#if he wins and the senate and the house goes red then we’re just fucked

[megarywrites]

So disheartened right now i just…

[shurisneakers]

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully,  “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground. 

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close. 

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.  

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn���t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

[exposestruth]

@smallvxlle​​ said : 5 times kissed!!! / @kryptonbound said : five times kissed but for u and jo bc i want to see the cuteness :/

one.

     being queen industries’ ceo was not a risky profession, on the contrary. but the cut on oliver’s arm told a different story. until it clicked on her head, the faceless photos jimmy had taken of green arrow. it couldn’t be possible. it was IMPOSSIBLE. wasn’t it? amongst the chaos in her brain, she couldn’t make her mind. she knew in her heart this could be true but she didn’t want to believe. it made sense but all she wanted was to forget. clark was right though, she couldn’t forget it. she had to be sure. so when he offered to help to dismask green arrow, lois took it as if her life depended on it. little did she knew that both oliver and clark were working together on this. what they failed to prevent was lois’ impulsiveness and creativity. green arrow would never let her see his face, whether he was oliver or not. kissing him by surprise sounded like the right thing at the time. “ your secret is safe with me, oliver. “  and before the fake green arrow could disappear, she jumped on him and pressed her lips against his. he hesitated, and then kissed back. and for a second, she didn’t want to let go. his lips felt like a perfect fit. felt like — NOT oliver’s. still with her lips pressed on his, she opens her eyes and his features are different than what she expected. he’s still familiar... and then oliver’s voice in the background brings her back to reality. it’s not oliver. her instinct reaction is to slap his face but as quickly as her response, he flees the scene, leaving her wonder where she has seen him before.

two.

     she no longer lived at the kent farm but the amount of time she spent there could fool anyone. living with chloe in the talon’s apartment was great. they were like sisters but both of them were busy. and none knew exactly how to maintain a healthy lifestyle. there was always coffee in the house, leftovers from takeout as well. home made meals? it was not a concept they could bring to life. because of that, game nights had become a ritual in the kent house during the weekends. they used to mix up teams, it lowered the chances of cheating or vice. lois’ idea, of course. clark kent would rather have lana or his best friend by his side but tonight he was stuck with lois as a partner. surprisingly, they were unstoppable together. it was the third time in a row that clark had guessed lois’ charade in pictionary. a loud yes is heard, the taste of victory drawing a big smile on her lips. and before anyone could realize what had happened, lois rushes towards clark, takes his face on her hands and leaves a kiss on his forehead. “ see? i told you i was good at this. you only lose when you don’t have a good matching partner, smallville. “   sitting next to him, awkwardness slowly embraces the air. catching his eye, she knows she should have stayed quiet. bless chloe for catching their attention back to the game.

three.

      if someone had told any of them that they’d end up working together, side by side, they would laugh it out. what a nightmare! and yet, lois had been the one to give clark the daily planet’s job application. and he had managed to land the job right next to her. the signs were there all along. but they kept ignoring them. being co-workers and partners had brought them CLOSER than ever before. the usual bickering became too playful for just friends. it was their thing. the longing gaze when the other wasn’t looking, the extra touch to prove a point, the sharing stories that they could handle easily on their own. there was something there, something more.

     she is rambling, something about the new story they were about to break. there were lots of times clark didn’t understand what she was talking about, even with his superhearing. her thought process was too fast for any human to comprehend. and with that comes a fast pacing that he has no other choice than to tag along. she goes into the copy room, ordering everyone in the room to leave by a hand gesture and grabs the documents she had sent to the printer. she keeps talking, about the corrupt senator they are about to expose and before she can make a question —— he presses a kiss on her rosy lips. she is caught by surprise, but her lips follow his. her hands that stopped unconsciously on his chest  s l o w l y  move up, fingers running through his hair as her body is pressed against his. he moves to her jawline, then down to her neck and she gasps for air, adrenaline rushing through her veins and she brings him closer. she wants M O R E. and then a door opens and shuts with a bang. her eyes open and she finds herself in her own bed.  wait, what?   “ lois! sorry, did i wake you? i thought you were already at the planet. “  chloe’s voice brings her back to r e a l i t y.  she looks at the alarm clock in her bedside table and immediately sits up.    FUCK! another dream about clark kent?!  when would these dreams stop getting her late to work??

four.

     he is sat on the sofa, worried eyes locked on the tv. lois gazes in his direction, observing his uptight posture as one hand runs down his face. the vra has taken a toll on him. she can see him struggle, debating whether he should join oliver and sign it or fight it alongside her. it’s a decision she can’t make for him but she hopes he knows he is not alone. crossing the room, she turns off the television, catching his eye as she sits on his lap and his body loosens. a hand strokes his dark hair gently, the silence taking over the room. they stay like that for a little while, no words needed to understand one another. they’re one and the same now, breathing at the same harmony. she then leans in and lands him a tender kiss. resting her forehead on his, she whispers, as if she’s singing him a lullaby. “ you’re NOT alone, clark. we will fight this and we will win. “

five.

     mornings had never been lois’ strong suit. she was a night owl since she was kid, always too energetic to go to bed. which would only mean being late in the morning. growing up, that never changed. she thought it would all change when the kids came to the picture but lucky for her, lois had married a SUPER! clark would take care of everything in the morning if it meant his wife would have a few more minutes of sleep. god knew she wasn’t very good at it.

      at the sound of jon playing with krypto downstairs, she opened one eye before the other. the sun coming through the window, warming her face. GOD, for how long did she sleep in?   “ clark? “   a mumble, searching for her husband’s certainty that she still had time before taking a car to work was out of question.    “ we’re still on time. “    she exhales relief, staying in bed for another second. she smells eggs, bacon, pancakes! what has she done to deserve a husband like clark kent? she gets up, choosing the first outfit that came to her reach and by the time she is ready, ella enters in the bedroom and curls up in her leg.  “ daddy got you ready too! “  she picks her up and lifts her baby girl off the ground, a bright smile greeting her daughter. a longer look at the red and blue blended in her clothes make her heart skip a beat.   “ or maybe not. let’s go baby girl. fashion sense clearly skipped a generation with your father. “    there’s an audible laughter downstairs and she smiles.  after changing ella to a more suitable, less super outfit, she arrives at the kitchen, with the youngest of the kents on her hip.  “ morning! “   she kisses jon in the top of his head as he finishes his breakfast, making her way towards clark.   “ i’ve told you, red and blue are never a good combination unless you’re a pilot with a cape. “    they both lean in, lips parted ready to meet when a high pitch EW echoes in the kitchen. lois can’t stop but laugh at the disgusted voice of her own son. jon had gotten a habit of stopping his parents from kissing, something that was hilarious to her. it made their mornings that much funnier. she steals clark a kiss anyway, their son covering his eyes with his little hands and she turns around to grab a pancake which she eats quickly.  “ chop chop, we need to get going. go grab your backpack, jon. “    he does as he’s told, clark grabs the breakfast bag he had prepared for her to eat on their way to the daily planet while she picks the coffee cup, ready to go. purse, keys: check. not that mr. kent would let her forget. and they leave the house, jon flying towards the car, ella already asleep on lois’ shoulder and she holds her husband’s hand. life has never been better.

[austinpanda]

Litany of Complaint

I feel like complaining a bit! Pardons while I vent. 

It’s my anniversary today! Zachary Z. Giberson and I have been gay married for seven years. I’m not enjoying the day so far. Mostly this is because we spent yesterday watching ...well, watching our government cease to function because a guy wanted to sit in Pelosi’s chair and scratch his balls in order to save the country from the effects of an election his side lost. So yesterday sucked; Trump supporters stormed the capitol building and temporarily stopped certification of the electoral vote, and one Trump supporter got shot and killed, and three others died from other medical emergencies. Zach was, I think, shocked and horrified. My sister was shocked and horrified. I, for some reason, am not shocked and horrified. 

It bothers me that it doesn’t bother me more. But as I watched this bullshit unfold, it all simply seemed like the next logical step. This is what the president told them to do. With his mouth! Right before they did it! I knew it wouldn’t change the outcome of the election at all. I figured they’d break some stuff and steal some stuff and go home after curfew, which they mostly did. I hoped the Congress would then reconvene to finish certifying the electoral votes, and they did. I figured it was just a bunch of republicans making asses of themselves on television, which generally only serves to push things in the right direction, as far as being a democrat goes. Now some republicans who should have acknowledged the danger and sheer fookin’ evil in what this president says and does a long time ago, are finally doing so. It took until now, but it seems like the vice president and Mitch McConnell have publicly joined me in my belief that the outcome of the election was fair and legitimate. 

And nothing changes. They arrested a bunch of people; I’m curious how many will serve time. I wonder how many would have been shot if they’d been black. I wonder if they’d have made it into the building if they were black. The president has already said he loves them, the ones who stormed the capitol on his behalf. Cheeto hitler now seems about 10% more likely to vacate the White House on the 20th, like he’s supposed to, without barricading himself into the oval office with a pillow fort and daring the secret service to do something about it. The president got banninated from Twitter...for 12 whole hours. He temporarily lost a few friends and privileges that he was going to lose on January 20th anyway. We even took the senate, by winning both Georgia runoff races. Do I think it’ll result in anything that makes my life a little easier? ...I dunno, should I? Seems unwise to expect so.

I suppose I’m dealing with the fact that half the country probably looks at what happened yesterday and thinks, “Good. That’ll show ‘em. Keep fighting the good fight.” And I’m reminded of a recent meme going around, depicting our most recent presidential election. It was depicted as a choice between a free Krispy Kreme doughnut, and burning grandma’s house down, and the result was 50.1% voting for the free doughnut, and 49.1% voting to stick it to grandma. Well, thank goodness, the preferable side won, but JESUS, WHY WAS IT SO CLOSE?

Anyway, it’s over. The election is over. Biden and Harris step in on January 20th at noon. Trump will, I’m sure, be holding a rally somewhere in DC or Florida, or perhaps just be on his way somewhere on Air Force One for the last time. He’s supposed to be there, for the inauguration. It’s an important, necessary part of the transfer of power, but for those reasons alone, the chances he’ll do it are slim. He’d have to be seen wearing a mask. He wouldn’t be allowed to speak. He’d have to be seen on the same podium as the man who beat him. Who would even want him there?

So...my anniversary! Our anniversary celebration is going to be modest; we’re certainly not going anywhere, or buying each other gifts, or doing anything else that might conflict with the Code of Ennui we’re currently living under. Zach knows how to make a really tasty purple spaghetti dish by adding red wine to the pasta water, so he’s making that. 

Something about my anniversary always bothers me. We’ve never obtained a marriage certificate. We don’t have any proof of our marriage on paper. We never did the thing you do in your state to make it official. We have two very good reasons for this. The first reason we’ve never been officially married is because, when we got married, gay marriage was illegal in Texas. We had neither the funds nor the inclination to travel to a state where it’s legal, get married there, and carry the piece of paper back to Texas with us, where it would be worthless anyway. (Also, not for nothin’, but fuck that. I’m really going to drive to Massachusetts to get married, because that’s the only legal place in America? I applaud those who feel the process is important enough to make that kind of journey, but to me, it just further enforces the second class status.)

The second reason why we never got officially married is because, after being made to have an illegal wedding and marriage the first time, we don’t feel especially eager to get married AGAIN for the sake of those who denied us that fundamental right in the past. Neither of us finds it particularly logical to get married a second time, giving us a new anniversary of lesser duration--we go from being married 7 years to being married 0 years and counting--only to accommodate the requirements of the state that would still consider my marriage illegal, immoral, and ungodly if the Supreme Court hadn’t expressly forbidden it. 

So, yeah. Are Zach and I married? Well, only if you consider being married as that which constitutes a marriage. If you think registering it with your government, paying a fee, getting a certificate, AND being married all have to happen, then I guess I’m not married. 

Not sure why this is bothering me today, in particular. (Except, yes I do, it’s because it’s my anniversary!) But I’m going to try to shake off this feeling in favor of a more positive one. I take a little bit of reluctant comfort in knowing that, if I had to prove Zach and I were married, we could do so fairly easily, by virtue of the fact that we wear rings, we pay rent together, file our taxes jointly, and wake up in the same bed every day. We’ve been married for seven years; it wouldn’t be hard to show that. In other words, I don’t think our refusal to get official “Yes, You’re Married!” paperwork is ever going to interfere with our ability to present as a married couple. But I don’t know that for sure.

And with that, here’s the recipe for red wine spaghetti!

(That’s a joke. I’m making fun of those stupid online recipes that make you scroll through 20 screens of extracurriculur bullshit before you get to the recipe part.)

[megacircuit9universe]

November Outlook

WED SEP 09, 2020

With the election now less than two months away, it’s a good time to look at the different moving parts of history’s machine at this point, and see what we can gleen about how things may go down on election night, and in the many weeks to follow before inauguration on January 20th.

We’re going to start here with the assumption that Trump will, at this point lose any remotely fair election... and will lose by a significant margin.

Biden has been leading him in both national and state polls for months, and now that both conventions are behind us... there’s been little change. Trump is behind in all the battleground states by several points, and within the margin of error in some states normally thought to be safe for the GOP.

His path to victory is incredibly narrow, whereas Biden has many paths to victory.  He’s in a position such that if he lost several different battleground states, he’d still win.

Now, Trump is the incumbent... a status normally considered to be a huge advantage... but incumbency is a huge disadvantage, when everything is going straight to Hell... because you’re to blame for it all.

Clever incumbent politicians have tools use if a disaster strikes on their watch in an election year, such as... rallying everybody to come together in the crisis... and accepting responsibility in advance... two things Trump is not physically or mentally able to grasp.

So... what I’m saying is, it’s nigh impossible for things to change in a way that flips Trump’s approval ratings so late in the game... given that he’s the incumbent.

He’s presiding over a huge pandemic death toll with no end in sight (for which he’s directly to blame, because he’s resisted any and all efforts to flatten the curve*), nationwide protests, nationwide violence, a tidal wave of unemployment, a tidal wave of evictions and foreclosures (for which his pals in the Senate are to blame, for refusing to provide any aid in this crisis), and a pandoras box of fresh scandals, being exposed by the press, by whistelblowers, in a slew of new books, and... just by holding rallies at airports with no socal distancing or masks (all for which, he is, again, directly to blame).

Can all... or even any of that go away... or even simmer down between now and November 3rd?  I would say no... it’s impossible.

Meanwhile, is there any chance that some turn of events could tank Joe Biden?  Some scandal?  Some terrible miscalculation?  

Again, I would say no.  But let’s take a second to examine why...

Firstly, Trump was impeached because of an attempt to collect dirt on Biden so... that strategy already blew up in his face.  It’s no longer an option.

Secondly, Biden was the walking dead candidate who stood zero chance of surviving the first Super Tuesday... yet he’s now the nominee, so... miracles seem to be his specialty this year.

Now, I’ve said before, that miracle was more likely the work of Obama, pulling strings behind the scenes, but... as a former two-term President (and a highly intelligent man) Obama probably didn’t pull those strings just to help out an old pal.

He likely foresaw, not just the type of candidate required to beat Trump on election night... but more importantly... the one who could win against Trump in the battle to follow election night, in which Trump wages an all out scorched earth campaign to remain in power.

And that... is the subject of this entry.

Our first assumption, above, was that Trump will lose handily... but now, our second assumption must be that everybody... from the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the top brass at the Pentagon, on down to the poorest, most homeless voter on the street... knows this will not be over after the votes are cast.

We’ll assume, everybody knows... Trump will reject the election results, and refuse to step down.  He will, to put it bluntly, attempt to establish a dictatorship... ending the Consitution, and democracy, in the United States. 

So it would be silly to think that there isn’t a plan to stop that from happening.

The Supreme Court, for example, already signaled very loudly and clearly last month, that Trump will have no ally in their house, should he attempt to challenge the election process in endless litigation... same goes for the lower Federal and State courts... they’ve all been ruling against him, and his agenda, this whole year...  even DESPITE... the Republican lead Senate approving every judge he’s nominated over his term.

Nobody likes a despot... not even a conservative Judge.  They take their oaths seriously... even if the Mitch McConnells who ram their appointments through, do not.

Which brings us to the military... also known for taking the same oath, to defend the Constitution against all threats, foreign and domestic... deadly seriously.  

Last weeks blockbuster article in the Atlantic, in which Trump was exposed (it’s been confirmed by four other sources by now) as believing all members of the military are, “suckers,” for joining up, cuz what do they get out of the deal?  And, “losers,” for dying on battlefields... has utterly destroyed any chance he may have had at getting them to cave in the face of unconstitutional orders... such as he would have to issue to establish any successful coup to stay in power.

This is critical, because if you don’t have the military... you don’t have a coup.

And Trump does not have them, at this point.

Military culture drills it into their heads that they do not have to follow unconstitutional orders from anybody, even the Commander in Chief, which means that if there is already a, “Commander Elect,” with a transition team in the wings, who DOESN’T think they are suckers and losers...

...in fact a Commander Elect who they know well, because he already served under the previous Commander in Chief as his second in command for eight years...

They’re gonna have all the footing they need to refuse any coup related orders outright.  And I believe they’ll be eager to do so, under the present circumstances.

As I’ve noted in an earlier entry, it was the miltary who forced Trump to wear a mask in public while visiting a military hospital... because they were already pissed off about how he duped them at Jefferson Square, earlier this year.

Trump himself, seems to be aware that he’s lost the top brass, both retired and active... which is why he made a public remark last week that the old generals don’t like him, but the troops still love him.

All I’ve seen is evidence to the contrary on that point, but that was Trump’s desperate dog whistle to any sympathizers he may have in the lower ranks of the military, to please... please steal some tanks and bazookas to join the fight?

Recall I wrote about, “Beta Force,” a while back... consisting of rogue law enforcement officers, Homeland Security troopers, and regular citizens with weapons and other resources... well, he’s hoping he can woo some legit military troops to join Beta Force, should there be a showdown.

That scenario, right there, would be the much prophesied Civil War 2, but as I’ve said for years, such a Civil War 2 will be short lived... a couple weeks at most.

Recall the thugs he sent into Portland to terrify and abduct protesors... using locally rented vehicles, and presumably staying at local moetels.  Trump is nowhere near ready for a showdown with the full might of the US Military, on our own soil, no less.

You can bet your ass the legit military are gaming this scenario right now, and that if pressed, they will shut that shit down and have Trump in a cell with a bag over his head faster than you can say, “what the fuck?”

The rest of the two weeks will just be putting down random assholes with assault rifles here and there across the country... but they’ll all be hauled in, don’t you worry.  And they’ll all stand trial for treason in broad daylight.

In this scenario, yes, innocent people are going to die... as they have been dying on the streets at the hands of rogue cops, school shooters, caronavirus, and other systemic abuses, or neglects, for a long time now.  

There is no scenario here, where everybody just says, “Whew!” and we’re all good.  But that’s been the case for quite some years.  We’re all pretty used to life threatening danger on a daily basis, and the courage required to face it by now.

Which is what leads me to the next big fear, being promulgated this past week...

...The so-called, Red Mirage.

Red Mirage is a prediction about election night 2020, in which nearly all the states on the election map turn red, because only the in-person votes have been counted, while the mail-in ballots are days or weeks away from being counted.

Trump seems to believe in the Red Mirage prediction, given his statements in recent weeks about an election that could take, weeks, months, or even years to sort out**.  Couple that with his repeated assertions that mail-in voting is inherently fraudulent (seconded by his Attorney General, Bill Barr) and his recent attempts to knee-cap the post office... and you have a President who likely is betting everything on Red Mirage.

The plan would be just to run with election night results, declaring himself the victor by the biggest landslide in history... then beat that drum loudly while quashing any attempt to ever count the absentee votes... demonizing them as fraudulent, and demonizing anybody who doubted his victory as dissidents who must be imprisoned or something.

I’ll admit... it’s a terrifying scenario!

...on paper.

But the Red Mirage prediction is founded on the sophomoric conceit that all Trump supporters will vote in person... because they do not fear the pandemic... and all Biden supporters will vote by mail... because they don’t want to risk getting Covid19 by venturing out in public.

This, to me, is laughable... because it really does assume that 100% of the electorate are total idiots.

The Trump voters are all idiots who will vote like there’s no pandemic to worry about... and the Biden voters are also idiots who will, out of an abundance of caution, and a blind trust in the postal system, all vote by mail.

No Trump voters are gonna stay home... because they think it’s in the bag?  No Biden voters are gonna just wear a mask and vote in person, knowing democracy itself is on the line... knowing of Trump’s attempts to knee-cap the post office... knowing it’s better to risk an infection when the stakes are this high, than to stay healthy but live under a dictatorship the rest of their lives?

Really?

Based on what I witnessed in November 2018... together with what I’ve seen this past year, with both Millenials and GenZ waking up to the dire importance of voting... together with the cleverness and bravery of protestors across the nation risking life and limb nightly just to express their outrage, while wearing masks to stay safe from infection (successfully)... together with half the GOP turning against Trump.. and everybody in agreement this time around that third party votes will get you cancelled...

I’m expecting a Blue Tsunami on November 3rd.

Trump will shout that it was all rigged, the next morning... but he won’t have any red election map to hold up and wave around.  

And once Biden has secured that title, as President Elect... all Trump can do is try to incite his disaffected trolls to violence... and then turn his thoughts to damage control on the legal front.

Michael Cohen, Trumps former fixer, this week in interviews, predicted that Trump will resign if he loses, so that Mike Pence can issue a, “blanket pardon” in the few months before Biden takes power.

It’s anybody’s guess as to whether such a pardon could really protect Trump from the many New York State criminal charges awaiting him, as soon as he leaves office, but my guess is... no it won’t.

Trump will pay, for all that he’s done, and all he’s put us through.

He’s got nowhere to run.  Nither Russia, nor China, nor South Korea will take him in exile... nor will any other nation on the planet.  Like every two bit crime boss before him... he will end up behind bars.

And that will not only beef up the radioactive potency of House impeachment for another two hundred years... but make Trumps single term in office the cautionary tale for generations to come... of the idiot President... who dared to fuck the Consitution... and had his ass handed to him in prison.

I’m sure there are some moving parts I’ve missed in this analysis tonight... and I’m sure you think my conclusions here are overly rosey... but I have looked at this from many angles... and I do keep coming back to Trump dying in prison without a second term.

Make of it what you will.

For tonight, however... it’s time for bed.

*[THU NOV 10] Bob Woodward (of Watergate fame) released tapes of Trump the night I wrote this which did not fully hit the media until a day later.  Tapes in which Trump is talking to Woodward over the phone, and which make very plain that Trump Knew the virus was airborne, that it was worse than the flu, and that it would be very difficult to contain... before the rest of us knew it... and before he went out and started playing it down in public, saying it would go away like a miracle in April, and refusing to wear a mask, or social distance, etc. 

It’s been an incredibly damning development, because it’s Trump’s own voice, and it prooves he didn’t just botch the pandemic out of stupidity... but deliberately mislead the public about it, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives.

He also obstructed states from getting PPE and ventilators, attacked governors for doing lock downs, gagged the CDC, and covered up hospitals’ reporting of Covid related numbers to the public.

And all of this he did, apparently, for the sake of the economy... thinking that was the way to win in November.

This is a crime against humanity!

**The 2000 Election results hinged on the electoral votes of one single state, Florida, which was too close to call on election night.  Nobody knew who’d won for several weeks as Florida went into automatic hand recounts of the ballots, many of which were ambiguous because of, “hanging chads,” or, not fully punched out holes.

However, on th strength of Fox News calling Bush the winner, his legal team sued to stop the Florida recounts, in the Supreme Court, and successfully took power, even though it was found... years later, that Al Gore had actually won Florida, and thus, should have been President.

Red Mirage anticipates this same scenario to play out again on a national scale, in all states, not because of hanging chads... but absentee ballots... and assumes that the Supreme Court might call the end to vote counting once again, because Fox News called it for Trump on election night.

This is not the way history works.

This is not the way anything works.

This is not what will go down in November.

[shadowsong26fic]

Oh look it’s that time again

Time for another Random AU Outline(tm)!

I thought about doing an addition to the Valdemar Cossover AU this month (because I have mostly worked out wtf is going on with Dooku), buuuuut since Distaff is still super late (friggin Opera House, I swear--I think I’ve fiiiiiiiinally got it working? Fingers crossed, I’m so sorry, I refer you again to the teaser bits with my sincere apologies...), I decided to write up a variant plotline for that fic because yes in fact I do write AUs for my AUs shut up.

So this one is #1a. on my List of Things I’ll Never Actually Write. So, uh, content warnings for discussion of abortion and miscarriage, just as a heads-up.

(See also the Rabbit Hole AU; the Bail Unfucks the Timeline AU)

(Also, these things have an official tag now, #au outlines for the win)

All right, this diverges when, unlike in the actual storyline, Palpatine decides that the best way to deal with this whole...Situation...is to poison Anakin and induce a miscarriage.

He decides against this in the actual fic mostly because he thinks it’d risk more than it gained him. Speeding up his timeline is a more efficient solution.

I figure in this variant, he decides that he can definitely work with her rage at the universe over what happened, since she seems to want this kid, and it nips several potential future problems in the bud. And he discounts the ability of the Temple/Jedi to figure out what’s going on/help her through it/whatever.

This is a mistake.

So, Anakin goes to meet with the Chancellor, as she does.

This may even be that one meeting where he tells her ‘guess what you’re on the Council now’

And she’s like “...well, fuck, WHY DIDN’T YOU DO THIS SIX MONTHS AGO WHEN IT WOULDN’T RUIN EVERYTHING.”

And he’s wearing one of his ridiculous needle ring things, and puts a hand on her shoulder and triggers it.

I feel like he has like twelve of these.

To coordinate with all the ridiculous Opulent Chancellor Robes he has to wear.

Just in case he feels the need to poison someone on short notice.

Having his ring not match would give the game away, you know?

It’s all about the details.

Anakin does get a Warning Tingle or whatever, but she puts it down to EVERYTHING ELSE that happens in that meeting.

Except then she leaves, and she’s flailing. And she still decides to go down to find a race and clear her head, and she’s still ignoring Obi-Wan’s calls (Padme hasn’t called her yet).

And then she starts feeling sick. Like--really, genuinely, awfully sick.

So she pulls over.

And you know it’s bad if she thinks she isn’t really safe to drive.

Obi-Wan calls again and this time she picks up because SOMETHING IS WRONG and she hasn’t yet spiraled to the point where she feels like she can’t talk to him.

She’s just been, you know, working up the courage to tell him.

LOOK PADME I’M GETTING THERE DON’T RUSH ME

And then she notices the blood.

At this point, she’s REALLY freaking out and she starts babbling about ‘something is wrong with the baby’

Obi-Wan, internally: ...baby? What--

Obi-Wan, externally: I’m on my way, try to stay calm.

He gets down to where she is, and of course promptly takes her back to the Temple for medical attention.

And there’s a moment where she resists because “nooooo they’ll take her please don’t let them”

And he would reassure her on the subject because, no, that’s not how it works, you know that, Anakin.

Except she passes out at that point.

They get back to the Temple, and he says he thinks she’s pregnant and something is wrong with the baby.

(He hasn’t quite wrapped his head around this whole “she’s pregnant” part but one thing at a time)

And, of course, Master Che and the others figure out what’s going on.

At least that she’s been poisoned.

Master Che: ...she does realize, she could have come to us? There are safer ways.

Obi-Wan: Given what she was saying before she passed out, I don’t think she did this to herself. She does not want to lose this child.

Master Che: ........

Anakin + babies are stabilized.

(Because the Force is really invested in the twins, guys. Of course mother and babies are okay.)

Babies are also identified as twins.

Ani regains consciousness, and the first thing she asks is is the baby okay.

Because, yeah, the Order is going to take her away, but they can’t do that until the baby’s actually born and Anakin has a few months to figure out how to fix that the important thing right now is IS SHE OKAY DID I LOSE HER.

And she’s told, yes, baby is okay. Babies are okay.

Anakin: O.O

And then she shakes off the “wtf plural” moment and gets all bristly and defensive (as she does) about “i’m keeping them you can’t take them away from me i won’t let you.”

Master Che: uh...well, yes, that is your decision? You would have to leave the Order if you wanted to raise them yourself, of course, but--

Anakin: wait what.

Master Che: ...what exactly did you think would happen if you told us?

Anakin: ...that you’d take her away.

Master Che: ................no. Well, like I said, you wouldn’t be able to retain custody and stay in the Order, but that doesn’t mean we’d take your child without your consent.

Anakin: ....oh.... ::starts crying because OMG RELIEVED::

(There’s a whole other bit that I couldn’t fit in where Anakin mentions that “also the war is the only thing I’m really good at and we’re spread super thin and you’d take me out of the field.”)

(Which, honestly, is about 75% of why she hadn’t told Obi-Wan before the nightmares start. That, and Padme has to know first)

After that comes the super uncomfortable “guess what you were poisoned” conversation.

Especially since the drug Palpatine gave her, while it would make her miserable for a day or two and would terminate the pregnancy, wouldn’t have killed her.

So, then the question becomes--is there something going on that someone specifically wants Anakin sidelined for a few days?

This seems unlikely.

Or did someone specifically want to poison her because pregnancy?

Anakin: But that’s ridiculous. The only person I’ve told is Pa---Senator Amidala. Because. Um. I couldn’t tell anyone in the Order and she’s a woman and my uh friend and...

(Master Che accepts this. Because she hasn’t seen these two dorks interact. No one else would buy it.)

So they start the process of going over everywhere Anakin’s been in the last twenty-four hours, trying to figure out who might have poisoned her.

Anakin: ::develops a Horrible Suspicion::

Anakin: ....no, it’s a coincidence.

Anakin: the Chancellor is my friend.

Anakin: besides how would he know?

Anakin: why am I not finding any of this convincing.

MEANWHILE

Obi-Wan is trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

And, by a logical process similar to the one Palpatine used, in reverse, decides that the Chancellor is the one who got Anakin pregnant.

And he knows that Anakin went to see him just before she collapsed.

He doesn’t really suspect the Actual Truth. He doesn’t have enough of the picture yet.

But he does know that Palpatine is a power-grabby Politician who probably doesn’t want to deal with a sex scandal about how he debauched a celibate war nun.

Especially one who’s like a third his age.

(Side note: there’s another potential variant where Anakin’s pregnancy becomes public and all of Sidious’ schemes unravel because someone starts to question “hey why is the Chancellor spending so much time alone with a young female celibate military official/priest, enough that he’s been credibly accused of siring her child?” And then Some Intrepid Reporter keeps digging deeper and deeper and OH SHIT) 

Anyway, the more Obi-Wan thinks about it, the more sense it makes.

Now, he just needs to prove it, and that will solve several problems at once.

(Also, then he’d be justified in punching Palpatine right in his smug face which seems a REALLY ATTRACTIVE notion right at this moment.)

MEANWHILE MEANWHILE

Anakin is not answering Padme’s calls.

Padme is Very Concerned about this, because Anakin was supposed to be here a while ago for the checkup and it took a hell of a lot of effort to talk her into it.

Finally, out of desperation, she calls Obi-Wan.

Because yes, this might explode their secret and really Ani should be the one to tell him but...

Obi-Wan is pulled out of his ‘how to get away with punching Palpatine right in his smug face’ plotting and answers.

He tells her that Anakin is ill, that she collapsed, and is with the Healers now, but has been stabilized and will be all right.

And then they both sort of dance around the ‘baby’ question for a while.

Because Padme doesn’t want to spill all of Anakin’s secrets, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure that Padme knows, and doesn’t want to complicate/damage this relationship for Anakin, especially since she’s almost certainly going to end up leaving the Order and she’ll need someone to go to and...

(He adds “figure out what I’m going to do at that point” to his to-do list.)

(Look, there’s a decent chance that even the main version of Distaff will turn into Obianidala eventually, depending on a couple different factors. This variant? Almost certainly would.)

Finally, Padme can’t take it anymore and just blurts it out, “what about the baby, is he okay?”

And Obi-Wan has reached a point where he’s going, “you know what? FUCK IT.” And he tells her--yes, the baby is okay, also there are two of them, also Master Che says Anakin was poisoned and that’s why she collapsed and nearly miscarried, also I’m almost entirely certain that Chancellor Palpatine was involved but I have no proof.

And Padme? Padme sees red.

“So,” she says, “let’s find some.”

Because Padme is already starting to see through Palpatine’s mask.

And now he’s coming after her wife and children.

Obi-Wan, as it turns out, responds much better to “meet me at the docks at midnight and bring a gun” than Bail did.

So, back in the Temple, Anakin has managed to extract herself from the conversation with Master Che, mostly by cooperating for once/playing on the fact that she’s sick to be left alone.

AS SOON AS she can, she unhooks all the monitors and her IV and sneaks out.

She manages not to faint or throw up. She’s very proud of herself for that.

She just wants some answers, really. Part of her still can’t accept what Palpatine probably did, but maybe he noticed something strange about her when she visited? She didn’t start to feel sick until leaving his office, but...

She runs into Obi-Wan and Padme, who are also on their way to break into Palps’s office to get some answers.

Padme: Ani! ::goes to hold her close because fuck it she could have died our children could have died and it’s only Obi-Wan here to see and I don’t think he cares anymore::

Anakin: ::clings back, looks from her to Obi-Wan and back:: What are you doing here...?

Obi-Wan: What are you doing out of bed?

And then there is Banter for a moment until Padme says, “uh, guys? Mission? Trying to track down/prove who was behind the whole poison thing?”

Except then they have to argue whether or not Anakin should really be there, which Obi-Wan and Padme win mostly by a) teaming up on her and b) darling you are clearly using the wall to stay upright go wait in my office.

Obi-Wan and Padme break into Palps’s office together.

He’s not there--he’s left for the day, or something. Especially it’s probably very late at night by now.

Now, of course he’s not stupid enough to keep Incriminating Evidence lying around. So they don’t find anything like...a discarded poison vial in the trash, let alone the ring.

They do find--something. I’m not sure what. Possibly the Emperor’s Darth Sidious’ Private Holo Setting(tm).

(Thank you, Timothy Zahn, I love that joke)

And then Palpatine comes back.

Because he sensed someone breaking into his office.

Or he has a mundane alarm system set up and they tripped it.

Obi-Wan gets between Padme and Palpatine and draws his lightsaber.

Off in Padme’s office, Anakin’s Spidey Sense is tingling.

She runs after the others, and walks in on the Confrontation scene.

Now, there are some things that even Anakin can’t ignore. Not at this point in her timeline.

Palpatine might have a split second to realize just how thoroughly He Done Fucked Up before two lightsabers and a half-dozen blaster bolts punch him in the face.

So, Our Heroes are now in the Supreme Chancellor’s office, which they broke into, standing over his Very Dead Body.

They stare at each other for a minute. “...did that really just happen?”

And then Anakin actually does faint again, breaking the moment.

Obi-Wan: ::catches her:: we need to get out of here.

Padme: we can’t run away, we have to deal with the fallout.

Obi-Wan: well yes but we should probably not be caught at the actual scene of the crime?

Padme: ...good point.

From there--IDK, there’d be a long investigation but the proof would probably come through pretty quick once Palps is no longer actively protecting it.

Obi-Wan probably still goes to kill Grievous, since something in Palpatine’s files says he’s on Utapau.

Master Che straight-up ties Anakin to the bed to make sure she doesn’t follow.

Bail gets dragged into this mess to help Padme deal with the political fallout.

He probably ends up Chancellor, or possibly Mon Mothma does--the scandal surrounding Padme and the Jedi and the whole, y’know, Justifiable Regicide bit is a little too much to put her there.

There’s probably a lot of Discussion in the Order about everything that went down. Probably, once the war is Officially over, Anakin and Obi-Wan both leave.

And then there will be More Discussion once the twins are around Padawan age. But that is beyond the scope of this outline.

Basically, everything ends happily because, unlike in canon where Palps is p. much the only one on the ball, He Done Fucked Up.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

13 Keys to the White House

I hate politics with a burning passion. The whole subject just makes me depressed and stressed, but like a moth to the flame I find myself unable to escape it. My politics posts were topical and relatively popular during the lead up to the 2020 election, but things have quieted down considerably a we adjust to the new normal under a sane but useless president. For this reason, I've decided that the best way to spend my time is to try and make prediction about 2024, because it makes me feel like I have some semblance of control over my life when in reality these things are well out of my hands.

Allan Lichtman is a political analyst who has correctly predicted every presidential election since 1984, and working backwards his method correctly accounts for every election since 1860; with the only hiccup being 2000 when he predicted Al Gore would win (by all rights he did; he won the popular vote and he would have won the Florida recount if George W. Bush's brother hadn't illegally stopped it and delayed it until it was too late to restart).

Lichtman gives 13 yes or no statements to assess the performance of the incumbent party over the last four years, and has determined that if eight or more are true then the incumbent party wins another term. If six or more are false, the challenging party wins instead. From Wikipedia they are:

Midterm gains: After the midterm elections, the incumbent party holds more seats in the U.S. House of Representatives than after the previous midterm elections.

No primary contest: There is no serious contest for the incumbent party nomination.

Incumbent seeking re-election: The incumbent party candidate is the sitting president.

No third party: There is no significant third party or independent campaign.

Strong short-term economy: The economy is not in recession during the election campaign.

Strong long-term economy: Real per capita economic growth during the term equals or exceeds mean growth during the previous two terms.

Major policy change: The incumbent administration effects major changes in national policy.

No social unrest: There is no sustained social unrest during the term.

No scandal: The incumbent administration is untainted by major scandal.

No foreign/military failure: The incumbent administration suffers no major failure in foreign or military affairs.

Major foreign/military success: The incumbent administration achieves a major success in foreign or military affairs.

Charismatic incumbent: The incumbent party candidate is charismatic or a national hero.

Uncharismatic challenger: The challenging party candidate is not charismatic or a national hero.

In 2020 the chips fell thusly:

False: the Democrats won more seat in 2018 than the Republicans in 2014

True: Trump was the only Republican candidate, and in fact many states canceled their primaries to give it to him

True: Trump was running for another term

True: the libertarians and the greens didn't get nearly as much air time as they did in 2016

False: Covid recession

False: Trump dug a hole so deep it'll take us years to crawl our way back out of it

True: McConnell's court packing scheme, 3 justices, America First foreign policy, sucking up to dictators, alienating our allies

False: George Floyd protests

False: too many to name

True: not failing doesn't necessarily mean succeeding

False: case in point, he didn't accomplish any of his goals like ending the war in Afghanistan or disarming North Korea

False: although his base worships him as the second coming of Christ, they only make up 40% of the country, and the other 60% HATES him

True: Biden is a boring old man that both right-wingers hate and progressive leftists hate. Only moderates and centrists really like him

That's 6 true and 7 false. Trump needed 8 true to win, so Lichtman called it for Biden in summer. While we can make some assumptions about the future, we can't predict everything, so there will be a lot of unknowns that prevent us from drawing solid conclusions. I'll update this post as time goes on; we should have a fairly solid picture by early 2023 after the midterms.

Almost certainly false: the Democrats are hanging on by a thread as is, and 2022 will see dozens of competitive House seats redrawn by Republican to give themselves an advantage going forward. I'm pretty sure the Republicans will take back the House, but even if they don't there's no way the Democrats will manage to hang onto as many seats in 2022 as they won in 2018 (235)

Probably true: to hear Biden tell it, he's a spring chicken at the top of his game and wholeheartedly intends to run for re-election in 2024. I give it 50/50 odds that he bows out due to declining health and gives it to Kamala Harris, but either way they have the nomination in the bag. Nobody is going to challenge Biden, and nobody serious will challenge Harris.

Unknown: see above

Unknown: this one is leaning towards true, but it's too soon to tell. We think of third-party candidates as being fringe, but they played major roles in 1980, 1992, 1996, 2000, and 2016. I don't expect the networks to give as much airtime to the libertarians and the greens as they did in 2016, but then again all the media outlets made off like bandits during the Trump years. Love him or hate him, he made them a shit load of money, and helping a third-party campaign will ensure another candidate like Trump gets elected

Probably true: it'll be hard for Biden to fuck things up more than they are now. I don't think we'll see ANOTHER recession in less than 4 years, but then again we thought the Great Recession of 2008 would be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Absolutely true: Obama's second term was prosperous, Trump's term put us deep in the red, so they average out to neutral; as long as Biden can do better than literally nothing, he has this one in the bag.

I don't think so: 2021 was the Democrats' best chance at changing things, but they fumbled like we all expected them to. They have majroties in both houses of Congress and could conceivably railroad through any legislation they want, as Trump did in his first 2 years, but no, they want to play fair, they want to be bipartisan. They extend an olive branch when the other side wouldn't piss on them to put them out if they were on fire. None of Biden's campaign promises will get done.

Probably true: I don't think things can get worse than 2020. Biden is, if nothing else, inoffensive. Republicans are trying to make him out as this socialist boogeyman, but nothing really sticks because he is nearly economically identical to Trump (both party establishments are economically neoliberal). If we were going to go to war, it would have been last year. I don't think there's anything Biden can do to screw things up that badly.

Probably: like I said, Biden is boring, which means he's not take any risks. I think even he has sense enough to realize that the entire country is watching him with a magnifying glass, waiting for him to make any mistake. He's playing it as safe as possible with relative transparency, so I don't see him doing anything shadier than any other president. If the Republicans take back the House they might impeach him as revenge for Trump, but he'll be acquitted and public opinion will probably be on his side.

Unknown: Democrats love to fumble, so this one's up in the air

Unknown: pulling out of Afghanistan might be a success, but the Taliban will just retake control once we're gone and it'll be back to square one. It'll be this generation's Vietnam; a 20 year long waste of time that we ended up losing. I'm still not convicned the withdrawal will even go through.

False: Lichtman didn't call Biden charismatic in 2020, I know for a fact he won't suddenly become MORE popular by 2024. Hes boring. If he didn't run and gave it to Kamala Harris I still don't see this flipping true. She has more energy, sure, but she's disingenuous at best and a two-faced enemy of the revolution at worst. She's a cop.

True: calling it now, nobody the Republicans choose will have national appeal. Lichtman noted that these last two keys are incredibly subjective, but you know it when you see it. For his definition of charisma he cites presidents like Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, JFK, Ronald Reagan, and Barack Obama (2008 Obama, not 2012 Obama; the novelty wore off real quick and we realized he was the Republicans' doormat and a war criminal). If Trump tries for a second term, he'll be even less popular then than he is now, and none of his underlings inspire as much confidence in the party. Ron DeSantis, my state's governor, appears to be the front runner of non-Trumps, but he's so dumb he makes that whole family look like a Rhodes Scholars. America is so divided that I don't think there will ever be another super charismatic candidate with bipartisan appeal.

That's 3 false, 4 unknown, and 6 true. Biden needs 8 true to win a second term, but he has plenty of unknown keys which would turn in his favor. Even Trump avoided a major foreign policy failure, so I'm sure Biden can cinch that key, bringing him up to 7. That and the third-party key seem the most likely to flip true, meaning Biden will probably win, though I could very well see this becoming a repeat of 2000 and 2016 where he wins the popular vote and loses the electoral college. In that case, I expect civil unrest going into whatever Republican's term, verging on total civil war.

One-term wonders are exceedingly rare. Trump was a historically weak candidate who only won because of low voter turnout in Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania. He saw an Alabama senate seat flip blue, as well as all four seats in Arizona and Georgia, he lost the house and the senate in quick succession, and was impeached twice. He was a loser through and through, and I don't think he'll be coming back.

At least I certainly hope so.

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

Trump's White House feuds are even better reimagined as a pro-wrestling special

We're just weeks away from the WWE's annual late-summer smörgåsbord of professional sports entertainment, SummerSlam. But for all the hype of the second-biggest pro wrestling show of the year (behind spring's WrestleMania), the real feuds are simmering in Washington, D.C.

While stories about a White House at war with itself have been circulating for months, the situation hit a new level of surreal this week as new White House Communications Director Anthony Scaramucci went nuclear on then-Chief-of-Staff Reince Priebus.

SEE ALSO: Lmao, Twitter is going insane over the Scaramucci interview, and it's awesome

With all of the drama and animosity flowing through the administration, the White House is starting to look more and more like the WWE locker room. Which makes total sense, in a way: Trump is a WWE Hall of Famer (and one-time participant) and he brought former WWE exec Linda McMahon (whose husband, Vince McMahon, is WWE's chairman and CEO) into his cabinet.

Given all of this, and with SummerSlam fast approaching on Aug. 20, it seems appropriate to book an alternate universe wrestling extravaganza, one in which the matches all revolve around White House feuds.

So let's get to it. 

Marvelous Reince Priebus vs. Anthony 'The Mooch' Scaramucci vs. The Red Pepper Sean Spicer in a Triple Threat Street Fight Match

Just one week ago, when Spicer announced his resignation in a huff over Scaramucci's hiring, we all thought it would make for a great knock-down, drag-out fight. 

And then Scaramucci called the New Yorker's Ryan Lizza on Wednesday night and unloaded an unhinged rant in which he called (now-former) Chief of Staff Reince Priebus “a fucking paranoid schizophrenic, a paranoiac." 

Scaramucci's encore was a similarly raucous interview on CNN Thursday morning which followed his bizarre, passive aggressive tweeting at Reince.

All over a document that Scaramucci says was leaked but is actually publicly available. 

And then? THE PLOT THICKENED. Reince joined Spicer on the outside.

This is intense even by WWE measures — which includes the time Vince McMahon was blown up in a limo. 

I am told that both @Reince45 and @Scaramucci are flying aboard AF1 today with @realDonaldTrump

— Jonathan Karl (@jonkarl) July 28, 2017

There's no love lost between Scaramucci and the two men whose exits he helped bring about. They'll want sweet, sweet revenge.

What better way, then, to make this a no-holds barred street fight? Anything goes, falls count anywhere, whatever weapons you can find along the way are legal — trash cans! chairs! Rand Paul! — and the last man standing gets to keep his job gets the satisfaction of ... winning, I guess. 

Though, really, there are no winners in this White House. 

Donald 'The Golden Throne' Trump vs. The Alabama Slammer Jeff Sessions in a steel cage with Special Guest Referee Russian Ambassador Kislyak

Oh, yeah, THIS feud. 

Hard to believe that just a few days ago, this was the fight getting all of the attention. Sessions, remember, was the first (and, for a while, only) U.S. Senator to support Trump during the campaign.

So how does Trump repay him? 

By blasting Session in an interview last week with the New York Times in which Trump said Sessions' decision to recuse himself from the ongoing Russia investigation was "very unfair to the president."

Trump has also taken shots at Sessions on — what else? — Twitter, calling him "beleaguered" and generally undermining him.

Attorney General Jeff Sessions has taken a VERY weak position on Hillary Clinton crimes (where are E-mails & DNC server) & Intel leakers!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) July 25, 2017

It's the old-fashioned sneak attack double cross! 

For his part, Sessions has called Trump's attacks "hurtful" but refuses to take the bait and resign. 

Something's got to give so let's throw these guys into a steel cage and see who comes out the victor. And just to add a little spice to the match, the special guest referee will be a Russian that has been a thorn in the sides of both Sessions and Trump: Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak! 

Undisclosed meetings with Kislyak led Sessions to recuse himself from the Russian investigation and Kislyak was one of the men in the Oval Office with Trump when he reportedly called former FBI directer James Comey "a nut job" and shared a little intel.

Who will Kislyak choose? Will he remain fair and balanced in calling the match? Or will he choose one man over the other, revealing where his (and Russia's) loyalties lie? 

The Alt-Right Alliance (Steve Bannon and Steve Miller) vs. The Quiet Kid Jared Kushner and The Prophet Mike Pence in a tag team match

Steve Bannon versus Jared Kushner was one of the early big battles to emerge from the Trump White House as the two men battled for the soul of the presidency (assuming this presidency even has a soul, which is doubtful). 

Meanwhile, Steven Miller, who helped write and roll out Trump's controversial travel ban, is often considered sympatico with Bannon; The Atlantic called Bannon and Miller "the key figures of what could be called the Breitbart wing."

The wild card in all of this is Vice President Mike Pence. He reportedly aligned with Bannon in pushing Trump to ban transgender individuals from the military but he also seems to be trying to keep his hands as clean as he can in a White House filled with pig slop. 

And he's also quietly doing a loooooot of fundraising. Is he just taking that role over for Trump, who apparently isn't a fan of this kind of glad-handing? Or is there something deeper, like, say, setting himself up for his own run down the line, especially if this Russian investigation actually manages to sink Trump before his first term is up?

Whatever the case, Kushner and Ivanka Trump are making a point to show up to one upcoming fundraiser to show the world, "SEE? EVERYTHING IS FINE BETWEEN THE PRESIDENT AND THE VICE PRESIDENT." 

Fluid alignments and tag team betrayals are hallmarks of pro wrestling: you help me today but I'll turn on you as soon as it's to my advantage. Bannon and Miller seem like a solid team. But will Pence stick with Kushner? Or will he stab Kushner in the back to make his own way?

It may be a tag-team match but there's more than one storyline to follow which is what the best pro wrestling is all about. 

This is the worst Wrestlemania ever. https://t.co/EfRuc3QsmQ

— Olivia Nuzzi (@Olivianuzzi) July 28, 2017

The Undercard

Okay, so those are the big three matches we'd love to see. But there are plenty of other matches to be had and pad this one out into a full-fledged event. 

Ivanka 'The Power Suit' Trump vs. Paul 'TRX' Ryan in a ladder match over family leave

Hanging above the ring is a copy of Ivanka Trump's family leave proposal, a pet bit of legislation that Ivanka has apparently been pushing her father for. Meanwhile, Paul Ryan is a big fan of spending time with his family but, conveniently, really dislikes paid family leave.

The first person to get a ladder up in the ring, scale it, and grab the bill will win. 

The No-Comment Ninja Sarah Huckabee Sanders vs. the rest of the White House communications staff in a "Stop the leaks!" Battle Royale

Can Sanders keep the rest of her staff from leaking? Will the rest of the staff, armed with juicy gossip, be able to outlast Sanders and each other to get their bit of information to the Washington Post first? 

Kellyanne 'Alternative Facts' Conway vs. The Fourth Estate Anderson Cooper in a Loser Leaves Town Eyeroll Match

Need a break from the fisticuffs? How about a one-on-one interview in which Cooper and Conway sit down for half an hour and if Conway can get through the whole thing without saying something that makes Cooper roll his eyes, she wins and Cooper has to retire from CNN.

But if Cooper gets exasperated enough to drop the facial expression shade on Conway, Kellyanne has to pack her bags and bid the White House adieu.

Sure, Cooper isn't part of the White House or even tangentially connected (like Paul Ryan), but it's HIGH STAKES!

So ice down the beer, throw some steaks on the grill, and get ready for a night full of White House fun. It's the kind of chaos this White House was born to bring. 

WATCH: Bizarre moments from Sean Spicer's short stint at the White House

[pyxel-spree]

07 | je m’appelle

The house is tall and imposing and silent when Miss Rochelle and those animals she calls children drop me off on the front lawn, leaving me to stagger up the porch steps lugging my suitcase. I bang on the door about eighty times before I hear feet move from inside to open it. "About damn time," I snarl, ready to see Isolde or my brother, but it's not either of them. Instead, it's a girl with long pink hair and a thick layer of makeup on. As I get closer, I can see that the underside of her hair is cropped short and dyed white. She is wearing blue print leggings and loose tank top with one of those racerback designs, and I can see the nude straps of her bra on her thin shoulders. She looks, for lack of a better word, cool, making me feel all the more disgusting.

She stares at me for a while, and I'm starting to wonder if I have something on my face, but then I realize that I haven't said a word. "Um, is Isolde home?"

She frowns. "Duchess Greanleefe went out a while ago. Who are you?"

"Oh, she didn't tell you? I'm Oceania." Seeing her blank look, I say, "You know, her stepdaughter? From Valorian?" Now she's narrowing her eyes suspiciously, so I hastily add, "Look, just get Llenwi, will you? He'll know it's me."

She motions for me to come inside, and I follow her. The house is dark and big and badly decorated. "So, you're the new maid?" I ask, then regret it instantly when she narrows her blue eyes at me.

"No. I'm Trainee Agent Danica Kesley. From Olympia." she spits.

"Sorry," I say, but the damage is done. "Er, Olympia? What are you doing here?"

"My team and I have been assigned to a top secret mission. It's classified." she adds self-importantly.

"So you and your team are staying with us?"

"Of course. Your senator requested it personally."

Since when does Cielaré ask favors from Greanleefes? But I have no time to ask, because in comes my brother. "Hey," he mumbles.

"Hey," I reply. From his expression I can tell he hasn't quite gotten over me telling him he was a waste of space last summer.

"Your room is upstairs-" he tells me, and then I throw up on him. I don't do it maliciously, although that is my motivation for many other things. Rather, my nauseousness has been growing for some time, and it's really now or never.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," I tell him. He just sits there, looking sad and gross and scowling. "Uh, want some towels or something?" What's left of the macaroons is all over his Brass Mannequins shirt.

"I'm FINE." he snaps, ears going red. "Just go upstairs, okay? Before you ruin something else."

"I'm trying to be nice! Why are you being such a bitch?"

"You threw up on me! How is that nice?" He waves his too-long arms emphatically, looking like a cartoon character drowning.

"Whatever. Brass Mannequins suck ass anyway." I tell him, then stomp upstairs. It has to be an older brother thing, Anni and I decided, this love of atrocious music, where instead of perfectly good, if a bit clichéd pop tunes, one found a love for obscure indie bands that no one actually gave a damn about. Her brother did it too, played Zombies of Centaurii, Klexa & The Demons, and my personal favorite, Zaina Kate's Survival Guide to Hell, until we begged him to please, please, put on some Pippi Silk or Tylenol.

I wonder if he's still listening to those songs. If they help, at all, with this.

As I thump up the stairs, I am nearly killed by the scariest short woman I've ever seen. She has warm brown skin and eyes, and a long rope of black hair, which may make her sound like a nice aunt, but she's wearing leather and gold jewelry, and is carrying a legit real actual pistol on her hip. I almost scream as her hand goes to her weapon, but then, perhaps realizing that I am a minor who does not need immediate death, she lets me pass. I sprint to the third floor much faster than is necessary, in case she changes her mind. She must be another one of the special agents, though she appears quite at a contrast to the pink-haired, non-threatening Danica.

My room is on the left, and when I open it, it looks like it's been painted by a small child. It's a nauseating shade of bubblegum pink, with a pale blue bed and white daybed set. There's a dresser, some shelves, and a soft pink couch, complete with an old TV that I'm pretty sure doesn't work. The bedspread looks like the one I had from when I was six and only liked pastel colors. As I approach it, I see that it is, pdown to the fruit punch stain in the left corner.

The closet is hardly better. I have a whopping two sets of pajamas, in eye-watering neon brights. One has grey leopard-print booty shorts. I make a mental note to throw them out when no one's looking.

••

Dinner is awkward. First of all, Isolde returns, which is weird enough, considering she never seems to have time to connect with any of us. She's probably trying to make a good impression on our visitors. To make matters worse, my brother decides to cook for us all. Which would have been a really thoughtful gesture if Llenwi could cook, but quite honestly, no one wants red water poured over limp noodles.

We meet the rest of the team. There's the scary woman, a brother and sister who look like twins, Danica of the pink hair, an earnest-looking young guy who's wearing a tactical vest, a dude with a shaved head that looks like a terrorist, a pretty woman even smaller than the scary woman, and their leader, a thin man with sad eyes. Isolde eyes the men appraisingly. Gross, but not as bad as the dinner. I end up scavenging Sheila G's Brownie Brittle from the cabinet, smearing black cherry ice cream on it, and eating that instead, all the while pushing Llenwi's foul meal around and making encouraging noises.

I swear, I am a born actress.

The Olympia people are silent, concentrating on their food as if it is going to vanish the second they stop staring at it. Isolde addresses herself to the leader guy. "So, how long do you expect to stay with us?"

"As long as we need to." interrupts the pretty woman, pursing her lips in irritation. The other man flashes her a dirty look.

"Ah." Isolde smooths her blonde hair back. "Oceania. How was your trip?"

"It was god-awful, actually. Thanks for asking." I say.

There is silence. The brother and sister exchange nervous glances. Llenwi looks like he is going to keel over and die. In our classic family hierarchy, we, the plebeians, know we are not to complain, for Isolde, as she always says, is very busy and works much harder than we know. So when she asks "How was your trip?" we are to say, "Fine," and nothing else.

But liars never win, and the New Oceania always tells the truth. Lies, after all, are what got us into this mess. "That bitch you put me with had these two shithead brats who kicked me and tried to steal my shit the whole way here. It's amazing I still had the clothes on my back when I came in, really. They made me eat shit food, and quite honestly, I'm pretty sure those kids didn't know the first thing about dental hygiene. I realize you're trying to save money on your embarrassing stepdaughter, but that doesn't mean I have to pretend like we're some happy little family."

"Oceania! Not in front of the guests." Isolde hisses, lovely face flushing, but I am done.

"May I be excused? This food is inedible."  

"No, you may not-" Isolde starts, but I run upstairs before she can get the last part out. Fuming, I slump on my bed so absolutely furious I could spit. How was my trip? Seriously? Not how are you; are you okay; did they treat you right at the institute? She doesn't care about me unless I'm winning awards to make her look like some supermom.

At the bottom of my suitcase are two braids the color of straw. I take them out, fold them, stick them under my pillow. Then I stare at the ceiling until I fall asleep.

Why did you do this to me?

••

The next day, Isolde leaves early for work, not saying a word to me or Llenwi. The agents keep to themselves upstairs, leaving a note that the last room on the fifth floor is not to be disturbed for any reason. Isolde leaves a second note on a bright yellow sticky note informing us that the agents are in charge when she is gone. She also threatens us with certain death if we break this rule. Oh, and there's money for lunch in the kitchen cabinet.

Llenwi refuses to talk with me, thumbs moving like wildfire over a cracked phone screen. I decide to take a chance. "What are you doing?"

"Texting."

"Who?"

He doesn't answer, and I live in mystery for about two hours while trying to set the Internet up on my tablet, a shitty Modulus-77 that barely does anything. I've had it since about the fourteenth century.

At twelve (Earthen time runs on cycles of twelve, like ours) there's a knock at the door and I go to get it (Llenwi's upstairs). I about keel over from the shock. A very pretty girl with an abundance of red hair and big blue (or green, maybe?) eyes waits outside, stylishly dressed in flame-printed silk pants, a white tank top and red leather stiletto boots, her toe tapping impatiently. I can't help but notice how...prodigious...her butt and boobs are.  

Her face wrinkles when she sees me, like biting into a sour berry. "Oh, hello. Is Llenwi in?"

If my jaw had dropped any lower it would have fallen off my face, and I would have needed some mad surgery to take care of that one. Since when do pretty girls ask for my brother? I just manage a nod, and she shoves past me. I yelp as her ass nearly decapitates me. "Put this here, won't you?" she demands, thrusting a red leather purse at me.

Anger rises in me, and I shove it back at her. Who does this bitch think she is? "Hold your own damn purse."

Confusion spreads over her face. "Wait, you're not the help?"

Now I understand how Danica felt yesterday. "No, I'm not the fucking help. I'm Oceania Greanleefe. I'm Llenwi's sister. I live here." My voice is getting progressively louder and louder. "Next time, do your research before you come at me with this bullshit. God, you actually thought that, you privileged asshole piece of shit-"

She steps toward me menacingly, but I'm at least a head taller than her, so I don't back up. "I don't know who you think you fucking are, talking to me like this. I hate to pull the seniority card on this one, but I'm the Lady Vielene of House Onyx, so compared to me, you kind of are the help, little girl.-"

"Get the hell out if all you're going to do is be a condescending prick. I don't think me or my brother want to deal with petty s-"

"Vi!" It's my brother, coming down the fucking stairs with a huge-ass grin on his face. I could kick him. "You came!"

"Of course I fucking came!" She grins broadly, and I have to admit she is really hot. It's too bad she's such a bitch.

"I have so much I want to show you-" He leads her upstairs, looking more animated then I've seen him in years. I hang back, feeling jealous and lonely and hating this girl more than is necessary.

••

Vi and Llenwi go out for lunch, leaving me to fend for myself. I am eating Sheila G's again when there is another knock at the door. Probably Vi and Llenwi back, I think grumpily.

But instead, it is an overweight, voluptuous redhead who throws herself at me with a bear hug that about kills me. "Ermf-" I grunt as she slams into me with enough force to break a rib. "Who the hell are you?"

She separates herself from me and I get a good look at her. Large, placid green eyes with an expression of complete innocent stupidity, fashionable blue striped skirt, flip-flops made of wicker, and an Environmental Club tank top. "Hey, Ocie. I'm Candie."

So this is the girl who mailed me the suitcase with the cookies. "Oh, thanks," discomfited for the moment by her far-too-liberal use of my childhood moniker. "And it's Oc-ea-an-ia." I say, making sure to sound out each syllable of my name.

She claps her hands excitedly. "Ocie. I get it."

Sweet Jesus, this kid is dumb.

"Anyway, Ocie-O-M-G, what are you wearing?!" she screeches. I blush, realizing I'm in my pink plaid pajama bottoms and blue top, which has a suspicious stain from last night's garlic-whatever on it. Still, there's no need for the extreme reaction.

"My pajamas." I tell her.

"You need a makeover," she tells me, and with surprising strength, drags me to a fancy green car. "We're going to my house." she tells the driver, and we're off.

On the ride there, I learn way more about Candie then I actually want to know. She is fifteen and a half (she seems about five), likes to ride horses, and actually enjoys temple services (She's a devout Seven Angels believer.) Her parents are wealthy House Diamond counts who made their fortune playing the stock market. She finds school very difficult, loves helping animals, and thinks homosexuals are going to hell. I honestly don't know what to say. Also, she is the president of a "VERY VERY IMPORTANT" club that sells baked goods to help various charities, and I am the newest member.

"What?" I never signed up for this.

"Your mom thought it would be a good idea. It's called the Je M'appelle club. It's French." she explains. Candie pronounces it "juh maple." From my brief stint of French, I know "je m'appelle" means "I am," so all in all, it's a pretty dumb name for a club. But Candie seems to think it's very cool.

"We have uniform days on Wednesdays-that's those clothes I sent to you-and every week we donate to a different animal rights charity. Isn't it nice? You wear your uniform to school, and everyone knows how committed you are to helping animals."

"I'm not going to your school." I tell her, making a mental note to ask Isolde about all this.

"You will soon," she tells me.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." I say. We pull up in front of a fancy brick townhouse, then go inside. It is ridiculously clean, so clean it looks like a furniture showroom. It is the sort of clean that cannot be accomplished by human hands. But Candie tells me that they have "a lot of servants."

We meet Candie's mother in the model kitchen. She is round-faced pretty and looks a lot like her daughter. You can tell she really wants to talk to me, to see if I am the right kind of friend for her daughter. To prevent from getting kicked out of the house, I say as little as possible. I do not think she would take kindly to having a mental patient in her scarily tidy home.

She offers us some brownies, which admittedly look delicious. But Candie says they're "nasty" and that she's on a diet, and leave us alone, Mama. When she's not looking, I snitch some. They taste like heaven.

Candie's room is perfect and pink and screams "Candie." from the motivational posters on the wall to the abundance of stuffed animals. She insists that I try on some of her clothes, which although quite fashionable, do not fit me at all. This amuses her greatly, and I'm praying to God she gets bored of this soon when my prayers are answered and she tells me she is going to introduce me to her "boyfriend." I am picturing someone bespectacled, dressed like a choir boy, acne-faced. So when she leads me downstairs to a stunning guy with white-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a killer jawline, I'm more than a little stunned.

"This is Adrian." Candie tells me happily. "Adrian, meet Ocie."

"Hello, Oceania." he says. His voice is silk and honey, soft and mesmerizing. If I were the sort of girl to obsessively drool over guys, I'd be falling in love right now. But I am a girl on a mission, and so such distractions only have so much effect on me. Besides, I already am in love with someone. And it's not Adrian.

His relative normalcy compared to Candie's bubbly outpourings leaves me a little tongue-tied, however, so I can only stammer out a quick "nice to meet you." He takes it well enough, though-he seems nice. I wonder what he sees in Candie.

Candie's mom bursts in to tell us that my mom is here. "Stepmom," I correct her. Candie and Adrian say their goodbyes. For some inexplicable reason, they seem to like me. As I leave, I can see him plant a beautiful kiss on her lips, so utterly full of passion it leaves me amazed and full of the same longing that I felt when I saw my brother with Vi.

I wanted that. More than anything. And I could have had it, too. But life, as my friend Sheila used to say, has a funny habit of fucking you in the ass when you least expect it.

••

In the car Isolde gives me a long lecture. Apparently, what I did was very irresponsible, running off like that, I could have been killed, etc, and I was only saved by the good graces of Candie's mom, who called her to tell her where I was. The fact that Llenwi and Vi went off without me to do whatever is irrelevant.

"Why do you care?" I demand. "I'm making friends-since when was that a federal crime?"

"Since the Duchess of the Rublex returned with news of a galaxy held hostage by terrorists." Isolde snaps.

"Wait, what?!"

"Oh, watch the news once in a while, Oceania, you'll be amazed at what you'll find. The point is, it is no longer safe for you to roam around, especially now that you are on Earth."

"So Llenwi can go wherever the fuck-"

"You will watch your language in my presence." Isolde warns, one long red fingernail raised.

"Or what? You're not even my real mom-don't tell me what I can or can't do."

"You're right. I am not your mother." Isolde snaps. "I am not your father. I am not your friend or one of those idiot teachers who worshipped the ground you walked on at your fancy school. I am, however, the woman who paid for your schooling and dance lessons and God knows what else, who payed that lawyer so you wouldn't have to be branded a juvenile delinquent. So when I say jump, you say how high, get it?"

When Isolde is mad, you can hear a hint of Centauriian street under her crisp diplomat's voice. That is enough, I know, to get me to shut up.

••

At dinner everyone is talking about the Rublex takeover. It turns out some no-name Duchess saw the whole thing, and her bodyguard too, and they survived some sort of massacre and an assassination attempt besides. It is all very dramatic, and everyone has an opinion. The agents, who were so quiet last night, are in an uproar, and Isolde, too, has to get her voice heard. I sip my watery soup and pretend to be elsewhere.

After dinner, I make a big show of going to bed, turning off my lights and everything. Then, silent as sin, I slip upstairs to the fifth floor. Call it snooping, but something is going on in that room. I am on the last stair when I hear voices. I freeze, afraid I've been seen, but no matter, it's just the leader guy and the scary woman talking about something.

"The duchess is a real character." the man laughs. "Her kids are a little off, too. This should definitely be interesting."

"Who? Seonid?"

"No, Isolde Greanleefe." The man laughs again, harsher. "Can you believe it? I've devoted my life to this, and here I am, guarding a dead body."

I lean in, curious.

"Shh, Ramon, not so loud! What if they hear?"

"And what would be the matter with that? I don't know why it would possibly be such a secret-the very fact that they ruled it a suicide is an insult to the intelligence of anyone who's actually seen the evidence...It's mind-boggling."

"I know, but we can't say anything. Complete confidentiality."

"I don't see why not. What was her name? Annifrid Lar-something."

"With what's happened in the Rublex...you know what her parents did. This confirms what we've thought...it may have been premeditated, but we can't talk about it. You know that as well as I."

"Ah, but see, now you're talking about it." he says. She protests, but it is too soft for me to hear, and by then I am already creeping downstairs like a thief, my head full of what I just heard.

Annifrid Larsson was murdered. There was no suicide, which is heartening in a way, to know that I did know her enough that she would not do such a thing without calling me. But why would anyone murder Anni? Beautiful, brilliant Anni, whose laugh was sunshine and summer, who could kill you with a smile.

And her body is here...in this very house. I shiver. There is nothing to it. This changes nothing. I have someone to blame now, a concrete villain who I can point my finger at, a killer. and when I catch him...

May God have mercy on his soul.

[megacircuit9universe]

Impeachment Goes Public

WED NOV 13 2019

The public phase of the House impeachment hearings for Trump began today, in a highly visible way, across all TV networks, and on social media, with two unassailable witnesses, Ambassador Bill Taylor, and Diplomat George Kent.

But even yesterday, while everybody was anticipating this, news was breaking on other fronts making Trump look worse and worse.  Basically, all the different legal cases that came out of the Mueller investigation... or in attempts to slow down the Mueller investigation, are all winding down, just as the impeachment is ramping up... resulting in a whole other layer of losses, or damning information, such as that Trump and his campaign had months of forewarning about the DNC break in, and the coming dump of stolen documents to be released on WikiLeaks.

And of course... neither the impeachment hearings, nor the new flood of heretofore sealed revelations from the Mueller probe, are going to slow down any time soon.  So, this is turning into something of a perfect storm (rather than a perfect phone call) for Trump and his allies.

It’s one thing to try and defend one indefensible act.

But the one act Trump’s being charged with... shaking down a foreign leader for dirt on Biden on pain of the death of that leader’s countrymen...  is more the culmination of a months long conspiracy than a single act, and, also happens to fall under the, “bribery,” heading, specifically stated in the constitution as a reason to impeach a President.

Trying to defend that... is a bit more difficult... especially when your party already impeached one guy (Clinton) for far less, and prior to that, convinced another guy (Nixon) to resign for far less.

But if you’re up to that challenge... then try doing it while wading through two feet of smelly, sticky goo coming out about Trump at the same time, as court documents become unsealed and redacted information begins hitting daylight as so many FOIA requests are finally getting granted to news organizations.

And all of this is to say nothing of the fact that there’s still one argument for impeaching Trump that nobody’s even taken out of the steamer trunk yet... the argument that... hey!.. by the way... if you’re saying it’s okay for Trump to do this kind of shit... then you are saying it’s okay for any future Democratic President to do this kind of shit too!

The fact that this argument remains in the steamer trunk tells you something about what’s going on this time around, with die hard Trump supporters... from Devin Nunes, to your disgruntled grandfather.  

This time around... they believe that there will not be any future president but Trump.  They don’t say it in so many words, but they clearly believe it, in their deepest heart of hearts.

Why not, right?  Putin is President for life. Xi Jinping is President for life. Kim Jong Un is President for life.  Clearly, this is the way to go in the 21st century, in order to stay relevant on the world stage... and it doesn’t hurt that he happens to be one of theirs... and maybe is way harder on brown people than white people.

This concept of Trump as President for life, appeals to different crazy people for different crazy people reasons. 

Fundamentalist Christians, for example, who might deny climate change in public, may privately acknowledge all the massive fires, floods, droughts, and growing popularity of authoritarianism... and interpret it all as evidence that the end times are finally here. 

Took you long enough, end times, but what an honor to be among those of the, “last generation,” spoken of in the New Testament, who are gonna witness the end times, because that means Jesus will be coming back soon to take all the good Christians to the eternal kingdom of Heaven, where everybody will be ridiculously happy for ever and ever.

White nationalists, of course, see Trump as a savior of the white people, come to cleanse the nation of its browns, and put women back in their place.

And then you just have the fundamentalist Republican party hacks who... when you pull back the veil... have never been fans of the Constitution.

You have to remember that, before it was ratified in 1789, the U.S. Constitution was an extremely contentious document, with a lot of very vocal opponents. And that didn’t just go away, after it was ratified.

Clearly, we had a whole bloody civil war about it, just 72 years later... well within a single human lifetime.

And 2019 Republican party hacks have no more love for the constitution than any of its detractors from 1789. 

Normally they like to keep that under wraps.  They pay it lip service, but say they are for, “small government,” “state’s rights,” or, “free market,” which are all just code for, “We hate laws.”  But in times such as now, they just cannot hide their contempt for that most repulsive contract of all.

So what if it says explicitly that bribery is impeachable... fuck the constitution!  We’re not doing it!

In their minds (Devin Nunes, Lindsey Graham, and other Congressmen and Senators) this is now the definitive battle against that B.S. constitution they’ve always gagged about having to pay lip service to... and the future of their King, who was chosen by destiny to dispose of it forever.

In their minds... this is the hill they were born to die on... culmination of their life’s mission... moment of truth!

And they’ve got all the fundamentalist crazy people on their side this time, so... they feel they cannot lose...

...today.

They may not feel quite so certain of victory tomorrow... or the next day.

For them, the ultimate problem is that the United States Constitution isn’t just some old paper document you can crumple up and throw in the garbage.  

We’re talking about a public contract that was expertly crafted by some of the most enlightened and educated men who ever lived, specifically to withstand all conceivable attacks, and all conceivable subversion... with 220 years of momentum behind it at this point.

And that’s not just political and bureaucratic momentum (which is considerable enough) but blood. The entire civil war.  The blood of every protester who fought to win new rights. The blood of every serviceman who ever swore an oath to defend it before going off to die on a war front to honor that oath. The blood of every slain President, from Lincoln to Kennedy.  

You don’t just blithely thumb your nose at all that and expect to win your delusional defense of a clearly criminal President.

And in this case, there will not be just one day of reckoning, but two.  The first will be the day the Senate finally has to vote up or down on removing Trump, but the second comes a few months later in the general election.

Yet, Mitch McConnell, who just saw the Governorship of his home state, traditionally red, Kentucky, go to a Democrat, the night after Trump came to do a rally in support of the Republican candidate...  

...is suggesting that maybe the Senate should drag out their impeachment trial in order to keep the many Democratic Senators who are running for the Presidency in 2020 from being able to campaign in the primaries.

In other words, he imagines that the senate will flip off the constitution not only by refusing to remove Trump, but also by fucking up the Democratic primaries... and that this will have no negative blow back next November.

Well, McConnell can daydream all he likes today... 

...but those daydreams could be a little harder to envision so clearly tomorrow, or the next day.

Because the closer we get to that Senate trial... the heavier reality is going to bear down on Trump and his whole junta with a weight they can scarcely imagine right now.

Two weeks ago, around here, the weather was beautiful.  The trees had just started turning colors. It was warm and sunny. And the days were long.

Out of nowhere, it snowed three inches before Halloween, all the leaves came down, the clocks changed to Standard time, and we spent three days in the teens (F), with single digits overnight.

Now it’s a much harsher, darker world, and the time for doing yard work, or entertaining friends around a patio fire is long gone. Poof!

This is how it’s gonna be for Senate Republicans by the time the House is done. 

That’s enough for tonight. Time for bed.