#illegal street race across america

[ch3rryb0mb3rr]

The fact that someone can drive from New York to California in under 26 hours is fucking insane what.

your telling me, that during covid, someone DROVE across the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA in 25:39. HUH

anyways I have something new to add to my bucket list.

[probablyasocialecologist]

And so it makes sense that these are now the places where fascism grows; that’s what these places were designed for. The suburbs were invented as a reactionary tool against the women’s liberation and civil rights movements. The US government, in concert with banks, landowners, and home builders, created a way to try and stop all that, by separating people into single homes, removing public spaces, and ensuring that every neighborhood was segregated via redlining. The suburbs would keep white women at home, and would keep white men at work to afford that home. These were explicit goals of the designers: “No man who owns his house and lot can be a Communist,” said the creator of Levittown, the model suburb. “He has too much to do.” The reason Target has become the locus of today’s particular right-wing backlash is the same reason countless viral TikToks attempt to convince women that they’re at risk of being kidnapped every time they’re in a parking lot. It’s the reason why true crime is one of the most popular podcast genres in America, and why many refuse to travel without a gun by their side and shoot people if they set foot on their driveway.

[...]

It is of course true that these mass hysterias are part of an organized right-wing movement that is attacking human rights across the country—through legislation banning abortion, gender-affirming care, and books, and making it illegal for educators to teach American history accurately. But the shape this movement has taken is not coincidental; it is in fact the product of the unique shape of public life in America, or lack thereof. Suburbanites do not have town squares in which to protest. They do not have streets to march down. Target has become the closest thing many have to a public forum. We often hear that urban areas are more liberal and suburban ones more conservative, and we’re often told that this is because of race. That may be partly true, though cities are whiter than ever and suburbs more diverse than ever. Instead, it may be that suburbanism itself, as an ideology, breeds reactionary thinking and turns Americans into people constantly scared of a Big Bad Other. The suburban doctrine dictates that public space be limited, and conflict-free where it exists; that private space serve only as a place of commodity exchange; that surveillance, hyper-individualism, and constant vigilance are good and normal and keep people safe. It is an ideology that extends beyond the suburbs; it infects everything. Even cities, as Sarah Schulman writes in The Gentrification of the Mind, have become places where people expect convenience and calmness over culture and community. What is a life of living in a surveilled and amenity-filled high-rise and ordering all your food and objects from the Internet to your door if not a suburban life? To make matters worse, the people who have adopted this mindset do not see it as an ideology, but as the normal and right state of the world; they, as Schulman writes, “look in the mirror and think it’s a window.” So when anything, even a gay T-shirt, disrupts their view, they become scared.

[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ i ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

author's note: i wont take tags for this im sorry 😭 also, i changed the faceclaim

masterlist.

The room is dimly lit. You didn't like dim lighting. It reminds you of your childhood bedroom. A barely functioning lightbulb hanging on the ceiling, your mother never bothering to change it. You were too short to change it yourself. You asked your neighbor once to do it for you but he had asked for a night with you in exchange so you kicked him out of the house before he could change the light bulb. You chose to study under the sucky light which became the reason behind your poor eyesight today.

You sit on a chair across Atty. Kim Jin Hwang, HAN entertainment's legal representative and one of the best lawyers Seoul has to offer, with a table dividing the two of you. He’s a man in his fifties, quite close to the age of retirement. He’s a veteran and despite his age, his mind is still sharp. 

You refrain yourself from tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. Anxiety does not look good on you and you refuse to show people that you're anxious. Anxiety is weakness so you keep your posture straight and make sure to keep eye contact with Atty. Kim. If you look away first, you're a coward.

“Tell me honestly. Is this you in the pictures?” Atty. Kim Jin Hwang points at the pictures sprawled across the table. They’re blurry and grainy and incredibly zoomed in. You can't even tell it was you from some angles. You look quite different from the person that you were when you were sixteen. HAN Entertainment is particularly fond of investing in their idol’s plastic surgeries and while they only fixed your crooked teeth, removed the hump on your nose bridge, altered your uneven ears, bleached your skin, and plucked your brows—which are quite minor changes—you still hold very little resemblance to the teenage you. 

You grew up well. Thankfully, you inherited only the best parts of your parents. Or at least, the best parts of your Mom. You have no idea what your father looked like, only knowing that he was from Brazil or some country in South America.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, not bothering to lie. What is the point of lying anyway? People have been calling you all sorts of malicious names across different social media platforms and you’re sure Atty. Kim has seen some of them. There’s no point lying to his face and saving your image anymore. Might as well admit that you are exactly the kind of person they’ve been yapping about. An illegal driver. A criminal. 

“Why did you do it?” Atty. Kim asks and truthfully, you did not expect the question. You expected the what and how and where and when but never the why question. You fall into a thoughtful pause.

“I was sixteen,” you shrug your shoulders, almost uncaringly so. “I wanted to leave home as early as I could and to do that, I needed money. Nobody wanted to accept student part-timers and I tried doing stuff like tutoring and doing other people’s assignments but it wasn't enough. I have a friend who joins street races. He’s not a good driver but he’s got a good car. He really wants to win so he cheated and let me drive his car on the condition that if I win, he’ll split me the winner’s money. I did it. I won races in that car, acting as if he was the one driving it.”

Atty. Kim gives you a long look. You don’t know what it means. 

“Alright,” Atty. Kimlifts his chin and rises from his chair. “That concludes our meeting. In the meantime, you lay low. We’ll handle everything.”

You nod, “Okay.”

True to Atty. Kim’s words, HAN entertainment handled everything. They released a statement that you watched one race because you were sixteen and clueless and didn't know you were getting yourself involved in an illegal activity. It helped that you drove under a different name so people were easily convinced of this lie. You knew your friend—the owner of the car— wouldn't even reveal that it was you who’d driven the car. His ego would be bruised once the people discovered that he cheated on the street races and a sixteen-year-old girl with no license and no personal car outperformed him. 

Additionally, HAN announced that you were to depart your group—ORACLE—which absolutely destroyed you because ORACLE had been the place where you felt like you belonged. ORACLE had been your goal. You worked yourself to the bone to the point of collapse because you wanted to be in ORACLE and wanted to remain in ORACLE.

Nevertheless, you accepted your fate easily. There was no point destroying the other members because of your fault alone. 

Your members cried for a whole week after the announcement was made public through HAN Entertainment’s official social media platforms and you spent every single day you could still spend inside the dorm reassuring them, telling them that you’d still be there for them, that you’d be standing behind them in each step to their success. You loved your girls so much. You wouldn't even choose to leave them. If only fate was a bit kinder to you. If only life was less brutal.

Furthermore, HAN made you publish a handwritten apology letter. You couldn't remember what you wrote anymore but you did remember how heavy the pen felt, how your hands trembled as you wrote each sentence, how writing the damn letter took three hours because you kept breaking down midway. They announced your hiatus promptly after. They used the term indefinite hiatus but it might as well be retirement.

You can't believe that you suffered through sixteen years under the same roof as your incredibly abusive mother, left home with only a backpack and a paper bag of cash just as you hit eighteen years old, worked your way in the harsh world by juggling three part-time jobs and a scholarship-shouldered university education until a scout noticed you, undergone the rigorous and borderline suicidal training of a KPop idol to-be, and sacrificed everything you had—mental stability, blood, sweat, and tears—just so you could pass every monthly evaluation and become your company’s darling, only to have everything disappear because someone found pictures of you predebut in an illegal street racing event. Fuck. 

You were fucking sixteen at that time! You didn't know any better. You only wanted money. You didn't have a license. Getting one is too expensive. You borrowed a car from a friend. It's an unregistered car. You drove the car. You won races. You stopped when you turned eighteen. That was it. 

Knetz decided to crucify you for a sin born out of your desperation when you were sixteen. When a dog was hungry, it ate whatever was thrown its way, uncaring if the food thrown at it was good or not because its primary instinct was only to cure its hunger. It was not as if you sexually assaulted someone. It was not as if you bullied someone and involved yourself in school violence. It was not as if you drank alcohol and drove or even involved yourself in gambling. Sure, street racing was illegal but you never even hurt someone! You never even crashed into someone mid-race.

You’re sure you’re going to leave the company and you won't fight their decision if they want you to do so. People spit out their gum when they lose their flavor. That's also what the industry did. You saw it happen too many times to too many idols. They collect pretty faces, push them to their limits until they could be loved by the public and once the public decides they’re not worth loving anymore, they’d spit them out. You are a gum in this story.

You feel like you’re eighteen again. You want to run away from home all over again. You ran away from the house you were born in once and now, you’re going to run away from the house you worked hard to live in. You want to pack your bags and board the next plane to another country even before the light of the rising sun touches the ground. That gnawing feeling of not belonging to a place that’s supposed to be home kept tormenting the cracks of your heart and the only way to seemingly get rid of it albeit only temporarily is to pick up on your feet and run away, never to leave anything behind you. Not ghosts, not traces, not memories—nothing.

But HAN entertainment won't let you. Yoon PD-nim knocked on your door, a contract in hand. He offered you an apartment to live in, a salary, a place in the company, and told you to keep creating songs. HAN Entertainment knew your talent in song making and producing was partly behind the success of ORACLE, their rising girl group. You were too useful to get rid of easily. 

And like that, you spent the last two years making music for every kpop group under HAN Entertainment. You mostly made B-sides for the junior girl groups, AURORA and PRIZMA, and the title tracks for boy groups, HIRA and 1THEBOY. You worked for soloist, Ciel, once for his last comeback before his mandatory military service and worked on half a mini-album’s worth of songs for ORACLE every comeback. Thankfully, the songs gained positive feedback from the general public. That was your ticket to keep staying in HAN entertainment as a ghost producer and ghost song-writer.

Two years. You rotted in your apartment and the studio. This felt no different than the time you lived under your parents’ roof. You felt like a ghost, present but also not quite there. It's quite fitting, you think. You're a ghost producer and a ghost song-writer. 

This was not a life worth living but you’d rather a life not worth living than have nothing at all. 

You empty your fifth cup of coffee for the day—an unhealthy brew of Americano with five shots of espresso—before standing up from the ergonomic chair where you’ve glued your ass on in the last two to three business hours. The demo for Sunset Paradise is almost finished. There are still a few parts that need major adjustments and refinement but you’re confident that you’ll be done by midnight.

Manager-nim enters the studio just as you reach the door. You jump, almost kicking the indoor potted plant inconveniently positioned near the door. The caffeine made you extra jumpy today. Once you get over your tiny shock, you bow your head in greeting. Manager-nim mirrors your actions.

“You're still working?” he asks.

“You're still bald?” 

Manager-nim rolls his eyes at you, smiling. You chuckle. 

Manager-nim, or rather, Song Dan, is ORACLE’s manager. He is a middle-aged man who only came up to your shoulders. He’s shaped like a square with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He treated you and the other members of ORACLE as if you were his daughters. 

“I’m going to go get coffee. You can sit here for a while,” you invite, gesturing to the tiny cream couch. You use your feet to nudge the potted plant and clear Manager-nim’s path.

“No coffee,” Manager-nim stops you, taking a seat. “That's enough coffee for you today. Sit down here. We need to talk.”

“You can't kick me out. I won't give you Ciel’s first post-military mini album and ORACLE’s summer title track if you do.”

Manager-nim’s eyebrows draw together, a vertical wrinkle appearing between them, “What? No. We're not kicking you out.”

Your shoulders sag, relieved.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single.”

At that, your entire body stiffens, eyes going wide as saucers. You let out a noise in disbelief.

“You're joking.”

Manager-nim’s face doesn't shift in the slightest.

“You're actually serious,” you rub your chin with your hand. 

What is Yoon PD-nim trying to pull now? Two years have passed since you’ve disappeared from the limelight. You're certain that you're not returning to the world of flashing lights and stage performance anymore and you’ve already accepted that your career has ended.

“Why?” your voice slightly wavers as you ask. Manager-nim sighs heavily, patting the vacant space beside him.

“Take a seat. We’re going to be talking for a while.”

The girl in the mirror stares back at you. She looks exhausted. She has deep bags underneath her eyes. Her shoulders are bony. They look like they're about to pierce through her pale skin. Her lips, which should be a nice shade of pink, are pale. Her eyes hold emptiness.

You pull your gaze away from your reflection and direct it to the bathroom sink, where a hair brush sits on the white tiles quietly. Fallen hair gathers up in its numerous sharp teeth. At this rate, you’re going to end up like Manager-nim—bald. 

You can't go bald. You have a weirdly shaped head.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single but before the release, he needs you to be in a PR relationship with someone.”

You hiss loudly, slapping a hand on your temple. God, you want to act like Manager-nim never said that. You don't want to remember it.

You? A PR relationship? With someone you don't know? How atrocious. You didn't even need to hear Manager-nim out until the end. You are out. You do not vibe with romantic relationships. They make your skin crawl.

“Listen, [Name]. This might be your only chance to come back again.”

“What if I don't want to come back again?”

“Then why are you still here? Why are you still making music? You're good at leaving so why didn't you?”

The public still terrifies you but you will never tell that to anyone. You can’t even go out and buy groceries without trembling. So many eyes. So many judging eyes. They're all waiting to destroy you again with their stupid eyes and stupid mouths with sharp teeth. A stupid PR relationship won't save you.

But what if it will?

You hold the edges of the sink and lean the majority of your weight against it. Your knuckles slowly turn white. Your knees feel weak. You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

Why are you still here? A voice in your head asks.

I just want to be home. You reply.

Do it. This is your ticket to go home. It says.

You open your eyes and gaze into the mirror. 

Do you want to be home?

More than anything.

With a nod, you push yourself away from the sink and exit the bathroom.

Yoon Sang Hyuk, CEO of HAN Entertainment—the black marble desk name plate indicates; the text an intimidating shade of gold. The owner of the name sits behind the table, his legs crossed over the other. His face is sealed with a neutral expression. Suddenly, a satisfied smile works its way across his face and you swear the wrinkles that permeated his entire face doubled in amount.

“I knew you still had it in you,” he says calmly. “That's good.”

“Thank you,” you say, your tone coming out bland. 

“I’ll give you a manager and you are to leave for Singapore tomorrow.”

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Oh and [Name]?”

“Yes, Yoon PD-nim?”

“I know you're smart and you're hardworking and you're strong,” he begins. “I am confident you’ll do well so when you fly out there, don't be intimidated by any of them. You're as powerful as them. Remember the reason why you're there in the first place and do what you think is best.”

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you observe. 

It's questionable; the amount of trust he’s giving you. You already expected that Yoon PD-nim would send out an entire escort team just to make sure that you're not going to mess up again and get yourself involved in a PR nightmare incident. Who knows? Maybe someone will dig up pics of you copying homework from your seatmate in middle school and crucify you for being an academic cheater while you're out there holding hands with your fake boyfriend.

“I know you won't make the same mistake twice.”

You finally catch the underlying message behind his seemingly harmless words.

Focus on coming back and don't make another mistake. 

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Lando Kinder Norris,” you read the name on the folder, brows furrowing. That's a rather unique middle name. “British-Belgian. Born November 13, 1999—” 

It's good that your fake boyfriend and you were born in the same year. You're not very fond of age gaps.

“—in Bristol, England. Currently racing for McLaren. Car number 4. First entry is the Australian Grand Prix.”

Below is a series of long paragraphs detailing his racing history that you’re definitely not reading. Shoving the folder aside, you lean back into the seat and cross your arms over your chest. Your eyes flutter close. Jinnie, a HAN entertainment manager who looks like she’s half white and half Asian, gives you a judging look from her seat. 

“You should read it,” she advises.

“No,” you say.

“I spent hours compiling that information,” Jinnie frowns. 

“You compiled the wrong info,” you tell her, not even bothering to glance towards her. “Nobody will believe we’re real if I only know the things written in Wikipedia. You should have asked his PR team how he likes his coffee, if he prefers brunch dates or dinner dates, if he likes staying in or going out, if he likes the sunny weather or the rain, if he’d rather get food delivery or cook, if he’d like to hold hands and walk side by side or walk ahead of you so he can act like your guard dog. Those things.”

To be loved is to be known.

“You speak as if you have romantic experience.”

“Do poets have to experience the things they write poetry about?” you retort. “Immanuel Kant believed that everything depended on how individuals interpret and respond to his environment based on their personal opinions and feelings. I don't need to experience it to know.”

Recurring observations are your common source of knowledge. Reading is another.

And besides, this isn't your first PR relationship. You like to think that you know exactly what you're doing.

“Tell me something that's not written in the folder, Jinnie-ssi,” you open your eyes and tilt your head so you can lock eyes with her. “For example, why does a distinguished racer need a fake relationship? I can’t be the only one benefiting from this agreement.”

Jinnie purses her lips, “I don't know much.”

“But you know something,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. “Tell me.”

“There have been rumors that Lando Norris got a girl pregnant. The woman marched into Woking and demanded to see him. Apparently, he got her pregnant when they slept together in a bar,” Jinnie shakes her head. “It's a messy ordeal but McLaren recently proved that Lando wasn't the father. Too bad though, the public isn't believing them.” 

“And they think giving him a girlfriend would somehow make the public love him?”

“They need to show the world that their boy isn't an asshole,” Jinnie says. “That he’s a loving, loyal partner. That he isn't capable of committing fuckboy crimes because he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home.”

You snort. McLaren really decided that you’ll be the best girlfriend? How did they even know your existence? The KPop community and the F1 community are worlds far away from each other. It's easier for them to choose a supermodel, an American actress, or even a pop star. But no, they really decided that a washed-up KPop idol is a good girlfriend for their star boy. You can think of a few reasons why they chose you. 

“Are you sure he really isn't the father?” you ask. Companies can ignore morality for the sake of protecting their golden images. HAN Entertainment is no different. For all you know, you’re going to be fake dating an asshole who made a woman pregnant and refused to take responsibility. He’d be no different from your father who left your pregnant mother.

“Beats me.”

An hour later, the plane lands in the most expensive city in the world, Singapore.

You have three choices: a VAQUERA blue devil sweatshirt, Motel Rock chute trousers, and a Adidas forum low shoes combo, or a varsity baseball jacket, Bonbom rhee cargo pants, and a Curetty C round toe mary janes combo. You went with the varsity jacket-cargo pants-mary janes combo. You put on a bonnet to finish the look. When Jinnie enters the hotel room and sees what you're wearing, she immediately says:

“No. You're definitely not wearing that.”

“What's wrong with this?” you ask, looking down at your fit. This is what you usually wear. They're comfortable and acubi fashion is a trend nowadays. 

“You're a WAG now. Dress like it.”

Your eyebrow arches.

“WAG?”

“Wife and girlfriend,” Jinnie replies. Your confusion isn't absolved, not even the slightest. Your mouth pulls to the side.

“And how does this correlate to my fashion sense? Do race car drivers control their girlfriend’s fashion style?” you genuinely question.

“No,” Jinnie says. “But they’d prefer it if you dress in something befitting for a WAG, you know? Elegance? Classic timely looks?”

You put a finger up, “No.”

Jinnie huffs, “I’m not taking a no for an answer. Wear a satin dress. Wear cotton trousers and silk blouses. Look like you're from an old money family, not some hip hop dancer from the streets. You're no longer your own person, you are an extension of Lando Norris. You have to look a certain way, act a certain way, talk a certain way. Your goal is to make Lando Norris look good.”

You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek, annoyed. Your jaw is tense.

“And when Lando Norris looks good, you’ll look good. Good enough that the public will love you again to support your new song. Do you understand?”

She's right.

She's right.

You hate that she's right.

No matter how bitter the truth tastes, you are irrelevant and Lando Norris is your ticket to going back. In any other world, you will never ever allow yourself to become a jewelry for a man to wear. So you grit your teeth, keep the ugly prideful monster within you at bay, and clench your fists. You have nothing and when you have nothing, you need to be resourceful and make use of the people who have the things to push you to the top again.

You let out a sigh, “Jinnie, choose my outfit for me.”

Jinnie nods and leaves the room immediately.

It's three days before the Singapore FP1 2023. Jinnie drives you to meet Lando in his hotel. They organized a lunch gathering with you, Jinnie, Lando, and the other McLaren PR representatives who are responsible for this entire PR scam. 

You're wearing a Versace tweed cardigan and a boucle tweed skirt paired with high heel leather boots and Greca goddess large shoulder bag. All black in color. Jinnie is the one who styled your hair. She insisted on it actually, claiming that your beach waves hair isn't doing it. She flat ironed the hell out of your hair so now, it's straight as a pole. She also sprayed your bangs with strong hold hairspray to keep them in place.

The outside world is nothing but a blur of high-rise buildings and cement pavements as the car runs. You're picking on your nails. They're clean but bare of manicures. Your two pinky nails are a bit too short. You tried to stop yourself from biting them in the airport but you can’t resist.

Two years is a long time. A bit too long in your opinion. You don't remember the things you learned in your etiquette classes anymore—how to stand in the public, how to walk, how to pose in front of the cameras, how to smile, how to greet people, how to look completely in your element despite being anxious of having a thousand eyes staring at you, how to act as if you're not crumbling at the pressure of looking good for everyone. That's the only way they’ll love you. If you look good in their eyes.

“We’re here.”

You blink.

“Come again?”

Jinnie points outside the car window. The car stopped and you didn't notice.

“Sorry,” you mutter, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You let out a breath, roll your shoulders back, and push the door open. Your entire face relaxes and you smile politely at the valet when Jinnie hands him the keys of the car. You ignore the starstruck expression on his face as you gesture to Jinnie to lead the way, following after her but not before saying your thanks to the valet. You're polite. You're trained to be.

You keep your shoulders square and your walk confident as you enter the hotel lobby. There aren’t a lot of people inside. There's a family of four in a corner, a group of elderly people sitting in the waiting area, and a group of posh friends chatting near the front desk. You can see a few heads turning in your peripheral vision. You can't blame them. You can be stunning if you try to be.

Your heart begins to ram violently against your rib cage. A million butterflies infest your intestines. Your ankles feel like it’ll snap in half a few minutes later. Your mind chants: DID THEY NOTICE HOW SCARED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE HOW TERRIFIED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE? DID THEY?

You want your ball cap and your sunglasses and your face mask. You want to hide your face.

You have to control your breathing as subtly as you can but you continue walking as if you're the prettiest yet the most down-to-earth creature to ever grace the planet. You fix your hair again once Jinnie and you stop in front of the elevator. Jinnie presses a button and you wait. While waiting, you twist the sole of your boot against the floor. It's better than tapping it against the floor. The elevator dings and the two of you enter the empty box.

When the doors close, your knees give out. You slam your hands against the stainless steel walls to stop yourself from dropping to your knees on the floor. Jinnie’s hands wrap around your waist, supporting as you pull yourself up. Her face contorts in worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks. You nod quickly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you lay your palm against your chest, right above your drumming heart. “Thanks.”

You straighten up, tugging the hem of your Versace tweed outfit to smoothen the creases and fixing your hair again. You clear your throat. The elevator dings and the doors open. You step out and your mask slides in place. 

Jinnie leads you to a private dining hall. In the middle of a hall is a table occupied by five people wearing tacky orange-black polo shirts. You recognize one of them to be your fake boyfriend, Lando Norris. 

Jinnie had already shown you what he looked like in her tablet and a few printed pictures but the pictures didn't do him justice. He looks extra charming personally.

He's still not your type.

The entire group rises to a stand just as you and Jinnie reach the table. You give a ninety degree bow, hands flat on the collar of your top so you won't accidentally give the McLaren people a view of your chest. (It's not like they have something to see anyway. Your chest is flatter than a rice field.) The edges of your lips curl upwards in a polite smile. You see Lando, your supposed fake boyfriend, try to imitate the bow, although he doesn't go as deep as you did. Your head tilts slightly at his action. 

Jinnie is the first one who speaks, stretching a hand in front of her to shake hands with the McLaren team. She introduces herself in fluent English, “I’m Jinnie Jo of HAN Entertainment. It's a pleasure to meet you. This is [Name].”

They each introduce themselves one by one. Nicole, Greg, Kyla, and Louis. You try to memorize their faces and their names, drilling it into your brain so you won't forget. You're going to be working closely with them after all.

“Hi,” you greet them. You also shake hands with each of them. It feels weird, shaking hands as greetings. You are more accustomed to bowing. 

“Wow, Jinnie, your accent is good,” Kyla compliments your manager.

“Thank you,” Jinnie smiles pleasantly. “I was born in Chicago. English is my first language.”

“How about her? Does she speak English?” Louis inquires. He's giving you a funny look. You ignore it.

“She does,” you smile at him pleasantly. “I’m very fluent. You don't have to worry.”

Risha, the Canadian member of ORACLE, was the one who helped you master English. You even have a Canadian accent when you speak English because of her. Additionally, you also took language classes when you were a trainee—Japanese, Chinese, English, and you even requested Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Korean sign language. You dabbled a bit on Tagalog, too, because you know how large the ORACLE fanbase is in the Philippines. You continued taking the classes up even after debut, even after all the members of the group had stopped, because you wanted to master the languages for the fans, to be able to hold conversations with them, to connect with them. You only stopped going to the classes after leaving the group two years ago. It's nice to see that your English skills are still in perfect shape.

“Please take a seat,” Nicole invites. You and Jinnie sit down. You place your bag on the empty chair beside you and when you pull your gaze up, you coincidentally meet Lando’s eyes. They're blue and green with flecks of hazel dusted in the middle. It's the first time you've seen someone with eyes wielding three different colors. They're stunning.

You smile at him. He smiles back and then averts his gaze. You turn to Nicole, who’s sitting beside you.

“Now,” she says, putting two folders on the table. She slides them towards you and Jinnie. Jinnie picks them up. You don't. Instead, you stare at them. 

“What are these?” you question, slowly bringing your eyes up and meeting Nicole’s gaze.

“Contracts,” she answers.

“Contracts?” you echo, picking the folder up and opening it. You take your sweet time reading from top to bottom, tilting your head a bit to the side.

“You don't have to read it all. It's all just formalities. Just sign it,” Louis inputs. “Reading can be hard for you since it's not your first language—”

“I read just fine,” you interrupt, not glancing up as your eyes thoughtfully scan through the words printed on the paper. “Thank you for the concern but this is a contract that involves me and my future. I wish to know what I’m agreeing to.”

Louis wisely keeps his mouth shut. You put your hand on your mouth so you can discreetly smirk.

When you finish reading, you slowly set the folder back on the table. You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you tap your finger on the wooden surface of the table. 

“This is unfairly written, don't you agree?” you ask. “You're putting rather lots of demands on me but so little on him.”

From beside you, Jinnie thins her lips. You know she's also thinking the same thing. Fucking HAN Entertainment. They didn't even make sure that the contents of the contracts are not disadvantageous towards you. You are disappointed but not surprised. They really just sent you to be devoured by wolves and demanded you to not make a mistake.

McLaren also thinks they can just choose a washed-up KPop idol to cosplay as their golden boy’s trophy girlfriend and make her do all their demands with little benefits and zero complaint. They deliberately chose someone who still holds popularity but little power. Someone who needs them as badly as they need her. They chose you.

Assholes. The two of them.

“What do you want him to do anyway?” Louis sneers. His face is beginning to look a little too annoying. “He's busy building his career. All you have to do is support him and make sure everyone knows it because you have none. That's all. Or is that a little hard for you?”

Louis is getting this all wrong. Jinnie told you that you're going to fix his reputation for him so his career wouldn't be ruined. In exchange, he gives you publicity so you could bring your career back from ruination. This is not a parasitic relationship where only their side gets the benefits. How could you even work on that comeback of yours if you're going to be glued by his side? 

Your jaw ticks with restraint yet you choose to smile, “He’s not the only one building his career.”

You pick up the folder and toss it to Jinnie, who catches it skillfully. 

“Throw that away. We're flying home. I don't need a PR relationship to promote my single that much.”

Satisfaction fills you when their faces grow alarmed. 

Ha.

“Wait,” Kyla stands and she shoots a dirty glance towards Louis. Your eyebrows scrunch a little. “The contracts are open to revisions.”

You clap your hands together, smiling widely.

“Perfect. Jinnie, hand me a pen.”

The team leaves you and Lando alone in the hall to eat, to give you both a chance to get to know each other. 

You allow your eyes to scan the hall. It has a bright spacious ambiance. The windows are stretched from the floor to the ceiling, allowing as much natural light inside. Singapore looks absolutely breathtaking down below. The flooring is made out of natural pine and a crystal chandelier hangs atop the table where you and Lando ate. You keep thinking: what if it'll fall? You shake the thought out of your head and put a fork full of pasta into your mouth.

“Is the pasta good?” Lando asks. You nod, humming and smiling. You don't like it one bit. You're also mildly allergic to shellfish. You're definitely going to get a bad case of rash later. You hope Jinnie is prepared with a medicine kit. You forgot to bring yours.

You wipe your mouth with your table napkin, announcing, “I’m full.”

You have only eaten half the plate.

“Oh you have a…” Lando points at the corner of his lips. You wipe the same area in your face. “No, the other side.”

You wipe the other side, “Is it gone?”

“Allow me,” he says, standing up from his chair and leaning across the table to thumb the stain. 

“Is it gone?” you ask again. Lando nods.

“Yeah, it is.”

He goes back to his seat.

“Thank you,” you smile. “You're already doing great with the whole fake boyfriend act.”

A flustered smile splits Lando’s face, shaking his head.

“I try.”

“By the way,” you begin, leaning a little forward. “Did they also give you a folder with my information?”

Lando nods, “Yeah.”

“Did they also suck?”

He purses his lips.

“Well….” he drawls.

“You can tell me if it sucks. The one my manager gave me looks like it's copy-pasted from Wikipedia.”

Lando chuckles. 

“I mean, your biography is very…detailed? Too detailed, I think. I didn't remember most of them, sorry. I only remember a few of them. Like your birthday. January 1, 2000.”

“1999.”

“Pardon?”

You wave your hand in a theatrical flourish, “I was born in 1999. The company manipulated my public information.”

Lando’s brows raise in surprise.

“They do that?”

“You’ll be surprised,” you lean back into your chair.

“But why?”

“So every member in ORACLE can be born in 2000. I don't know,” you shrug your shoulders. 

“That seems like an unnecessary change.”

“It is,” you agree. “But HAN wants everything to be perfect. They see a flaw. They fix it to their liking immediately.”

“What are the other things that are a scam in your biography?”

“Scam is a big word,” you tell him, amused. “But I’ll tell you. In exchange, tell me about yourself. Not the info I can read in Wikipedia. In order to make this work, I have to know you.”

To be loved is to be known.

“Alright,” Lando says. “We can take turns asking each other questions.”

“Cool,” you bring a glass of water towards your lips, taking a sip. “I’ll start. How do you like your coffee?”

[palmerpillled]

hi. i dont go here but I wanna talk.

imagine being Josef Newgarden, 13 and after trying a few sports and not being too good at any, you starting karting, you immediately pick up four titles. you love it. you travel to europe and become the first american to get a Formula Ford Festival title. Europe is harsh to you and in 2011 you return back to america. Something about the home soil fuels you and you win an Indy lights championship. you get into indycar the next year.

meanwhile, across the world in New Zealand, Scott Mclaughlin becomes the youngest driver to win a Supercars race. He breaks the record for most wins in a single season. He's dominant, simple. He's just like you in every way possible. Little do you know, your future best friend is watching you become Penske Perfect. He's watching and rooting for you from an ocean over.

In 2021, Scott comes over from Supercars. You werent ever too close to anyone on the grid- but you two click. You were so used to keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, that you let him in.

in 2021, you have a best friend. you both know that being teammates and friends won't work for long. you both can bet on it long before it happens. in 2022 you create a youtube channel and start making little videos with Scott. People like you guys, they think you're funny. You're not just Josef Newgarden, 2x Indycar champion and Penske driver, but also you're 1/2 of Bus Bros. This is the closest you've ever been with a teammate on this level. It's an emotional dynamic. It carries on into 2023 with a little less passion. Heartbreak in inevitable. Some days you wanna make sure he's okay, other days you hope he suffers. You wanna break his leg- quick and aggressively, he wants to beat your skull in. You'll film a Bus Bros episode that weekend and pretend you didn't openly say that in an interview. You mindlessly believe it will be resolved, that you two can fix it when it falls apart. Scott is a realist, saying you're a limited duo. You're both too egotistical to believe you're wrong is what he says.

2023 wraps up and it's your worst season finish. What happened to Penske perfection? You were bigger than the whole sky, a demon on ovals. You were everything Penske represented. Scott's making you soft. What happened to your perfection that people said was impossible? Scott is not only your best friend, but your teammate. And he's starting to win. He's the friend you held as close as your enemies until you realized he was just like them. Coming into the 2024 season, you unfollow everyone. Rumors are spiraling and you end Bus Bros, quietly taking down the merch site. Scott refuses to answer questions besides saying to ask you about it.

It's the streets of St. Pete, Penske has an illegal car- you all know about it. You and Scott get a 1-2. Podiums are publicity, everyone has their eyes on you. Be as cordial as you can, you'll crop him out of your photos later on instagram.

The cooldown room is more tense, Scott refuses to sit by you. The cars illegal, they figure it out in Long Beach. The St. Pete 1-2 gets stripped away from you. Scott sees things level and you're hungry only for another win, to be seen as the winner you once were. The Barber press conference is an embarrassment for you, you're spilling your guts on a white table while cameras flash. Scott admits to it and takes subtle digs at you in an interview. (x,x)

Scott takes pole position at the 500. Scott leads the most laps. But you won. Your hunger motivated you and here it is, the proof you're better. You lost your best friend for it. you're the first back to back Indy 500 race winner since 2001-2002. People are calling you the villain. This is how it ends. Scott makes fun of you during your speech, "I still love you my bus bro." And thats how it ends. You're still cropping eachother out of posts. You seldomly talk. It's not over though, and it never will be.

Oh and Will Power is there.

[news365timesindia]

[ad_1] With voting underway in the U.S. presidential election on Tuesday, Indian-American voters expressed varied opinions, with some supporting Donald Trump for his economic and immigration policies, while others favored Kamala Harris, appreciating her leadership style.   Ajay Patel, an Indian-American from New York, shared his support for Trump, highlighting values like hard work and economic independence. He believes in limiting immigration and prioritizing the needs of Americans. “I support Trump because he believes in some of the values I have. If we work hard, I want to keep my money, I don’t want to take care of other people of the country who are entering the country illegally,” Ajay Patel said. “We should not have people starving on the streets of America while we worry about people across the world who don’t care about America or the values that America has so that’s why the Trump group has started to resonate more with Indians. This time around I feel more Indians are in lines with the views of President Trump holds and we support him that the reason,” Ajay Patel added. Kumar, an Indian-American from New York, expressed mixed feelings about Kamala Harris, stating that she has done a tremendous job and resonated with the people; however, she has not been able to “fully introduce” herself to America. “What she (Kamala Harris) has done is, put together a phenomenal campaign in the last 90 days…she has done tremendous job, she has resonated the people…she has unfortunately not been able to completely introduce herself to America,” Kumar said. Ajay Bhutoria, a member of Kamala Harris’s presidential campaign National Finance Committee, affirmed confidence in Harris’ victory and urged people not to be ‘misled’ by Trump’s false statements. “I am so excited…tomorrow will be a historic day where the country gets to choose the first Indian-American, first black woman, first woman commander-in-chief of our country…please don’t fall into the traps of misleading statements made by Trump…she will work hard…we are going to win,” Bhutoria said. The United States presidential elections have commenced in the US on Tuesday. The first ballot has been cast in New Hampshire’s small township of Dixville Notch, a township located along the US-Canada border. Over 160 million voters are expected to cast their ballots, with the results either delivering a return to power for Republican former President Donald Trump (78) or electing America’s first woman in the White House, Vice President and Democratic candidate Kamala Harris (60). According to polls, both candidates are deadlocked in the race, with an estimated 75 million voters having already voted, and the race for the White House is down to the wire. [ad_2] Source link

[news365times]

[ad_1] With voting underway in the U.S. presidential election on Tuesday, Indian-American voters expressed varied opinions, with some supporting Donald Trump for his economic and immigration policies, while others favored Kamala Harris, appreciating her leadership style.   Ajay Patel, an Indian-American from New York, shared his support for Trump, highlighting values like hard work and economic independence. He believes in limiting immigration and prioritizing the needs of Americans. “I support Trump because he believes in some of the values I have. If we work hard, I want to keep my money, I don’t want to take care of other people of the country who are entering the country illegally,” Ajay Patel said. “We should not have people starving on the streets of America while we worry about people across the world who don’t care about America or the values that America has so that’s why the Trump group has started to resonate more with Indians. This time around I feel more Indians are in lines with the views of President Trump holds and we support him that the reason,” Ajay Patel added. Kumar, an Indian-American from New York, expressed mixed feelings about Kamala Harris, stating that she has done a tremendous job and resonated with the people; however, she has not been able to “fully introduce” herself to America. “What she (Kamala Harris) has done is, put together a phenomenal campaign in the last 90 days…she has done tremendous job, she has resonated the people…she has unfortunately not been able to completely introduce herself to America,” Kumar said. Ajay Bhutoria, a member of Kamala Harris’s presidential campaign National Finance Committee, affirmed confidence in Harris’ victory and urged people not to be ‘misled’ by Trump’s false statements. “I am so excited…tomorrow will be a historic day where the country gets to choose the first Indian-American, first black woman, first woman commander-in-chief of our country…please don’t fall into the traps of misleading statements made by Trump…she will work hard…we are going to win,” Bhutoria said. The United States presidential elections have commenced in the US on Tuesday. The first ballot has been cast in New Hampshire’s small township of Dixville Notch, a township located along the US-Canada border. Over 160 million voters are expected to cast their ballots, with the results either delivering a return to power for Republican former President Donald Trump (78) or electing America’s first woman in the White House, Vice President and Democratic candidate Kamala Harris (60). According to polls, both candidates are deadlocked in the race, with an estimated 75 million voters having already voted, and the race for the White House is down to the wire. [ad_2] Source link

[lunarsilkscreen]

The Arms Race between Police and Civillians

In the U.S. there are two concepts that are very highly in favor; Fund the Police, and Right to Bear Arms.

I want you to take second to consider two separate ideas; The right to bear arms is so in favor that Gun sales in America are seemingly excessive. However; because of these sales; Police Officers across the country are increasingly fear for their own lives.

Illegal Firearms, Ghost Firearms, cheap firearms in every street corner Pawn Shop; the Police might be right that they should fear the Second Amendment itself.

This leads to an escalation for the Police Forces in urban areas to increase their armouries, while Civillians fight to increase their armories *as well*.

That the voices in support of both measures are usually on the same side is telling; you'd think one would prefer safer jobs for cops, or that Civillians should just police themselves.

It seems to me that the it's only about Weapon sales, not only to Civillians, but to police officers. And so our politics, as always, are dominated *more* by corporate interests than stated ideals.

Thin blue-lone my ass.

[sarta22]

Twenty-three years ago, the worst terrorist attack on American soil occurred. Like many people, I have vivid memories: Seeing the towers for the last time on September 10th while coming home from the rained out Yankees-Red Sox game, watching the horror unfold on the television in high school the following day, seeing the black smoke from my parents house in New Jersey, seeing all the missing persons posters, how quiet it was in the city for a long time after, but also how people came together as a country: in New York city, in communities across America and as a nation. I just started reading a book: "A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster" and there is a passage from a woman in her early twenties at the time waiting for hours on 9/11 to cross the Williamsburg Bridge by foot and describing the feeling on the street: "There was a sense on the street on September 11 of calm, of trusting in the people around you--kind of being impressed with how intelligently the people around you were handling the circumstances. There was camaraderie, no hysterics, no panic, you felt that people would come together. That's obviously what happened in the towers, there was a lot of heroism that day." People that day and in the following days, weeks, and months came together and took care of each other. I lived in Minot in 2011 during the worst flood in their history, which inundated the downtown and displaced nearly 30% of the city's population. Less than 2% of those displaced took refuge in the shelters, however, because Minotians opened their doors to friends, relatives, neighbors and strangers. This is an example of a resilient community. We all deserve to live in resilient communities and building such communities is complicated, but it is not possible without empathy. Communities, nations and humankind will be most resilient if we are able to recognize and act to alleviate human suffering in others. This is the only way we can grieve, heal and grow as a community, as a nation, and as a species when faced with adversity.

On 9-11, first responders and civilians risked their lives helping others and 343 brave firefighters and paramedics lost their lives that day. 2,605 Americans and 372 foreign nationals from 61 countries died in that horrendous attack. In these situations, these heroes did not question the race, gender, belief system, political party, citizenship of others, but sprang into action to help fellow human beings in danger. I'm saddened and angered when people in our community, nation, or planet are cavalier to the suffering of fellow human beings. Our fellow Great Ape species, the bonobo demonstrate a xenophilic nature that seems to be missing in so many members of our own species. Our democracy is undermined if the American ideals of equality, democracy and freedom are denied to any of our citizens. The xenophobic and racist speech of people in this country is despicable, inhuman and completely undermines our direction as a nation toward a more perfect union. The completely unfounded claim about immigrants in Springfield by Trump during the debate last night is baseless and fuels hate. His running-mate claimed that "Haitian illegal immigrants" are "draining social services and generally causing chaos" is untruthful, hateful, and racist. The Haitian community in Springfield is composed of legal migrants and naturalized US citizens. A Presidential candidate and Vice Presidential candidate are attempting to drum up fear and hate against fellow Americans. To not care about the suffering and loss that fellow human beings in Gaza, Haiti, El Salvador, and elsewhere around the world are navigating is so heartless. These are human beings who have been thrust into terrible situations outside of their control and who are trying to survive and rebuild a life for themselves and their families. If you cannot comprehend this and empathize with people, you aren't strengthening your community or country, but merely your own isolated existence.

We are a country of immigrants. The Statue of Liberty was gifted to the United States after the French writer and abolitionist Laboulaye proposed that the French recognize America for their friendship and the ideal of democracy. Today, the statue is synonymous with the America ideals of equality, democracy and freedom. The statue's often overlooked broken shackle honors the abolition of slavery. Ellis island opened as an immigration station six years after the dedication of the Statue of Liberty. It would be another eleven years before Emma Lazarus's famous poem "New Colossus" was added to the plaque on the base of the Statue. She wrote the poem as a donation for the Pedestal Fund for the Statue of Liberty in 1883, after her friend and fellow writer Constance Cary Harrison convinced her that the statue would be a symbol for immigrants coming into New York (then into Castle Garden). Lazarus aided Jewish refugees coming to New York fleeing antisemitic pogroms in Europe.

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

Today, far too many Americans forget these words, forget this message of empathy, ignore the plight of fellow Americans, refugees, migrants, immigrants and foreigners. Hate destroys communities and will ruin our country. Let's not forget 9-11. Let's not forget how we came together as a community. Let's not forget the ideals we uphold as Americans. Let's not forget all of those before us who have fought so bravely fighting for the rights of all our brothers and sisters in our country and around the world.

[tuxebo]

hey i’m sorry if this comes across as rude at all! but i just got back on tumblr recently and noticed your now pro-trump and an israel supporter yet i remember you being the opposite as in quite liberal is there any reason for the switch? i love your bots btw

Hello, not rude at all! I'm very open about being a liberal, it is not something I try to hide. I'll give you my story, no problem, and thank you if you stay for the whole thing. I was always pro-Israel, but I wasn't always conservative, I'm actually an Independent now. I'm glad you like what I make, thank you for staying <3

The thing is, the Democratic party is full of lies. I was at my lowest when I began to believe the garbage the blue spit and I was beyond suicidal. Praise God that isn't the case anymore, and I got off a lot of meds. But you'll hear that being blue messed with a lot of people's minds because of the amount of fear mongering and "you're perfect as you are" nonsense.

I couldn't go out in public because I believed men were out to get me, I couldn't walk through a parking lot, go to the bathroom, go to school. I hated men and believed the feminist lies, and those were the worst years of my life. The idea that because I am a girl I must be a feminist ruined my teenage years. And I was not perfect as I was and I am not now, none of us are, then none of us would need a Savior. But I strive for perfection, as much as I am able. This "me, me, me" mentality is so damaging, I could not make friends and I was terrified I was going to get kidnapped, raped, and sold by guys that didn't even look once in my direction.

I hated people around me for the language they used. I policed the people around me because a joke they made was too "racist" for my tastes. Jokes that are actually pretty funny now that I'm not being uptight fighting a ghost-man for an entire race.

Self-love is not the glory they sell it to be. I don't need to look in the mirror and be in love with what I see. I don't hate my appearance, it is just one of those things that do not matter. Be hygienic, be clean, take care of yourself. However, also pray, be humble, work hard, take care of those around you, love those around you, respect those around you; these things matter more than how much makeup you put on or how expensive the car you drive is.

Then, take a look at the economy. Do you think Democrats care about you? They abandoned the people in Aurora, Colorado, the people in Springfield, Ohio. They abandoned New York. They abandoned us in California. The blue is full of lies, and I'm sick of buying into it. I'm not a victim, I'm not oppressed, I am a survivor of Domestic Violence and multiple forms of abuse. Stupid identity politics will not work on me, I am not a victim.

Prices are at an all time high, crime is up, the border is open, only 43% of people in California speak english, drugs are everywhere, you can't buy a home, protesters are in the streets chanting "Death to America," out veterans are struggling. Men suicide rates are too high, single parenthood is becoming too common, white people are being shamed for being white, babies are being murdered, children are getting procedures they can't fully comprehend before they even finish puberty. Our streets are disgusting and homelessness is everywhere. This is the definition of insanity, this is not normal.

The government is trying to make it hard to practice our 2nd amendment right, given to us to fight against tyranny. Look at Europe, they lost their right to bear arms long ago and now they need it more than ever. Women are being raped in the streets, people are being murdered, muslims are breaking in at record numbers.

One of the reasons it is important now is because of the gang invasions and illegals coming here to commit crimes. It's not just Mexicans. Russians, Chinese, and tons of other countries are coming in through the Southern Border. Sex trafficking is going on down there like crazy, mind you, a lot of it involves CHILDREN.

There were no wars under Trump, the prices were low under Trump, small businesses were supported by Trump, the border was secure under Trump. He supports and takes care of veterans, he supports the police. He supports black citizens, asian citizens, mexican citizens. All we ask is for you to come legally and be prepared to work, just like everyone else.

Kamala Harris is a damn joke. A mockery of the black community, let me remind you, she isn't even a full black. A real black person isn't black to win votes, isn't black when it is convenient. Her polices... wait, what are her policies? Price gouging? The literal definition of communism? That is a joke.

Illegals are stealing lives, homes, jobs, education, you name it. They need to go, now. Don't defund the police, we need them now more than ever. By the way, let me say, Kamala hasn't changed at all. She is a lying liar. That's what they do: they lie. She does talk to the press. She hasn't changed from how she was, I implore people to vote with your heads and not emotions. What happened when you voted black just because they were black? Well, we had Obama. What a joke of a man.

The evidence is irrefutable, and the debate tonight will solidify it. Watch it and see for yourselves, learn for yourselves. I made the political switch before I fully began believing and trusting in the Lord again, so that isn't my full reason. I would also suggest looking into Christ, though. Not the church, not the religion, the God that became fully man to be tortured and killed so that we may live in eternity with Him. Because that's how much He loves us.

The West is deteriorating, fast, but I find assuredness in my Lord and Savior. I grew up Catholic before my family joined Christianity. It was a bumpy ride, but I'm glad to say I've found the Lord for myself. It is a personal relationship, not a religion or a group of people. People lie, people fall short, but the Lord never has and never will.

“For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares Yahweh, ‘plans for peace and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart." ‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29‬:‭11‬-‭13‬ ‭LSB‬‬

[newsonomics]

France in Turmoil: A Crisis in Law Enforcement, Public Trust, and Economics

France has suffered from worrying public unrest over the past week, with riots and protests spreading across the country. The problem began after a 17-year-old boy was shot and killed by police during a traffic stop. The protests have turned violent, with protesters constructing barricades, lighting fires, and shooting fireworks at police. More than 800 people have been arrested, and at least 200 police officers have been injured. The French government has deployed 40,000 police officers to quell the protests. 

The unrest is the latest in a series of incidents that began in France in January 2023, orchestrated by the opponents of the pension reform bill put forward by the Borne government. The strikes have led to widespread disruption, with heaps garbage piling up on the streets. The riots have spread to major cities and towns across France, with incidents reported in numerous locations across the greater Paris region. 

The situation remains tense, and the French government struggles to maintain order amidst the ongoing protests and violence. The state has encouraged all potential visitors to refrain from entering the country, with trains and flights entering and leaving the country being or to be cancelled in the near future. 

The riots are reported as some of the worst in the past decade, so, has France, a country with a history of revolution and public unrest, possibly tempered a new threat to the government from a public who are now more enraged than ever with the police and a more widespread problem about the power imbalance across the country? In short, yes they have, because these riots have stemmed from a series of smaller protests and can only increase as the government continues to fail in their job to protect discriminated communities, and the ways in which the public react to this can only grow more violent and dire.

So, are these riots justifiable? If you look at it from an economic perspective, France suffers from one of the worst unemployment rates in Europe at 7.4% in 2023. However, the rate for African immigrants in France is a whole 6% higher than for natives. What this shows is that a cultural and economic divide has been created, with African and Arabic immigrants suffering from racial discrimination in various realms of endeavour alongside extreme police brutality. 

During the time of the slave trade, slavery was in fact illegal in mainland France, therefore the French believed that, whilst race was an issue in colonies and in the Americas, it was never an issue that spread to their own country. However, France does have a very thick history of racial issues related to violence, employment and pay, which seem to be brushed over by the media and various governments. The murder of Nahel M. was essentially the trigger event of a buildup of unrest amongst the immigrant community in France, who have been forced into their own economy which is constantly failing whilst the rest of France thrives relatively. 

Whilst at the surface the riots may seem like they are a direct result of the shooting alone, the public distrust in France has been caused by a series of disconcerting events revolving around the economic and social abuse of the immigrants from the Middle East and Africa.

So, one may ask, how will France manage to reconcile with their oppressed communities who have seemingly had enough of this broad, terrible mistreatment?

[blackladisdestrcz]

Podívejte se na video „The Real Story of the Illegal Street Race across America“ na YouTube

[nerdygaymormon]

The Pride Month We Know & Love

In 1969, the Stonewall Riots occurred. This is considered the beginning of the modern queer rights movement. At the time, it was called the gay rights movement and the word gay, while meaning homosexual, also was an umbrella term that included all of what we now call the queer community.

————————————————————

On November 2, 1969, a group of people proposed the first gay parade be held in New York City, both to commemorate the 1969 Stonewall riots and to be an annual reminder that we are in a struggle for fundamental human rights. They called on homophile organizations throughout the country to hold demonstrations the same day to show nationwide support. 

On June 28, 1970, the Christopher Street Liberation Day marked the first anniversary of the Stonewall riots with a march. Christopher Street is the road in front of the Stonewall Inn and the road participants marched down. The New York Times reported (on the front page) that the marchers took up the entire street for 15 city blocks. Marches were also held in Chicago & Los Angeles while San Francisco held a “gay-in.”

In 1971, marches took place in Boston, Dallas, Milwaukee, London, Paris, West Berlin, and Stockholm.

By 1972 the participating cities included Atlanta, Brighton, Buffalo, Detroit, Washington D.C., Miami, and Philadelphia, as well as San Francisco.

————————————————————

The first marches were both serious and fun and served to inspire the widening activist movement. There was a dramatic increase in the number of people organizing for queer rights. In 1969, there were 50 to 60 gay groups in the country. In 1970 that increased to at least 1500. In 1972 it was 2500.

Prior to 1969, the organizations called themselves the homophile movement. They focused on showing that gay people are respectable and politely asked for discriminatory policies to be removed. Their marches had dress requirements, age limits as to who could participate, and even the signs held had to be pre-approved.

The Stonewall riots with images of gays retaliating against police changed things and inspired new activists. They considered the movement an uprising and renamed it the gay liberation movement. We are gonna be who we are and live as we want, respectability be damned. Parades and festivals were to specifically to not have dress requirements or age limits. 

————————————————————

In Nazi Germany, gay men were prisoners in the concentration camps and their clothes had inverted pink triangles sewn on them to mark them as homosexual men (this also included bisexual men and trans women). This pink triangle was extra large so they could be easily identified from a distance. 

After the concentration camps were shut down at the end of World War II and prisoners freed, the gay survivors were not released but locked up in prison. Homosexuality was illegal in Germany. West Germany continued to imprison them until 1994!

In 1973, Homosexuelle Aktion Westberlin, a German gay liberation group, called for gay men to wear the pink triangle as a memorial to past victims and to protest continuing discrimination. This pink triangle became a symbol of the gay rights movement and many displayed it proudly, but the symbol couldn’t shake its association with the horrors of the Nazis. 

Harvey Milk, one of the first openly gay elected officials in the U.S., urged artist Gilbert Baker, an openly gay man and a drag queen, to create a new inspiring symbol for the gay community to replace the Nazi symbol. 

It’s thought that Baker was at least partially inspired by the Judy Garland song "Over the Rainbow" (Garland being among the first gay icons). He also liked the idea of a flag, as that is a way of being visible. The rainbow flag was unveiled at the 1978 San Francisco Gay Freedom Day parade. After the parade, hot pink was removed from new flags due to fabric unavailability. The murder of Harvey Milk in November 1978 led to a surge of requests for the Rainbow flag, which led to it being adopted by people around the country.

For the 1979 San Francisco Gay Freedom Day parade, the organizers reduced the number of colors from 7 to 6 so that they could divide it in half and have 3 colors decorating one side of the street, and the other three colors on the other side. This 6-colored rainbow flag became the standard and quickly replaced pink triangles.

In 2003, a mile-long version of the rainbow flag was made by Baker for the 35th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, this recognized the rainbow flag as THE international symbol for LGBTQ pride, it can be seen all around the world.

On June 26, 2015, the White House was illuminated in the rainbow flag colors to mark the legalization of same-sex marriages across the country.

In June 2017, the city of Philadelphia adopted a revised version of the flag that adds black and brown stripes to the top of the standard six-colors to draw attention to issues of people of color within the LGBTQ community.

In June 2018 designer Daniel Quasar released a redesign incorporating elements from both the Philadelphia flag and trans pride flag to bring focus on inclusion and progress within the community.

————————————————————

But when did it go from Gay Liberation to Pride? 

Meetings to organize the first march in New York City began in early January 1970. Brenda Howard, a bisexual activist, is known as the "Mother of Pride" for her work in coordinating the march. She also originated the idea for a week-long series of events around the march.

She wanted to create a number of events to bring in people from out of town and wanted to unite the events under a label. The first idea was 'Gay Power,’ however gay activist L. Craig Schoonmaker didn’t like that suggestion. He explained, “There's very little chance for [gay] people in the world to have power...But anyone can have pride in themselves, and that would make them happier as people, and produce the movement likely to produce change."

Brenda Howard, L. Craig Schoonmaker and bisexual activist Robert A. Martin (aka Donny the Punk) are credited with popularizing the word "Pride" to describe the festivities in New York.

As the 1980s approached, there was a cultural shift in the gay movement. Just as the elections of Ronald Reagan & Margaret Thatcher indicated a conservative shift in their countries, activists of a less radical, more conservative nature began taking over the march committees in different cities. They dropped "Gay Liberation" and "Gay Freedom" from the names, replacing them with Schoomaker’s idea of "Gay Pride." This also coincided with the replacement of the more radical pink triangles for the more positive rainbow flags.

The word "pride" was embraced as it defies the bigotry and hatred against the LGBTQIA+ community. It also teaches people they should be proud of themselves rather than feel shame. Replacing shame with pride helps people to come out and to be more assertive about who they are and that they deserve the same rights as others. 

In 1999, President Bill Clinton issued a proclamation declaring that the LGBTQIA+ community and its allies would "celebrate the anniversary of Stonewall every June in America as Gay and Lesbian Pride Month." President Barack Obama issued a proclamation in 2009 declaring June LGBTQIA+ Pride Month. 

This is how we got Pride Month!

————————————————————

Part of the original ideas of parades was to bring queer people and queer culture into what was considered heteronormative spaces. Queer lives were seen as dissident and radical. 

Today Pride events have taken on a festive character and it’s fun to join hundreds or thousands of other queer people. 

Pride events still have some of the original political or activist character. Most offer some aspect dedicated to remembering victims of AIDS and anti-LGBT violence. Booths are often on hand with people collecting signatures in support of constitutional amendments or petitions for laws & policies to change.

Large parades often involve floats, dancers, drag queens and amplified music, and they usually include political and educational contingents, such as local politicians, and groups from LGBT institutions of various kinds, such as PFLAG. Other typical parade participants include local LGBT-friendly churches and LGBT-employee associations from large corporations. 

The Stonewall riots, as well as the immediate and the ongoing political organizing that occurred following them, were fully participated in by lesbians, bisexuals, transgender people, and gays, from all races and backgrounds. Pride festivals and parades continue to be inclusive spaces. 

Historically these events were first named Gay, the word at that time being used to cover the entire spectrum of what is now called the queer. Today these festivals & parades are often called Pride.

[edupunkn00b]

Do Androids Dream of Electric Jam? - Ch. 4: The Frontline is Everywhere

Prev - The Frontline is Everywhere - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

"There be no shelter here. The frontline is everywhere." - No Shelter, Rage Against the Machine

2084-07-31 : 16:45 UTC-8

L crouched on the roof overlooking the New Union Station airport and watched the streams of artifices and humans pour out from the airship from America. Most of the artifices were purchased cheap from slave yards and brothels, older models that hadn’t been updated in decades—the exception made, of course, for regular firmware updates on their Asmov chips to ‘keep the bots in line.’ Damned animals.

A few of the artifices were returning home with their Cascadian citizen humans. Most looked shaken. A few were damaged and poorly repaired, with sheets of plastene covering torn synthskin, the glow of their circuitry visible underneath slapdash repairs.

Officially, artifices were illegal in America. It was one of the first laws the fledgling nation had passed, just after the abolition of abortion, recreational cannabis, meclizine, and psilocybin, and a formal prohibition of any and all gun and armament legislation.

In practice, it wasn’t illegal to possess an artifice. The new American law effectively made it illegal to be one. Any humans caught bot trafficking, or sentimentally—and selfishly—holding on to their unregistered artifices and attempting to keep them hidden from authorities were usually not even issued a citation. The artifices, however, were detained and sent to work in food processing plants, energy substations, or ‘comfort houses.’ 

The news blackout between the nations led to an unconscionable number of older Cascadian citizens naively traveling to America with their artifices happily in tow. Their visits, typically to see distant relatives from the days when the two nations had been part of one larger nation-state, were almost invariably interrupted by violence.

Stuttering movement caught L’s eye and he focused on the cargo ramp. An unaccompanied artifice was making their way down the conveyor belt, dodging the boxes and luggage leaving the cargo hold. They were severely damaged, clothes and synthskin torn, leaking fluid. They tripped over a railing, scrabbling with de-skinned hands to regain their footing. L soon realized they were blind.

He snapped the shell of a respirator over his face—artifices didn’t need them, but humans did and not wearing one would be the only way the average passerby could detect his true nature. He raced down the fire escape ladder and searched for the damaged artifice in the crowd. They’d been a Model C and L shuddered to think of what they might have been through in their time in America.

Finally, he spotted the artifice’s jacket. He approached carefully, hoping the damaged bot’s beacon sensors would recognize him as an artifice. “Friend?” he spoke vaguely for the benefit of the humans rushing back and forth on the crowded street. “Friend, can I get you somewhere safe?”

The artifice had flinched back when L first spoke, taking a moment to process his words. Diagnostic lights flashed red and orange across their skull, clearly visible through the rips in their scalp. L swallowed back a curse. Those fucking animals in airship security saw this damaged bot and decided to just throw them in the cargo hold.

“They’re gone,” the artifice muttered, their damaged voice piezo relays warbling and emitting a multi-tonal echo of their words. They wrapped their arms around themself, rocking slightly. Model Cs were programmed to crave contact and intimacy, physical and emotional. L made plans to blow the next airship out of the skies to sublimate his fury at the way this artifice had been treated. Cascadian authorities behaved as though they were so fucking enlightened compared to their American counterparts. He wanted to show them this artifice, then stomp on their—

L took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, letting go of his rage. He moved closer to the artifice. “I can help you. My name is L,” he said quietly. The artifice turned to face him, damaged visual receptors contracting and dilating in wild, unseeing eyes.

“My name is Remus.”

“Remus, may I repair you? Will you come with me?” L offered his hand, palm up, and let it brush lightly near Remus’ where he clung to the railing. “My apologies,” he murmured when the wounded artifice flinched back. “Please, Remus. Let me take you somewhere safe. I won’t ever hurt you. You have my word.”

L waited as the damaged artifice blinked rapidly, forcing his conflicting instincts, the inputs of a thousand failing major and minor systems, underlain by what had to be incredible pain through his processors, trying to decide. Finally, he nodded. “First I need to call someone.”

“Of course.” L stood and again offered his hands, touching Remus’ lightly and letting him grasp first. He struggled to his feet with a whining groan, and L scanned his frame. Closer now, he spotted at least three servos that would need to be replaced entirely, but first he’d need to be topped up with fluids as his leaks were cauterized. “There are vidphones down here. I… I should stay out of frame.” He felt Remus tense beside him, but he allowed himself to be led to the comms.

After helping Remus make the connection—his humans had at least had the decency to equip his ID with password-protected credits—L stepped to the side, far enough out of frame but close enough to see half the screen. It was a ‘feature’ of the public vidphones, purportedly designed to prevent fraud through the public interface, but all it did was decrease the privacy of the device until only the truly desperate made calls from public comms.

He watched the call connect, bracing himself for the kind of response he’d come to expect from the kind of animals that left artifices afraid to go anywhere without their human companions. When the screen resolved with a quiet ding, Remus’ panicked voice filled his ears and L watched the human on the other line look on in horror at the state of him.

“Can you hear me?” His voice sputtered and crackled painfully. L nearly insisted Remus end the call then and to call back after his piezo circuits could be repaired. Model Cs were designed with pain receptors around most of their systems, a failsafe against overuse. Pain would trigger the third layer on an artifice’s Asmov chips and the bot could only override it if a human was in imminent danger. He’d freed artifices whose human ‘companions’ had managed to strip out that layer of self-protection, leaving the first two Asmov chips—as well as the pain center—intact.

Those animals didn’t last long once L found them.

But the worry and pain in the human’s voice halted him. The human gave a convincing portrayal of concern, reaching out to touch the screen between them, eyes filling with tears when he realized the bot had been blinded by his injuries.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect them… ” Remus pushed through his failing systems. Them. That had been the first thing the artifice had said to him, as well. They’re gone. Whether ‘they’ were other artifices or humans or even some treasured object, L couldn't tell and would need to ask later. Repairs first.

No longer able to endure watching him further harm himself, beholden to his human’s needs, L interrupted. “Remus.” He spoke softly and away from the mics. He waited for the artifice to face him. “Remus, you are badly injured and the damage is worsening the more you fight it. Please let me repair you and then we can discuss what to do about your human.”

When Remus tried to end the call, his human companion resisted, crying crocodile tears and ordering him not to disconnect, and to come home or to wait to be picked up. L’s jaw dropped when Remus disobeyed a direct command from his human and disconnected the call.

“How did you do that? Your—your Asmov chips…” Remus stumbled forward and L caught him.

The damaged bot managed to nod as he leaned heavily against L to stay upright. “Yeah. Jannie took ‘em out.”

~~~

Respirator tightly affixed over the lower half of his face, passerbys simply assumed L was human as he led his damaged artifice to a repair shop. He ignored the looks of disdain they received from some. Others, though, looked on with pity. The artifices who looked at him with a flash of anger, though… Those made L smile behind his mask and he carefully recorded their ID beacons so he could locate them and speak with them later.

Anger was exactly what their movement needed.

Half-leading, half-carrying Remus from the public comms outside the airship terminal, L walked them to a quieter street and hailed a private AV. It was a zippy, nondescript model with tinted windows and an air license that would allow them to skip over the worst of the afternoon’s foot and vehicle traffic. He overrode its locator beacon then sealed them both inside. With a bitter smile, he charged the car to the household account of the last artifices he’d freed, two next-generation Model Ds whose humans thought it entertaining to test the paradoxical bounds of the latest Asmov chipsets by ordering them to fight each other.

Once inside the car, L turned off the in-vehicle recording, whispering a quiet apology to the car’s computer when he’d finished. He peeled off his respirator and fastened Remus’ harness.

“Buckling me in?” he mumbled, voice fizzling, as L maneuvered the straps around his body.

L chuckled, “Good, you’re still in there.” He peered into his damaged eyes and nodded. Remus was too badly damaged for any sort of self-healing, but at least he wasn’t deteriorating.

Before L could move away completely, Remus’ hand shot out and grabbed at his jacket. He turned to face him, eyes darting in their sockets, searching for the other’s eyes despite his blindness. “Thank you… You… you didn’t have to help me.”

L covered Remus’ hand with his own. “You needed help. I was there. There was no other logical course of action than to render aid.”

Remus seemed to consider his words as he nodded and slowly relaxed his grip on L’s jacket and let his hand fall onto the seat between them.

They rode in silence for several minutes, L’s hands twitching in his lap at every wince or quiet groan from the other artifice, alternating between reaching for a repair kit that wasn’t there, and imagining strangling the animals that did this to him. Finally, he hovered his hand over Remus’, letting the heat from his palm touch his skin rather than reaching out suddenly and potentially startling the blinded bot. “We’re about five minutes out… We have a safe space out in Old Capitol Hill.” Remus moved slowly as he turned and nodded. L’s mouth drew into a tight line. Five minutes felt like a very long time. “Try to resist deactivating until I can get you hooked up to the diagnostics. I will need your assistance getting past your security circuits.”

Remus nodded dully. “Talk to me?” he murmured, his voice a high-pitched whisper as he curled in on himself.

L looked out the window. “We are approaching the shuttered Redhook Brewlab.” Remus began to sit back, eyes still moving from side to side. “Most of the last century’s buildings in this area collapsed when their lower levels were inundated, but, once the glass was blown out, the open structure of the Redhook building has served as a pier of sorts.” A small smile played across his face. “It keeps us safe from both the floods and prying eyes.”

He continued to describe the crumbling buildings they passed, his quiet voice accompanied by the sound of Remus’ wheezing ‘breaths’ over his damaged vocal system and the whine of the autonomous vehicle’s engines.  Finally, the car landed with a dull thud on the Redhook roof. “We have arrived.” L connected to the car’s computer, erasing this trip and inserting a new multi-stop, circuitous route with an ultimate return to the airstrip. Then he slipped out, dashing to Remus’ door to carry him out and into the building.

~~~

“I know,” L whispered when Remus whimpered as he laid him on the synthsteel diagnostic table. “Let’s get you hooked up and then I can disable your pain receptors. Here, roll and I can—” 

“Port’s by my ear,” he said through gritted teeth. L frowned but checked and Remus told the truth, his diagnostic port wasn’t between the shoulder blades, the standardized location for this generation of Model Cs. “Jannie rewired them for us so we could reach them by ourselves.”

Eyebrow raised, L nodded and attached a cable to his port. “Without your override codes, I will need you to authorize the new connection,” he murmured, nodding when the lights quickly turned green. He tapped at the newly activated controls on the side of the bed and all at once, Remus let out a rough sigh and relaxed against the table as his pain circuits shut down.

“Thank you, L…” he said, voice still static-filled and multi-tonal, but now almost relaxed. Remus smiled in L’s direction. “That’s much better.”

L’s hand lingered on his shoulder longer than necessary to attach a charging plate. “You are very welcome, Remus. Rest now. I will start with your fluid levels and wake you when I need you.”

Remus nodded twice, then his eyes snapped shut as he entered a sleep mode and L got to work.

Hours later, L was still sealing leaks in Remus’ circuitry. Bathing artifice nanocircuitry in conductive fluids had been a major breakthrough in robotics technology, finally shattering the stagnation caused by Moore’s Law reaching the end of its curve nearly fifty years ago. The technology rapidly moved from cutting edge to standard for all advanced AI and nanocircuitry, the only known mechanism to support the continual overclocking of artifice logic boards. Back in 2065, at least, when first-gen Model Cs were designed.

The circuitry of artifices built today were designed to function without the blood-like fluid, which served to make them less susceptible to internal injuries such as this, but also significantly reduced their maximum computations per minute. Some, like L, believed this change in circuitry had a darker motivation. By limiting the intellectual capacity of new artifices, their human makers could more easily manipulate—and enslave—them.

There were many who believed the old design superior and that the increased processing capacity was well worth the additional protective measures the slightly more fragile bots required.

Module by module, as L completed his repairs, it became clear that whoever had been maintaining Remus’ systems agreed.

[newstfionline]

Sunday, July 11, 2021

Crushing heat wave in Pacific Northwest and Canada cooked shellfish (Washington Post) Amid the crushing summer heat wave that has slammed the Pacific Northwest and parts of Canada, Alyssa Gehman, a marine ecologist who lives by the sea in Vancouver, B.C., walked down to the shore to go for a swim. As expected, the beach was packed with others looking to beat the heat. She made her way to the edge of the water. It smelled like putrid shellfish—cooking. All around her, beds of mussels had popped open, dead. The heat beating down on the rocks had killed them, and she could see dead tissue between their shells. A dead crab floated in the water, she said. Gehman studies marine community ecology, but this was the first time she had seen anything of this “magnitude of mortality.” An estimated 1 billion small sea creatures—including mussels, clams and snails—died during the heat wave in the Salish Sea, off more than 4,000 miles of linear shore, according to marine biologist Chris Harley.

School boards become battle zones (AP) Local school boards around the country are increasingly becoming cauldrons of anger and political division, boiling with disputes over such issues as COVID-19 mask rules, the treatment of transgender students and how to teach the history of racism and slavery in America. Meetings that were once orderly, even boring, have turned ugly. School board elections that were once uncontested have drawn slates of candidates galvanized by one issue or another. A June school board meeting in Loudoun County, Virginia, that dealt with transgender students and the teaching of “critical race theory” became so unruly that one person was arrested for disorderly conduct and another was cited for trespassing. In Rapid City, South Dakota, and Kalispell, Montana, nonpartisan school board races devolved into political warfare as conservative candidates, angered over requirements to wear masks in schools, sought to seize control. “We’re in a culture war,” said Jeff Holbrook, head of Rapid City’s Pennington County GOP.

Heat, wind spur California fire; evacuation hits Nevada area (AP) A California wildfire that closed nearly 200 square miles of forest forced evacuations across state lines into Nevada on Friday as winds and scorching, dry weather drove flames forward through trees and brush. The Beckwourth Complex—which began as two lightning-caused fires in Plumas National Forest—showed “extreme behavior,” fire information officer Lisa Cox said Friday evening. Hot rising air formed a gigantic, smoky pyrocumulus cloud that reached thousands of feet high and created its own lightning, Cox said. Spot fires caused by embers leapt up to a mile (1.6 kilometers) ahead of the northeastern flank—too far for firefighters to safely battle, Cox said. Winds up to about 20 mph (32 kph) on ridgetops were funneling flames up draws and canyons full of dry fuel, where “it can actually pick up speed,” Cox said.

‘We need help’: Haiti’s interim leader requests US troops (AP) Haiti’s interim government said it asked the U.S. to deploy troops to protect key infrastructure as it tries to stabilize the country and prepare the way for elections in the aftermath of President Jovenel Moïse’s assassination. The stunning request for U.S. military support recalled the tumult following Haiti’s last presidential assassination, in 1915, when an angry mob dragged President Vilbrun Guillaume Sam out of the French Embassy and beat him to death. In response, President Woodrow Wilson sent the Marines into Haiti, justifying the American military occupation—which lasted nearly two decades—as a way to avert anarchy. But the Biden administration has so far given no indication it will provide military assistance. For now, it only plans to send FBI officials to assist with the ongoing investigation into a crime that has plunged Haiti, a country already wracked by gaping poverty and gang violence, into a destabilizing battle for power and constitutional standoff.

Venezuela: Battles rage between police and gangs in Caracas (BBC) Street battles have been raging between security forces and armed gangs in the Venezuelan capital Caracas. No official death toll has been given but local media reports say more than 10 people have been killed since the fighting began on Wednesday. Hundreds of officers have been deployed to seize weapons and search for gang leaders, who have been seeking to expand their territory. One local resident said the recent violence was “like a war”. Images shared on social media showed bullet castings littering the ground in the Cota 905 neighbourhood on Friday. One officer told AFP news agency that authorities were now in control, but said “there may still be a few snipers”. The operation marks the first time in years that authorities have launched a major offensive against the gangs, AFP reports.

Queen Elizabeth II opens her lawn to picnics for the first time (Washington Post) For the first time in her nearly 70-year reign, Queen Elizabeth II is allowing the people to picnic on her lawn. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, courtiers say. And the grass? It really is a little greener on the other side. “The boss,” as staff members call the monarch, thinks the people need this bit of fresh air after a wretched year. And so, starting Friday and for the rest of the summer, the paying public may sprawl upon the main lawn behind the high walls of Buckingham Palace.

Biden presses Putin to act on ransomware attacks, hints at retaliation (NYT) President Biden warned President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia on Friday that time was running out for him to rein in the ransomware groups striking the United States, telegraphing that this could be Mr. Putin’s final chance to take action on Russia’s harboring of cybercriminals before the United States moved to dismantle the threat. In Mr. Biden’s starkest warning yet, he conveyed in a phone call to Mr. Putin that the attacks would no longer be treated only as criminal acts, but as national security threats—and thus may provoke a far more severe response, administration officials said. It is a rationale that has echoes of the legal justification used by the United States and other nations when they cross inside another country’s borders to rout terrorist groups or drug cartels. Asked if it might attack the servers Russian cybercriminals have used to hijack American networks—meaning knock them offline—Mr. Biden responded, “Yes,” according to a pool report.

Taliban Enter Kandahar City and Seize Border Posts (NYT) Taliban forces on Friday penetrated Kandahar, Afghanistan’s second-largest city, in a new phase of a sweeping insurgent offensive that has captured territory across the country since May 1, when U.S. forces began withdrawing. The insurgents had been encroaching on Kandahar city, the capital of the province of the same name, for several weeks, capturing surrounding districts, before entering the city for the first time Friday. Taliban fighters entered Kandahar’s Seventh Police District Friday, seizing houses and engaging with security forces in the area, said Bahir Ahmadi, the spokesman for the Kandahar governor. Commandos and other special forces units were battling the insurgents well into the evening. Afghan security forces have struggled to defend themselves against the Taliban, who in the span of just over two months have managed to seize at least 150 of Afghanistan’s roughly 400 districts.

Russia votes to keep crucial Syrian border crossing open to humanitarian aid (CNN) The Biden administration scored a key diplomatic victory Friday after Russia agreed to keep a crucial border crossing open in Syria for another year, allowing the United Nations to continue delivering crucial humanitarian aid to millions of Syrians who have been displaced by the decade-long civil war. Friday’s vote at the U.N. Security Council took some US officials by surprise given Russia’s longtime opposition to the humanitarian corridor that has been used by the United Nations to deliver aid to millions of Syrians every month. Officials said it was evidence that the possibility of future US-Russia cooperation is better than was expected. “Syria is the biggest humanitarian crisis in the world today,” said Mark Cutts, the U.N. deputy regional humanitarian coordinator for the Syria crisis. “The people in these camps are mostly women, children, and the elderly. They are totally dependent on the aid that has been coming across the border from Turkey. That aid corridor has proven to be the only safe and reliable way of getting aid to these people. This is one of the most vulnerable populations in the world.” He called Friday’s vote “very encouraging.”

Lockdowns in Asia as some nations see 1st major virus surges (AP) Several countries around Asia and the Pacific that are experiencing their first major surges of the coronavirus rushed to impose tough restrictions, a year and a half into a pandemic that many initially weathered well. Faced with rapidly rising numbers of infections in recent months, authorities in such countries as Thailand, South Korea and Vietnam announced or imposed measures Friday that they hope can slow the spread before health care systems are overwhelmed. It’s a rhythm familiar in much of the world, where repeated surges deluged hospitals and led to high numbers of deaths. But many Asian countries avoided that cycle by imposing stiff travel restrictions combined with tough measures at home.

52 dead in Bangladesh factory fire as workers locked inside (AP) A fire engulfed a food and beverage factory outside Bangladesh’s capital, killing at least 52 people, many of whom were trapped inside by an illegally locked door, fire officials said Friday. The blaze began Thursday night at the five-story Hashem Foods Ltd. factory in Rupganj, just outside Dhaka, sending huge clouds of black smoke billowing into the sky. Police initially gave a toll of three dead, but then discovered piles of bodies on Friday afternoon after the fire was extinguished. So far 52 bodies have been recovered, but the top two floors of the factory have yet to be searched, said Debasish Bardhan, deputy director of the Fire Service and Civil Defense. He said the main exit of the factory was locked from the inside and many of those who died were trapped.

Violence erupts over jailing of South Africa’s ex-president (AP) Supporters of former South African president Jacob Zuma are protesting his imprisonment, burning trucks, commercial property, and blocking major roads in KwaZulu-Natal province. They are demanding that he be released from prison. Zuma started serving a 15-month sentence for contempt of court earlier this week. His bid to be released from the Estcourt Correctional Center was rejected by a regional court on Friday and he is set to make another attempt with the country’s apex court on Monday. His supporters in KwaZulu-Natal, his home area, have been blocking roads, setting trucks alight and damaging and looting shops in various spots in the province. At Mooi River, near Pietermaritzburg, about 20 trucks were stopped and set on fire early Saturday, according to witnesses.

[glcryandgcre]

✒  ❝  HEY! IS THAT (TESSA THOMPSON) OUT IN THE CRYSTAL WATER? NO, THAT’S JUST (MAXINE KING), A (33) YEAR OLD, (WEREWOLF) WHO HAS BEEN ON THE ISLAND FOR (A MONTH). WORD AROUND TOWN IS THAT THEY ALIGN WITH (NOBODY), BUT WE’ll NEVER TRULY KNOW. DID THEY CHOOSE THE ISLAND? OR DID THE ISLAND CHOOSE THEM? ONLY TIME WILL TELL,  ❞

full name: maxine ‘max’ beatrice king

age: 33

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: lesbian

place of origin: london, england, 1987

species: werewolf

+ trustworthy, grounded, easy-going

- conflicted, short-sighted, confrontational

backstory

maxine king is the daughter of marcus king, and grand-daughter of lester king. since the 60s, the king name has been synonymous with hunting - anything from werewolves, to vampires, to rogue witches and even the occasional chupacabra wondering in from south america. it’s a family trade, one maxine was only too happy to take over. her first hunt, she was six, riding in the back of her dad’s truck with his gang.

for years, creatures skulking in the dark had killed and taken with little investigation by police, or anyone in charge. maxine’s great-grandfather set up the first set of neighbourhood hunters to keep communities safe from something they couldn’t understand. nearly 70 years later, king’s men were still going strong, though now a proper network, communicating with hunters all across europe.

maxine’s life was torn between a normal childhood, and the not-so normal world of becoming a hunter. especially as she grew and craved more than the life of a hunter, not wanting her father and grandfather’s paranoia to rub off on her. she wanted to travel, go to college and see the world. maxine studied engineering however took a year out to go around asia and europe. 

she got a job in australia repairing and customising cars, stayed there for many years until one faithful phonecall. marcus had been injured in a hunt, and might not make it. maxine gave up her happiness to come home to her father. the man lost his legs, which left maxine to head the neighbourhood watch.

the hunt was on for the werewolf that did it. maxine found the great beast sniffing around an abandoned industrial estate on the outskirts of the city, and the two did battle. it bit maxine, one final act of defiance before it succumbed to the silver bullets. when she awoke, she was in ICU, having lost lots of blood. 

the month after, maxine transformed into a werewolf on the full moon.

now

unable to cope with becoming what she had been taught to hate, maxine sought out somewhere new. she abandoned her family calling and found adumreb by accident. she’s been living under the radar, avoiding others like herself.

other;

- bipedal werewolf ; walks on two feet, real hybrid of wolf and man, much like the werewolves from underworld, van helsing & the wolfman. injured by silver. unable to control herself and her wolf form on a full moon however is able to shift anytime she wishes. not that she does.

- no pack. avoids other werewolves like the plague. finding it difficult to deal with what she now is.

- fantastic shot, has set up a makeshift target range where she shoots to blow off some steam.

- works at the mechanic’s as she’s good with cars. enjoys doing body work on vehicles, loves monster truck rallies and has been involved in a few illegal street races.

- has attempted suicide before coming to adumreb because being a werewolf is just disgusting to her. there’s a lot of shit she has to work through.

- usually on her own in the bar drinking rip gotta numb that pain.

- 0 control over the wolf thing. sees it as a completely separate part of herself.

- loves sports, usually playing soccer, good at it. 

- chugs redbull and wonders why she can’t sleep.

- a big bite mark on the right side of her abdomen where she was bitten.

- has maybe...not completely given up hunting....just yet. makes her feel better.

[maskydoo-old]

I once had a coworker (wasn’t friends with him) decide he was a victim because stories were making the news about people taking down confederate flags on public property, and well that southern boy sure loved to fly his own confederate flag. No one ever said anything to him about his confederate flag he flies proudly on his property, but damn it was only a matter of time before those libs came for flag (and presumably his guns.) Oh the oppression! However will he survive? And boy howdy was he offended at the idea that this confederate flag, the flag for pro-slavery the side of the war that was 100% about keeping a race as slaves, could possibly be considered racist. This was his HERITAGE after all! Racism had nothing to do with it!

Anyway later that day he started railing about the Mexicans that live across the street for him, who he assumed must be illegal immigrants and somehow also stealing all the government benefits despite not having any standing. Those un-American neighbors are so un-American! Why? Because they had the nerve, the gall, absolute cajones to DARE fly an American flag AND a Mexican flag in their yard! Why, our southern boy had half a mind to march right over there and rip that Mexican flag down! How dare they display their heritage, this is AMERICA dammit!

No, of course he did not get the problem, not even when everyone pointed it out to him.