an edge Darla rarely heard. "The matrix is... there's something different about this one."

Footsteps echoed from the corridor—the next patrol, right on schedule. Darla's heart jumped into her throat. They should have been through this section already.

"Syl..."

"I know, I know." Sweat beaded on Syl's forehead as she worked. "Just... there!"

The ward flickered and died. Astarion immediately dropped to one knee before the lock, picks already in hand. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the subtle clink of armor.

Darla counted the seconds in her head, matching them to the guard's approach. Ten seconds until he rounded the corner. Nine. Eight.

The lock was proving stubborn even under Astarion's skilled hands. Seven. Six.

"Hurry," she breathed, though she knew it wouldn't help.

Five. Four.

The lock finally clicked. Three.

They slipped through the door, Darla's illusory robes whisking against the frame. Two.

Astarion eased it shut with impossible gentleness. One.

The guard's shadow appeared on the wall just as the latch settled into place with the barest whisper of metal on metal. Darla pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath as the guard passed by on the other side. His footsteps continued down the corridor, fading into silence.

She released her breath in a shaky laugh, though she kept it quiet. That had been far too close. Syl shot her an apologetic look, while Astarion simply straightened his scholarly disguise and moved forward, already focused on their next obstacle.

Finally, they reached their target section. The magical alarm here hummed with power that made Darla's skin tingle. Even through her disguise, she could see Syl's face pale.

"That's... definitely beyond me," Syl admitted.

"As we expected. Now we wait," Darla said, trying to project confidence she didn't entirely feel. Everything hinged on Zee and Dalyria's timing. She glanced at Astarion, who had positioned himself to watch both approaches to their position.

The seconds crawled by like hours as they waited in the shadowed alcove, every distant footstep or creak making Darla's pulse jump. She found herself holding her breath, straining to hear any sign that the next phase of their plan had begun.

The blaring alarm made Darla jump despite expecting it. Red magical lights flashed through the restricted section as a disembodied voice echoed through the halls.

"Attention all visitors. Please proceed calmly to the entrance. An incident is being handled. Your cooperation ensures everyone's safety."

Darla exchanged grins with Syl and Astarion. Zee and Dalyria had done their part perfectly—releasing a cursed tome in the opposite wing would keep the guards occupied for hours. Much longer than they needed.

"Attention all visitors..." The message repeated, its measured tone at odds with the chaos of flashing lights and racing footsteps in distant corridors.

Astarion's fingers danced across the shelf before finding their target. He pulled the leather-bound volume free with practiced grace, tucking it into his robes. He triggered that shelf's alarm, of course, but since one was already in progress…

"Time to be good, law-abiding citizens," Darla said in Evendur's clipped tones, leading their small group toward the exit. The path ahead lay clear—they'd already disabled the magical wards and locks during their careful infiltration.

Groups of scholars hurried past them, all heading for the entrance. Darla maintained Evendur's dignified bearing while matching the crowd's urgent pace. No one spared them a second glance; they were just three more researchers following proper evacuation procedures.

The message continued its endless loop as they passed through each section. "Please proceed calmly to the entrance. An incident is being handled..."

Darla's heart raced with excitement, but she kept her expression appropriately concerned.

Darla maintained Evendur's dignified posture as they joined the crowd funneling through the entrance hall. Guards were stopping everyone, methodically checking bags and patting down robes. She caught Syl's subtle nod—right on schedule.

The crowd pressed close, scholars muttering about the disruption and speculating about the cause of the alarm. Perfect cover. Darla shifted her weight, creating a small pocket of space around Astarion while appearing to simply adjust her robes. Syl mirrored her movement on Astarion's other side.

A whisper of leather armor brushed Darla's arm—Thal, invisible and right on time. She fought down a grin, keeping Evendur's stern expression as she watched Astarion's practiced movements. If she hadn't known to look, she would have missed the slight shift of his scholarly robes, the book passing from his hidden grip into what appeared to be empty air.

"Next group!" A guard waved them forward.

Darla stepped up confidently, allowing the guard to check her robes. Her heart fluttered as his hands passed near the magical components hidden in her sleeve, but Astarion's sewing (yes, the vampire sewed. she was still baffled.) of the hidden compartments was impeccable.

"Clear," the guard announced, already turning to Astarion.

Darla moved through the checkpoint, maintaining her measured pace despite wanting to sprint. Behind her, she heard the guards clearing Syl and Astarion in turn.

They walked until they found an empty side corridor. Darla checked both directions before dropping her illusion with a relieved sigh. The others followed suit, Astarion's scholarly appearance melting away to reveal his familiar face.

"That," Darla whispered as they hurried toward the rendezvous in her guest quarters, "was absolutely perfect."

Back in Darla's room, she barely contained her excitement as Zee burst through the door, Dalyria close behind. Thal materialized from thin air, the stolen book clutched securely in their hands.

"We did it!" Darla squealed, throwing her arms around Zee. His booming laugh filled the room as he lifted her off her feet in a crushing hug.

"You should have seen Dalyria's performance!" Zee set Darla down, gesturing dramatically. "Three guards, all convinced they'd eaten bad fish at lunch. The timing was perfect!"

Dalyria's pale cheeks might have colored if she wasn't a vampire spawn. "Simple medical knowledge and a contact poison. The symptoms were convincing enough to clear the ward room without raising suspicion….  They'll be fine, of course."

"And then—" Zee mimed an explosion "—boom! One ward smashed, one cursed tome, one very angry minor fiend released to take the fall, and absolute chaos!"

Syl crossed her arms, smirking. "Meanwhile, we're calmly walking out the front door like proper scholars."

Darla bounced on her toes, still riding the high of their success. She spun toward Astarion—who stood slightly apart from the celebration—and wrapped him in an impulsive hug. He stiffened, clearly uncomfortable with the display of affection, but Darla didn't care.

"Your lockpicking was amazing! I thought that last door had us for sure."

"Yes, well." Astarion extracted himself from her embrace delicately. "A lifetime of practice has its uses."

Thal placed the book on Darla's desk, their usually stern expression softened by satisfaction. "The guards are still searching the other wing. They'll be chasing their tails for hours trying to figure out how a fiend got into that ward room."

"To think," Dalyria said, examining the tome with reverent fingers, "this could be the key to understanding how vampirism affects the body's natural healing processes."

Zee dropped onto Darla's bed, making it creak. "And all it took was a little breaking and entering! Just another day's work for the greatest adventuring party in the Sword Coast."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Syl perched on the desk's edge. "We still need to actually cure vampirism."

But Darla couldn't help sharing Zee's enthusiasm. They'd pulled it off—infiltrated one of the most secure libraries in Faerûn and escaped without anyone suspecting a thing. It felt like the beginning of something bigger, something truly heroic.

***

Astarion lounged against the wall of Darla's quarters, watching his companions celebrate their successful heist. The wine flowed freely—a decent vintage Darla had secured in advance. He wasn't sure if her confidence in their success annoyed or thrilled him.

"And when that guard walked right past us!" Dal's silver hair caught the candlelight as she gestured animatedly. "I've never seen such perfect timing."

He'd never seen his sister so alive, so full of hope. Her usual careful physician's demeanor had given way to genuine excitement as she outlined their next steps with Master Adelie. Research, experimentation, the systematic dismantling of their curse—she spoke of it all with absolute certainty.

"A toast!" Darla raised her glass. "To the smoothest heist in Candlekeep's history."

Their glasses clinked. Astarion brought his to his lips, sipped, and put a practiced smile on his face.

He should have felt elated. They'd pulled off an impossible theft without bloodshed or violence. No one had died because of them. No one had even been hurt. The thought settled in his chest like a warm weight—when had that started mattering to him? These people, with their easy laughter and casual touches, had somehow wormed their way past his defenses.

Dal caught his eye from across the room, her smile dimming slightly. "You're quiet, brother."

"Just savoring our triumph," he deflected, raising his glass again. But the words felt hollow. Here they were, on the cusp of everything Dal had dreamed of, and he couldn't summon an ounce of her enthusiasm. The realization irritated him. What more could he possibly want? They had shelter, protection, a genuine chance at a cure. It was more than he'd dared hope for in centuries.

Yet something nagged at him, an emptiness he couldn't name. He watched Darla throw her head back in laughter at one of Zee's terrible jokes, and the feeling intensified.

Thal materialized at Astarion's side, their presence as silent as a shadow. "You look about as enthusiastic as a cat in a bath."

Astarion shot them a withering glare. "I'm celebrating. See?" He raised his glass with exaggerated cheer.

"Mhm." Thal's knowing smirk grated on his nerves. "Still thinking about our chat in the courtyard?"

Damn their perceptiveness. Astarion swirled the wine in his glass, watching the red liquid catch the light. "Perhaps you had a point. This—" he gestured vaguely at the scholars' quarters around them, "—isn't exactly what I pictured for my future. Not that I'm ungrateful," he added quickly. "What you've all done for us... I never expected anyone to—" The words caught in his throat.

"To help you?" Thal's voice softened.

"Yes." Astarion cleared his throat. "And I intend to make the most of this chance. Even if I'm not entirely sure what that looks like yet."

Thal's face split into a cocky grin. "Of course I was right. I usually am. Which is why—" They reached into their leather vest and pulled out something that gleamed in the candlelight. "I've been working on acquiring this."

The amulet sang with magic as it dropped into Astarion's palm. Silver and obsidian twisted together in an intricate pattern, thrumming with power.

"What's this then?" Darla called from across the room, conversation dying as all eyes turned toward them.

Thal's grin widened. "Protection from radiant damage. For our favorite daylight-challenged friend."

Astarion stared at the amulet, its magic humming against his palm. The weight of it—both physical and symbolic—left him momentarily speechless. A rare occurrence, indeed.

His gaze darted to Darla, searching for any hint of prior knowledge, but her wide-eyed surprise mirrored his own. For once, the bard seemed at a loss for words.

"I—" The metal felt warm against his cold skin. He cleared his throat. "This is rather substantial magic."

"Had to call in quite a few favors." Thal shifted, almost appearing embarrassed. "Could only get the one, but Dal won't need it here. Plenty of windowless rooms in Candlekeep, and Master Adelie can smooth over any daylight issues that come up."

The implication hung in the air like smoke. Astarion's fingers tightened around the amulet. "And why would I need protection from daylight in a library when Dal won't?"

"Maybe you won't." Thal's lavender eyes met his steadily. "Been holding onto it for a while, waiting for the right moment. Figured you should have both options clear: stay here, help with the cure research, or..." They gestured toward the rest of the party. "The roads are always open. And we could use someone with your particular talents."

The wine glass in his other hand suddenly felt like a prop in a particularly awkward performance. Astarion set it down carefully, buying time to collect his thoughts. The possibility of choice—real choice, not the illusion of it—left him dizzy.

"You've had this... waiting?" The words came out sharper than intended. "How long have you been planning this little dramatic reveal?"

"Since after our first sparring match." Thal's mouth quirked. "When you said there weren't any other possibilities for you. I do enjoy proving others wrong."

Astarion's gaze drifted to Dal, his throat tight. She sat primly in her chair, every inch the physician she'd been before Cazador. The thought of leaving her here alone made him uncomfortable. Yet the library suited her—she'd always found comfort in research and healing. Unlike him.

"Oh, stop looking so concerned," Dal said, rolling her eyes. "I'm hardly alone here. And you've never been one for sitting still."

"I can't just—"

"You can. And you should." Her voice softened. "I have what I want now. A chance to understand this curse, to help others like us. Maybe even cure it." She stood, crossing to him. "But that's my dream, brother. Not yours."

The amulet felt heavier in his palm. "We could visit," he said carefully. "Check that Master Adelie keeps their word."

"Of course," Zee chimed in. "We pass through here every few months anyway. Plenty of work on the Coast Way."

"And you'd have us watching your back," Thal added, their steady gaze fixed on him. "Well?"

Astarion opened his mouth, but words failed him. The possibility stretched before him like an open road—terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"Think of all the locks we wouldn't have to smash through," Zee said, grinning. "My poor axe could use the break."

"And my spell components aren't cheap," Syl added with an exaggerated sigh. "Besides, another blade between me and the rabble wouldn't hurt."

His eyes found Darla last. She leaned against her desk, that infuriating knowing smile on her face. "What do you think, friend?"

Astarion turned the amulet over in his palm, its magic thrumming against his cold skin. The possibility of choice—real choice—made his chest tight with an unfamiliar sensation.

"Well, if you're all so desperate for my company, who am I to deny you?" He affected his most dramatic sigh. "Though I should warn you, my standards for accommodation are rather exacting. No more sleeping in caves."

"There he is," Thal said with a knowing smirk. They took the amulet from his hands and stepped behind him. The silver chain settled cool against his neck, its weight somehow both foreign and right. "Now you look properly equipped for adventure."

"It does complement my complexion rather nicely." Astarion's fingers traced the intricate metalwork, his voice lighter than the emotion threatening to close his throat. "Though I suppose I should thank you all properly. Even if your timing is unnecessarily theatrical."

"Says the man who can't answer a simple question without three costume changes," Darla quipped.

"I have a reputation to maintain, darling." He caught Dal's eye across the room and found only warmth there. No judgment, no disappointment—just understanding. The tightness in his chest expanded into something that felt suspiciously like joy.

How strange, to feel so... light. As if some invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders. Was this what happiness felt like? He'd almost forgotten.

"Though I do hope you realize," he added, unable to completely abandon his usual sharp humor, "that this means you're all stuck with me now. I'm notoriously difficult to get rid of once I've decided to stay."

"I've noticed," said Darla, dryly.

"Stuck with you?" Zee's booming laugh filled the room. "More like stuck listening to your commentary on our fashion choices. I saw that look you gave my boots yesterday."

Astarion's lips twitched. "Darling, those aren't boots. They're crimes against cobbling. I've seen better footwear on plague victims."

"Not all of us can spend twenty minutes every morning arranging their hair to look 'artfully disheveled,'" Syl drawled.

"Don't bother trying.  You'll never make succeed this magnificently." Astarion touched his curls with practiced vanity. "Though I notice you watching closely enough to time it."

Thal snorted. "Just wait until we're camping in the rain. All that careful styling, ruined by the elements."

"I do not camp in the rain." Astarion straightened his collar. "I find suitable shelter, like any sensible person."

"Oh?" Darla's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And when there isn't any shelter?"

"Then clearly someone has failed in their planning, and I shall complain. Extensively. In detail. With references to historical instances of better organization."

"Wonderful." Syl pinched the bridge of their nose. "We've recruited a walking critique of wilderness survival."

"Someone needs to maintain standards." Astarion hitched his chin and looked down his nose at them dramatically. "Though I suppose if you're all determined to sleep in muddy ditches, I could be persuaded to demonstrate proper tent-pitching technique. Assuming you can follow basic instructions."

"There it is." Zee grinned. "The famous Astarion condescension. I was starting to worry you'd gone soft on us."

"Never, darling." But Astarion couldn't quite keep the warmth from his voice. Their teasing lacked the cruel edge he'd grown used to, the bite of mockery meant to wound. Instead, it felt almost... fond.

How strange, to be known and still welcomed. To have his sharp edges accepted rather than used against him.

"To the most bizarre collection of weirdos to ever hit the road in search of adventure. We wouldn't have it any other way," Darla declared, raising her glass. "To new beginnings!"

The toast rang out, and Astarion found himself smiling—genuinely smiling—as he raised his glass with the others. The amulet pulsed warmly against his skin, like a promise of possibilities he'd never dared to imagine.

***

From the journal of Astarion Ancunín

Well, this is certainly unexpected. I'm writing this from my new quarters—and by quarters, I mean a rather questionable inn room that smells faintly of mildew. But it's mine. Mine to choose. Mine to leave.

I keep touching the amulet around my neck, half-convinced it will vanish like morning mist. The magic pulses against my fingertips, steady and real. Protection from radiant damage. Such a simple thing, yet it changes everything. No more ducking through shadows or relying on the cover of darkness.

Dal seemed genuinely pleased about my departure. I should be offended by how eager she was to be rid of me, but... she's right. The library suits her far better than it ever would me. She has her research, her purpose. And now, apparently, I have mine.

Though what that purpose is remains rather vague. "Adventure." How absurd. I spent over a century desperately trying to survive, and now I'm choosing to put myself in danger? Willingly traveling with a group that includes Darla "I'll-make-a-song-about-your-trauma" Daring?

The truly mad part is that I want to.

I should be terrified. I am terrified. But beneath that fear lies something else. Something that feels suspiciously like... anticipation? Hope? (What a dangerous word that is.)

Thal must have planned this for weeks. The amulet isn't some trinket—it's finely crafted, precisely enchanted. To think they saw something in me worth investing in, worth planning for...

No. Stop that line of thinking immediately. They simply recognize my utility. My skills. Nothing more.

(But they could have found another lockpick anywhere. They chose me.)

I need wine. Several bottles, preferably.

A.A.

[rahilask]

Casino Big Wins: Triumphs and Tales of Fortunes Won

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[sarkariresultdude]

NET Simplified: A Step-by-Step Approach to Excellence

 The National Eligibility cum Entrance Test (NEET) is one of the maximum competitive examinations in India, serving because the gateway for students intending to pursue undergraduate medical and dental publications. Each yr, lakhs of candidates appear for this exam with hopes of securing a seat in prestigious scientific faculties across the u . S .. The declaration of NEET effects is a momentous occasion for those college students, as it determines their future professional paths and academic possibilities. In this newsletter, we delve into numerous elements of the NEET consequences, exploring their importance, the procedure of result announcement, and their impact on students’ lives.

NATIONAL ELIGIBILITY TEST RESULTS 

Significance of NEET Results

NEET effects are important for college kids entering the clinical and dental fields. The ratings obtained in this examination shape the idea for admission to MBBS, BDS, and different allied health applications supplied by using establishments in India. Additionally, NEET consequences are also taken into consideration for admissions to AYUSH courses (Ayurveda, Yoga and Naturopathy, Unani, Siddha, and Homeopathy) and veterinary packages in a few states. For students meaning to have a look at overseas, NEET qualification is often mandatory in search of admission to scientific faculties in countries just as the Philippines, Russia, Ukraine, and China.

Given the high stakes, the NEET consequences hold significant importance. They reflect the fruits of months, frequently years, of rigorous guidance. The rankings no longer determine whether a candidate qualifies for admission but additionally impact the selection of university and specialization, putting the level for his or her professional adventure.

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The National Testing Agency (NTA) is answerable for engaging in the NEET exam and asserting its consequences. The process begins with the discharge of the provisional solution key, permitting applicants to project discrepancies or errors. This guarantees transparency and accuracy in the evaluation procedure.

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Percentile Score: The percentage of applicants who scored under the candidate.

All India Rank (AIR): The usual rank secured through the candidate among all check-takers.

Category Rank: Rank accomplished in the candidate’s reservation category, if relevant.

Qualifying Status: Whether the candidate has cleared the cutoff criteria.

Additionally, NTA releases a benefit list for All India Quota (AIQ) seats, which includes the top-performing applicants eligible for counseling underneath the centralized admission process.

Understanding NEET Cutoffs

The NEET cutoff is an important issue of the outcomes, determining the eligibility of candidates for admission. The cutoff scores vary each year primarily based on elements consisting of:

Exam Difficulty Level: A harder paper typically outcomes in decrease cutoffs.

Number of Candidates: Higher opposition often increases the cutoff.

Availability of Seats: Limited seats in medical schools have an effect on the minimum qualifying marks.

Reservation Policy: Cutoffs fluctuate for numerous classes, along with General, OBC, SC, ST, and EWS.

However, securing the cutoff percentile does not guarantee admission; applicants have to also rank high enough to secure a seat in their preferred college.

Counseling and Seat Allocation

Post the announcement of consequences, the counseling procedure starts offevolved, controlled via the Medical Counseling Committee (MCC) for AIQ seats and by using the respective country government for kingdom quota seats. The counseling method entails:

Registration: Candidates check in on the designated portals for AIQ or kingdom quota counseling.

Choice Filling and Locking: Students choose their favored schools and courses.

Seat Allotment: Based on NEET rankings, ranks, and options, seats are allotted.

Counseling is performed in multiple rounds, consisting of a mop-up round to fill vacant seats. For college students who are no longer stable for admission within the preliminary rounds, those extra rounds provide another opportunity.

Challenges Faced by Way of Students

The declaration of NEET results brings a combination of emotions for college kids. While a few have fun with their fulfillment, others face the frustration of no longer assembling their expectancies. Here are a few common challenges faced by way of students:

High Competition: With lakhs of candidates vying for a restricted quantity of seats, securing admission will become a frightening task.

Financial Constraints: Medical education is steeply priced, and no longer all students can find the money for non-public college prices, even though they qualify.

Stress and Anxiety: The strain of acting nicely in NEET and the anticipation of effects can take a toll on college students’ mental fitness.

Limited Opportunities: Many deserving candidates miss out on admission due to marginal differences in scores.

Success Stories and Inspirational Tales

Amidst the extreme opposition, NEET effects additionally spotlight inspiring tales of perseverance and determination. Every 12 months, we come upon applicants who overcome massive barriers to acquire their desires. These tales function as motivation for destiny aspirants, emphasizing the significance of tough paintings, willpower, and resilience.

For example, students from rural backgrounds, fighting economic hardships and lack of assets, often come to be pinnacle performers, proving that dedication can conquer any task. Similarly, applicants who take multiple tries to crack NEET exemplify the price of patience.

The Way Forward for Aspirants

For college students who do no longer gain their favored consequences, it's far essential to bear in mind that this is not the end of the road. Many applicants opt for a drop 12 months to prepare more efficaciously and improve their rankings. Coaching centers, online mastering systems, and self-take a look at strategies can help them enhance their coaching.

Moreover, exploring alternative profession paths in allied fitness sciences, biotechnology, or public health can also be worthwhile. These fields provide promising possibilities and allow students to make contributions meaningfully to the healthcare region.

[imaginesforfandom]

Close Call

summary: after a high-stakes mission, the reader becomes angry at Root for not taking better care of herself when they discovers Root has been injured. To calm the reader's anger, Root surprises them with a passionate kiss, conveying both her apology for not being careful and her gratitude for the reader's concern. The kiss brings the reader's anger to a halt and strengthens their bond, with Root promising to be more cautious in the future and assuring the reader that she'll always come back to them.

Close Call

You had been partners with Root for a while now, working on high-stakes missions and trying to keep up with the enigmatic hacker's unpredictable nature. Tonight's mission was particularly intense, involving a dangerous group that could compromise national security. The two of you had just narrowly escaped a close call, and you were both panting, trying to catch your breaths in the dimly lit alley.

Root had been her usual confident and fearless self throughout the operation, but something about tonight had been different. Maybe it was the way her eyes seemed more focused, her movements slightly less fluid than usual. It gnawed at the back of your mind, but you pushed it aside, too wrapped up in the mission to dwell on it.

However, as you both retreated to a safer location to regroup, you finally noticed it. A gash on Root's arm, oozing blood. You rushed over, your concern immediately taking over.

"Root, you're hurt!" you exclaimed, carefully examining the wound.

"It's just a scratch," Root brushed it off, but the pain in her eyes was undeniable.

"Just a scratch?" Your voice was laced with anger and fear. "You could have been seriously hurt! Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you take better care of yourself?"

Root met your gaze, her own eyes softening as she realized the gravity of the situation and your genuine worry for her. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. Instead, she did something unexpected. She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, silencing your concerns with a passionate kiss.

The kiss was a mixture of relief and frustration, a silent apology for not being more careful and an expression of gratitude for your unwavering concern. As the seconds passed, you melted into the kiss, your anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. Root pulled away, her eyes locked onto yours.

"I promise to be more careful next time," Root whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of your racing heart.

You nodded, your anger replaced with a newfound closeness. "Good," you replied, "because I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

Root smiled, her thumb gently caressing your cheek. "I'll always come back to you," she vowed, sealing her promise with another tender kiss, a promise that made your heart skip a beat.

[legallawsandrulesnyc]

The Role of a Lawyer in an Accident Case in NYC: Navigating Legal Challenges and Seeking Justice

Accidents, whether they involve cars, trucks, motorcycles, or pedestrians, can have life-altering consequences. In New York City, the complexities of personal injury law, combined with the intricacies of local regulations and the high stakes involved, make it essential to seek the expertise of a skilled lawyer. This blog explores the crucial role of accident Lawyers in NYC, highlighting how they can help victims navigate legal challenges and seek justice.

Understanding the Role of a Lawyer in an Accident Case

Initial Consultation and Case Evaluation

The journey typically begins with an initial consultation, where the lawyer assesses the details of the accident. During this phase, the lawyer will:

Review the Incident: Examine the circumstances surrounding the accident, including how it happened, who was involved, and any contributing factors.

Evaluate Claims: Determine the viability of a personal injury claim based on the evidence, potential liability, and the extent of damages suffered by the victim.

Gathering and Analyzing Evidence

A lawyer plays a pivotal role in collecting and analyzing evidence to build a strong case. This involves:

Collecting Documentation: Gathering police reports, medical records, witness statements, and accident scene photographs.

Expert Consultations: Consulting with experts, such as accident reconstruction specialists or medical professionals, to provide detailed insights and strengthen the case.

Negotiating with Insurance Companies

Dealing with insurance companies can be challenging, especially when trying to secure fair compensation. A lawyer will:

Handle Negotiations: Manage negotiations with insurance adjusters to ensure that the victim's rights are protected and that they receive fair compensation for their injuries and losses.

Evaluate Settlement Offers: Assess settlement offers to determine if they adequately cover the victim’s damages or if further negotiations or legal action is necessary.

Filing Legal Claims and Representing the Client

When negotiations with insurance companies fail to yield a satisfactory result, a lawyer may:

File a Lawsuit: Prepare and file a personal injury lawsuit in the appropriate court. This involves drafting legal documents, outlining the claims, and specifying the damages sought.

Represent the Client: Advocate on behalf of the client throughout the legal process, including representing them in court, presenting evidence, and arguing their case before a judge or jury.

Guiding Through Legal Procedures

Navigating the legal system can be complex and overwhelming. A lawyer provides crucial guidance by:

Explaining Legal Rights: Informing the client of their legal rights and options throughout the process.

Managing Deadlines: Ensuring that all legal deadlines are met and that necessary paperwork is filed promptly to avoid delays or dismissals.

Securing Fair Compensation

The ultimate goal of a lawyer in an accident case is to secure fair compensation for the victim. This includes:

Calculating Damages: Accurately assessing and calculating various types of damages, including medical expenses, lost wages, pain and suffering, and property damage.

Advocating for Full Compensation: Pursuing the maximum compensation possible to cover both current and future expenses related to the accident.

Providing Emotional Support

Accidents can be emotionally and psychologically taxing. A lawyer can offer:

Support and Reassurance: Providing emotional support and reassurance throughout the legal process, helping clients feel more confident and less stressed.

Why Hiring a Lawyer is Crucial in NYC Accident Cases

New York City’s unique legal environment and high population density can add layers of complexity to accident cases. Here’s why hiring a lawyer is particularly important:

Complexity of Local Laws: NYC has specific laws and regulations that can affect accident claims, including comparative negligence rules and complex insurance requirements.

High Stakes: The potential for significant damages and compensation means that having a skilled lawyer is essential to navigating the legal intricacies and achieving a favorable outcome.

Insurance Challenges: Insurance companies often aim to minimize payouts, making it crucial to have an experienced lawyer who can effectively negotiate and advocate on the client’s behalf.

Conclusion

In the aftermath of an accident in NYC, a lawyer plays a vital role in navigating the legal complexities and advocating for justice. From initial consultations and evidence gathering to negotiating with insurance companies and representing clients in court, a skilled lawyer ensures that victims receive the compensation they deserve and that their legal rights are protected. By providing expert guidance, handling intricate legal procedures, and offering emotional support, a lawyer helps accident victims manage their cases effectively and work towards a just resolution.

[dertaglichedan]

An effort by Donald Trump to secure a review of a Georgia judge’s order declining to disqualify Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis was scheduled on Monday for an oral argument in October, cementing the likelihood of no trial until after the election.

Fulton County Superior Court Judge Scott McAfee declined to remove Willis from the case earlier this year after Trump and several of his co-defendants alleged there was a conflict of interest following revelations of a secret relationship between Willis and her hired special prosecutor, Nathan Wade. Now an appeals court will weigh the same question later this year on Oct. 4, just one month and a day before the high-stakes presidential election in November

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2023 - Day 27: Sole

He approached his prey with slow, deliberate steps through the snow. Then he was a blur of motion. With a precise, powerful slash of his scythe, the otherworldly monstrosity in front of him collapsed to the ground—he had carved it cleanly in twain. It fizzled for a moment before dissipating entirely in a puff of curling black smoke. Well. Not quite smoke, and not quite aether—whatever this gaseous substance was, all of these creatures reverted to it in their dying moments. A curious phenomenon, but ultimately little more than set dressing.

He examined his weapon. Nothing remained on the blade to even require cleaning it off. He was not sure whether he was glad to be spared of the tedium of doing so, or annoyed at being deprived of something to occupy his time. ‘Tis not as if these hunts were proving any more interesting than polishing the weapon would have been. It probably could not hurt to give it another pass with a whetstone, however.

Zenos viator Galvus was patient, and he could bide his time. But he was frustrated. 

He did not miss his empire. Not as such. It had meant nothing to him in its own right. What point was there in all the political maneuvering, all the wealth, all the laws and yes, even wars, when all it did was set him on a more elevated wheel of futility than the ones everyone else also spun in?

And he certainly did not miss the theatrical Ascian who had latched onto him like a remora. Better to be left to his own thoughts and his own purposes. There was no one left to appease, no more being harangued to uphold his end of the bargain. There was nothing left standing between him and the one, singular battle he craved.

But neither did he have anything left to make it happen.

That was proving to be a conundrum.

All Fandaniel had promised him was a means to secure the attention of his friend. And Zenos did not now wish he had driven a harder bargain. Indeed, the entire destruction of Garlemald, the journey to the moon, the ushering in of these so-called “Final Days”—if they paved the way to the one thing he had ever found any meaning, any reality in, then so be it. The price was not too high.

And the Ascian had been true to his word, at least up to a point. His friend had sought him out for battle in a way she had not since their final duel in Ala Mhigo. He certainly did have her attention.

Everything seemed to be going to plan. Zenos knew he had stoked her anger via their little experiment in Garlemald. And no stakes could be higher than the one he offered to her, threatening to consume and gain the power of the god of darkness Himself. And sure enough, she had come running—ready to fight him, desperate to stop him. It was just what he had been hoping for.

He had known that this “Zodiark” held world-ending power, but he had not really been curious about it, largely taking the Ascian’s word that it was true. Even if he had understood it more fully, it probably would not have prepared him for how Fandaniel would flip the tables at the very last moment.

Zenos only mildly begrudged Fandaniel depriving him of a fight with the eldest of primals. Rather, what he resented was how that moment had spectacularly backfired with his friend.

He could still see it in his memory: the way she stared past him at the pit of swirling red aether. She did not even flinch as he drew his scythe on her, the darkness of the void radiating around him. He was sure he saw hatred in her eyes when at last she did deign to look at him, and so he could not help but feel that they were almost there… So why had nothing come of it?

There they stood, the world doomed to its fate. Surely even in her misguided insistence of finding meaning in that star, there was no point left in returning to save it. They had the whole moon to themselves. They could have their glorious battle. She could discard this whole pretense of heroism and duty and give in to that all-consuming flame that surely even she could not deny had burned when they clashed. 

And yet as he stood ready to challenge her, he saw it in her face and heard it in her silence. She simply did not care. So distracted was she by the beasts at her door that she saw him as the distraction. Even at the end of the world—even after he had brought her this far, and liberated her from her obligations—she still somehow thought she had better things to do. Still she would not simply admit to her baser desires, to allow herself what he knew they both must want.

It was profoundly disappointing.

All that work. All that preparation. All those moons of tolerating the grating presence of that man in the tattered robes. All for nothing, in the end. Now she was out there, somewhere on the star, stuck in her own pointless struggles, wasting time fighting a battle she must surely be doomed to fail.

And he had no cards left to play.

He must needs consider a new strategy. But try as he may, none were forthcoming. But he could not—he would not rest until he at long last secured what he lived for.

So in the meanwhile, he would hone his blade. And he would wait.