#in my opinion might have a harder time to elect a woman because the moment a woman becomes a candidate

[langernameohnebedeutung]

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[shoot-the-oneshot]

DIRTY

Lee Bodecker x reader

Warnings: language and slight violence

He hated her, he hated her the second she walked into his station all chummy chummy with the mayor, who he’s been trying to get down here for a face to face for ages. Having the current mayor on his side would definitely help him when election comes back around. Lee plasters on a fake smile when the pair get to his office door, pulling his duty belt up a bit higher from where it’s fallen.

“Mayor, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He stood, shaking the older mans hand ignoring the woman all together, she was wearing one of their uniforms so he figured if she’s a new deputy she would learn who runs this show and if she didn’t well, he could show her himself one night on patrol. While he wasn’t looking forward to having a girl around a female officer on the department would look great to the voters, he silently thought.

“Bodecker, I think it’s high time we have a talk,” the mayor stated making himself way to comfortable in his office. The brief thought that he knew of his extra curricular activities ran through the sheriff’s head. But Lee knew how the real world worked if anything the mayor should be shaking his hand in appreciation for keeping this shit hole safe, the whole town should in his opinion.

“Now Lee, I know this won’t be easy to hear so I��m just gonna’ come out with it. Miss Y/L/N, is taking over your position as sheriff.”

If Lee wasn’t so appalled at the new information he would’ve seen the shock on the womens face as well. But he was to locked in on the mayor to notice. But for once he took his sister’s advice and took a deep breath, surly it wasn’t what he thought and instead the man was presenting him with the news that Lee himself was taking over as mayor and of course he couldn’t be in the role of sheriff if he were to take over. That had to be it, Lees work had finally paid off. All those late nights in the company of meaningless women would end, he’d have to find a sweet girl to fit the image of a mayors wife. That might be hard to do in this small town but he’d figure it out. He was pulled from his inner planning as the mayor rose from his seat.

“I’m sure you can find a new desk out there and clear this office out for the new sheriff in town!” The old man stated proudly patting the girl on the back, who herself had just met eyes with Lee. Now she has locked eyes with many criminal in her time but she had never seen anger quite like his in this moment. Her back involuntarily straightening had the loud bark he let out.

“What!”

“Now Lee,” the mayor started, expecting an outburst, Quickly getting cut off.

“No! Do you know what I have done for this fuckin’ town? This is an elected position, one I’ve won two times over and you’re gonna’ hand it over to some bitch!”

Lee snarled his hands coming down hard on the desk filling the small office with a sharp clap.

“As mayor I can over rule an election when the elected falls short. And you have been for a while Lee, crime rates have gone up and closed cases going down. Does that sound like a good sheriff to you?”

The only sound in the room being Lee’s huffs like an angry bull when you entered its pin. Which Y/n had felt like that’s exactly what she had unknowingly done.

“The conversation is over, leave us be deputy.”

If Lees jaw could clench any harder it’d surly break. Glaring at the girl as he roughly pushed past her, the whole station hearing the argument between the two and was watching as Lee treaded to a nearby desk barking at the watchers as he went.

“Show’s over get back to your jobs!”

“Yes sherif-deputy”

The assistants sputtering only angered Lee more. Finally the mayor left and you came out of his-your office.

“I understand what a shock the must’ve been to you all, believe it or not it was to me too.” Her eyes shot over to Lee hoping he wasn’t to angry still, he was. “Anyway I know you all have a way of doing things and I’m not here to change anything so let keep up the good police work.”

The months following were rough for the ex sheriff, he never had gotten used to being sent out to deal with house parties that got to loud and the case of Mrs.Jenkins, missing poodle. That was a deputys job not his, no matter what his new title was. And you hadn’t made his time any easier.

Miss Y/n Y/l/n, at first she had tried to make friends with him and the rest of the deputies, him being the only one resisting. After finally giving up she began what he believed was a game of ‘how angry can I make Lee today’ sendin’ him out on those joke cases, all while eating his candy he had in his old office.

And to make matters worse the entire town was practically smitten with her, her sweet looks but hard hand on the crime in the area had won their hearts the crime rate dropping ninety percent in the first three months of her arrival. He had went to the library and dug up some newspaper about her, a hotshot detective from Cincinnati who was hailed a hero there after taking down a mob family, after that arrest the department saw how valuable female officers could be and she was no longer the only one within that department and hearing her success many departments followed in suit. And then she suddenly quit after making such a big name for herself So what was she doing here in this tiny town?

—————-

Knockemstiff, West Virginia. The large welcome sign reads as you drove past the trees flying by as blurs of green, the nature will take some getting used to as you didn’t have much in the city. It reminds you of the tiny potted plant you mother got you for your office when you made detective. It was a long, hard road to get there which makes leaving that much worse. You were at the highest of your career being the only women was rough the men didn’t respect you officers and criminals alike, you had to work ten times harder to make your mark and as ironic as it was when you hit that big break that’s when it all went down hill.

And here you are starting all over again and you figured it would be harder to earn the smalls towns respect. But it would all be worth it when you caught the guy you’ve been looking for. Your old boss had made a few calls when he learned your plans to chase leads on the road and one of the calls had been to the mayor of the town when he asked you to meet him at the sheriffs office you were shocked to hear you’d be taking over. You weren’t however when Lee continued to hate you for months to come, everyone said that’s just how he is but you know it was the sting of losing his position. It didn’t take you long to find out he had been dirty it was almost embarrassing how transparent it was.

But you knew if you were going to make any headway in this town when the time came you’d need someone who knew the ins and outs like Lee did, so you kept trying to get on his good side even noticing he liked sweets and breaking out the fancy ones you had from the city, you got the message quick when he threw them away staring right at you. You had one last trick up your sleeve, back in Cincinnati you partner always said cops and criminals aren’t that different it’s just the way they think. so that’s what you’ll do.

Grabbing your hat you walked out of your office boots clacking as you walked past his desk the gold name plate shining as the sunlight breaks through the windows.

“Come on Bodecker, you’re driving” you toss the keys to the cruiser over your shoulder, you know he’s following because you can feel his glare on the back of your head. You spoke as Lee slammed his door shut the car shifting under his weight a bit.

“Low level pot growers slash dealers on the outskirts of town this is their third warning.” Lee grunts is response and started driving the ride was uncomfortable to say the least.

“I know you read up on me I’m sure you have something to say about it?” Taking the glance he shot you out of the corner of his eye as a yes you continue.

“And I’m sure it’s along the lines of why I’m here?” Cue side glance again, “well when I started looking into the Galindos they didn’t take to kindly to that, they send some guys to my parents house when their threats didn’t stop me, it was completely by chance I was at their house when they came it was a big gun fight. Killed one but the others got away and they are the only members of the mafia still out there, I got the tags off the car they used and tracked it to here.”

You’d been parked outside the farm house for the last part of your story so you stepped out the car and rounded to the drivers side leaning down to meet Lees eyes through the open window.

“I want you to know I never wanted to take your position, I also know you were dirty when you were sheriff. So let’s make a deal.”

You can see him take in the information you’ve thrown at him during the short car ride, and he subtly nods “what’s the deal?”

“I know you’re not my biggest fan, but we can help each other. So deal is if you follow me we start over and you help me find the last Galindos no matter how dirty it gets.” You paused letting it sink in. “And if you don’t want to, leave me here and drive back to the station and we will never speak again, but I also won’t hold back on arresting your old buddies and we’ll see how fast they throw you under the bus.”

His eyes which you just now noticed were blue narrow at your words. Looks like country boy knows he would go down faster than milk with cookies if they got arrested. Tipping your hat you spin on your heel and head towards the run down farm house, your lips pull up hearing the car door shut behind you as his footfalls rushing to catch up.

“Didn’t think an officer of your caliber would resort to blackmail.” He grunts, as much as he hates that you’re right he also respected you a tiny bit now, lord know what he covered up for Sandy, so he understands the familial bond that you’re doing this for.

“That wasn’t blackmail, blackmail would be leaking those pictures of you on duty with a girl in your patrol car as you unload into a Pepsi cup.”

Now that made Lee pause in his steps, how the hell did she know that, he hasn’t had a girl around since she popped in. “Yeah I’ve been in town a while.” The pair make it to the paint chipped door, the deputy still slightly stunned but jumping back into action as you kicked the door down without so much as a knock first, Well that’s not protocol. The few men in the the house jump up at the sudden intrusion but are quickly pushed back down with a swift kick to the chest from you.

You know who you’re looking for you’ll leave the rest to Lee, grabbing the boy still sat at the table by his hair and yanking him face first on the floor as he yelped, knee pressing down on his back pulling his head back by your grip on his ponytail. “I’m not here for you.” Your snarled leaning down to his ear, throwing down a baggie with the families grower logo that you found outside your family home. “Next time you see the Galindos you tell them there’s a new sheriff in town.” Barley aware of the deputy entering the room you slammed the mans face down, blood already pouring out of his nose and onto the floor, that’s gonna’ stain.

Not casting Lee a glance as you strolled past him and back to the car, him on your heels, he definitely wasn’t expecting that from you. But he’d be a liar if it didn’t turn him on a bit you know what they say, the line between hate and lust is thin. At least that’s how it goes in his head.

He takes the long way back to the station wanting extra time to think how to ask his question. “You really have pictures of me?”

You looked over when you heard his gruff voice. Oh now he want to have a conversation. “I knew I’d need help with my investigation, you willing or not.”

“And how did you know I was dirty and wouldn’t have arrested you for that show back there?”

Did he think you were stupid, there were thousands of signs you just admitted to following him did he think you didn’t see his dealings. “You’re not the first crooked cop I’ve met, you let your ego get ahead of you, you were sloppy the signs were everywhere, plus.” You couldn’t help the smirk from on. “I never gave you the dealers address.”

Lee couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping his mouth, she was smart he’d give her that. “You know I think this is the beginning of a great partnership deputy, perhaps even friends.” You tease him smiling as he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t call me that!”

“No problem.....deputy.”

[heycallmeladytypewriter]

The Call of A Siren - Chap. 5

Chapter One / Two / Three / Four

A/N: I’d like to thank seenalready for agreeing to be my beta! It’s been a huge help. Also, thank you to those who not only took the time to read but to favorite, follow, review, or leave me a message on this story!

I don’t own My Hero Academia. I only own my own characters and the story I create within Horikoshi’s masterpiece of a world I’d love to live in.

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“So how’s school going, Cordelia?” Her father asked while passing her the mashed potatoes. She smiled as she plopped some on her plate. “It’s going fine. Just some normal start of the year stuff.”

Her mother was cutting her baby brother’s food into small pieces across from her. “Make any new friends? You didn’t have any last year.” Delia ignored that small barb. Her mother was Miss Popularity when she was in school - something she was reminded of constantly in these small sweet ways. 

“Yes, mom. No official friends yet but definitely some classmates I seem to get along with fine.” 

“Give her time, Amaya. She’ll make friends but make sure not to forget to focus on your studies. Bells always get top marks in school. Right, Cordelia?” Her father is ever the peacemaker between them but always manages to slip in his opinion in the same sentence. She hoped neither of them noticed how tense she became, because despite going ahead with her plan of secretly attending U.A she still hated lying. She was good at it but hated it. She distracted herself and took herself out of the conversation by wiping the gravy off of Henry’s mouth who just painted more on with every uncoordinated bite. 

Later in her room, she made sure all her U.A stuff was hidden because her parents, especially her mother, who didn’t believe her children were entitled to privacy. She would deny it until she was blue in the face even when Delia confronted her with obvious evidence. Delia would find some things moved or pockets left unzipped that were closed when she left for school or a run so now she just made sure anything she didn’t want discovered to be hidden. She had hiding places in between her mattress and bed frame, one in a loose floorboard by her dresser, a notebook taped behind her desk, in her suitcase in the back of her closet, and it goes on. Her mom wasn’t too creative in looking but Delia didn’t want to take any chances. She changed into pink leggings and an old Mayday Parade t-shirt and went for her usual run to the beach. 

___________________________________________________________

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

'Cause I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

'Cause I like to keep my issues strong

It's always darkest before the dawn

 Delia laid on her back in the grass to catch her breath as she ran an extra mile on the sand today before running back. Once again, she was grateful to have a park like this near home to gather herself before returning home. 

She had her eyes closed as she listened to Florence and the Machine but opened them when a shadow came over her. Angry Boy stood over her and his mouth was moving but because of how  loud her headphones were she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She rolled her eyes and closed them again as she felt no need to listen to his rant during her peaceful time.

Her left earbud was roughly yanked out of her ear. “I was talking to you, dumbass!”

She rubbed her ear and glared up at him. “So? Since when do I have to listen to you?” 

“Move out of my spot.”

“Uh, yeah no.”

“Move before I make you.”

“Try it, Big Tits.” She raised her eyebrow at him in challenge because she knew damn well he couldn’t use his Quirk here without getting in trouble. It was far more noticeable than hers which she would definitely use if he tried to physically move her. Knowing this, he growled and stomped over to his workout bag a few feet over. He picked it up and then threw it on the ground practically on top of her legs. “Fine, brat. If you won’t move, I’m working out right here still.” 

Delia was going to push it further, but her watch beeped signaling she should start heading back home. “Saved by the bell, jerk.” Pushing herself up onto her feet, she kicked his bag off her leg and brushed off some  grass on her shorts. 

“Yeah, fucking sure brat. I’m saved.” Delia rolled her eyes and walked away a few steps before stopping and turning back towards him, unable to help herself from asking. 

“Why did you do that?” 

He was already doing sit-ups in the spot she had just vacated. “Because you were in my spot, idiot.” 

“No. Not that. Battle training.” Bakugo slowed to a stop for a moment and then continued like she hadn’t said anything. 

She tried again. “Was it worth it?”

No answer again but he picked up the pace on his sit-ups. Delia hummed, “Thought so.” She went to turn away when he finally spoke up, “I kicked that weakling’s ass. Its always worth it to put Deku in his fucking place.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with her. Delia pursed her lips and turned away finally. Before she went out of hearing distance she said one last thing, “You didn’t put him in his place. It seems more like you were shown yours. It wasn’t as high as you thought it was, was it?” 

___________________________________________________________

As she jogged back home on the trail, she could feel those red eyes trying to burn a hole in her back. 

As she walked up the hill to U.A, she was fiddling with her stupid tie when she heard a lot of voices. Looking up from what she was doing, Delia saw a mini army of reporters covering the entrance of the school. 

“Oh, crap!” Delia started to panic as she realized she had to go through them to get inside. She grabbed some sunglasses from her bag and took her hair out of her usual braid and tried to cover her face. They were jumping on students as soon as they got close, but Delia wasn’t having that. 

“Hey, kid!” Someone put their hand on her shoulder. Nope nope nope! Shaking them off, she passed Uraraka and Iida getting questioned and walked even faster. A few other reporters tried to get her attention, but she was not risking getting caught on her second week of school by her mother seeing her on the morning news. 

Mr. Aizawa was  in the front of all the reporters to stand guard and crossed his arms as a particularly aggressive woman demanded All Might. Delia was safe now on school grounds but didn’t dare to take her glasses off or fix her hair until  she was in the building. Out of curiosity, she peeked through her hair to see Mr. Aizawa finally walking away and an aggressive reporter took a step too far only for these giant alarms to start throwing up walls all around the school. Ha, serves you right, Delia thought a bit smugly.  

She finally fixed her hair into a braid when their homeroom teacher walked in and called them to attention. He ruffled some papers and then addressed the class on their performances from last week’s combat training with All Might. “Decent work on last week’s combat training, you guys. Due to technical difficulties, I wasn’t able to review the video feeds until yesterday. I went over every team's results. Bakugo. You’re talented. So don’t sulk like a child about your loss, okay?” Delia fought to keep her face straight as she was seated in front where Mr. Aizawa could easily reprimand her if she didn’t. “ And Midoriya. I see the only way you won the match was by messing up your arm again. Work harder. And don’t give me that excuse that you don’t have control because it’s already getting old.” 

He called out a few other students with some advice before she heard, “Bell. I see you have the ability to think and react quickly as shown in your battle, but you have a long way to go with understanding your Quirk. That is basic and essential. You need to work on that as of last week.” 

She nodded, “Yes, sir.” 

When he finished, Mr. Aizawa switched gears to something a little more mundane. “You all need to pick a class representative.”

Kirishima stood up with his hands in the air, “Pick me, guys! I wanna be class rep!”

Kaminari raised his hand, “I’ll take it.” Jiro followed suit with her hand up as well, “Yeah, you’re gonna need me.” Ashido and Aoyama threw their hats in the ring too. Bakugo even started yelling behind her to be elected. Delia, despite knowing what a big deal it would be, just sunk further in her seat wanting no part of it. 

“Silence, everyone, please!” Iida grabbed everyone’s attention to tell them the responsibilities of class rep when she decided who better for this job than Mr. Responsibility and Lecture himself? She was sure he’d thrive at the job as he already organized how they would choose and simultaneously advocated for himself. 

She snorted when Aizawa basically told them to figure it out before his nap was over and curled up in his weird yellow sleeping bag on the floor. Despite how strict he was, Delia loved how weird their teacher was. 

After everyone handed Iida their small pieces of paper with their vote written, he quickly and very neatly wrote the results with his shoulders slumping along the way. 

Izuku Midoriya - 3

Momo Yaoyorozu - 2

Well, that was unexpected and immediately questioned by even Midoriya himself. Who exclaimed, “How did I get three votes?” 

She turned in her seat when Angry boy slammed his hands on his desk, “Okay, you idiots, who voted for him?” Delia raised her eyebrow at him, “You mean instead of you?”

“What, did you honestly think anyone was gonna vote for you?” Sero said. She barked out a laugh at that and put her hand up in a high five. Sero returned the gesture while Bakugo fumed even more. 

“What did you idiots say?!”

“Hey, Bell!” Delia’s head snapped up from her tray and saw Uraraka waving at her from a table. “Come and sit with us!” 

“Thanks, guys. What’s up?” She greeted as she sat down next to Midoriya. 

“Hi, Bell. We were just talking about how Midoriya would be a great class rep. His courage and quick thinking will help make him a worthy leader. Not to mention the strength you’ve demonstrated. Those are the reasons I voted for you, at least.” Iida explained before taking the next bite of his lunch. 

She nodded. “Oh, for sure. You’ll be great.” 

Uraraka looked puzzled. “Iida, didn’t you want to be rep really badly? I mean you look the part cause of the glasses!” 

“ Well, that's not exactly how you should base things.” Delia jokes, pointing her fork at the small brunette. She just shrugged in response and grabbed another ball of white rice. 

“Wanting a job and being suited to it are quite different things. Observing the Iida family’s hero agency has taught me that much.” 

“Right there. That’s why I voted for you.” Delia pointed her pork at him before shoving the deliciousness in her mouth. Ugh, I’d go to this school for the food alone.

Iida had his mouth open as he stared at her, “You were my one vote?” 

She smiled at him, “Well, yeah! You seem perfect for the job to me based on everything I’ve seen so far.” Her eyes widened when she remembered who she was sitting next to and waved her hands at the boy, “No offense, Midoriya! You’ll be great at it as I said.” He waved her off before turning his attention back to Iida.

Taking a few more bites, she heard her phone chirp in her pocket. She pulled it out to see that her mother had texted her. 

Mom: Cordelia, we are having dinner with Josephine this Friday at 7. Make arrangements to pick up Henry from the babysitter’s house. I’ll write the address on the fridge. 

She rolled her eyes but sent back a quick ‘okay’ that she will pick him up. Whenever her sister was free, they ran to her side to devote all attention to their favorite child. It probably helped that their favorite child encouraged it every chance she got which irritated Delia to no end. 

Brrrrrrriiiiiinnnnggggggg. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts as the bell went off abruptly. 

“Warning. Level Three security breach. All students please evacuate the building in an orderly fashion.” 

Orderly fashion, my ass! Everyone was soon swept into a massive mob of pushing and shoving which Delia did not care for. 

“Ow! Goddamn watch those elbows dude!” She held her side and then was shoved against the window next to Iida. “Oh seriously! Iida look out the window!” 

“Who would dare try and - it's the press that was outside!” He immediately tried to yell to everyone which proved useless. She heard Kaminari and Kirishima trying to calm the herd as well, but that wasn’t working either. “Iida we have to tell everyone that it’s just the stupid media!” Delia yelled to him as her face was smushed up against the glass. 

“I have an idea, Bell. I need Uraraka! Will you be okay?”

“Go and stop this, and then I’ll be fine!” She used her free hand and helped shove him forward to their poor classmate who was getting dragged away by the frenzy. Her braid was then yanked which caused her to smack her forehead  against the glass again. Freaking jesus! Calm the fuck down people! C’mon Iida! 

She managed to get her head up in time to see Iida flip thirty times in the air then smack into the wall above the exit sign. Ouch. 

“Listen up, everything is okay!” With that, everyone stopped pushing and looked up at the guy balancing on an exit sign. “It’s just the media outside. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine! We’re UA students. We need to remain calm and prove that we’re the best of the best.” 

Within the next half hour, the police pushed back the reporters and the teachers came inside to corral them back to class. Delia clapped a hand on Iida’s back who blushed a bit when she said,  “That’s why I voted for you.”

__________________________________________________________

 In a strange turn of events, Midoriya had stepped down as their elected class rep and nominated Iida in his place. Something that made Delia grin when he walked up to the podium with barely concealed pride and immediately went into his responsibilities. She especially liked that he sent a nod her way with a small smile before strutting back to his seat.

“Now that’s out of the way.” Aizawa rose from the corner where he was attempting a short nap and slipped out of his sleeping bag. “We can head to the training room for Combat class. Everyone change into your gym clothes and meet me in ten minutes.” 

A few minutes later, Delia sat on the floor next to Jiro and Tsu stretching. Aizawa was already setting up a row of punching bags while they waited for the rest of the class to trickle in from the locker rooms. 

“Yo, whassup girls?” Jiro, Tsu, and Delia turned to see Kirishima and Kaminari heading over to them on the mat. They plopped down next to them. “Hey, guys. Ready for training?” Delia asked as she turned to Jiro with hands outstretched. Jiro caught on to what she wanted and had her feet meet hers and grabbed onto one another's arms then pulled back to stretch Delia’s back. 

“Oh, we’re ready. So pumped to finally get into real hero stuff!” Kirishima pumped his fist in the air with excitement. 

“It’s a bummer that it’s a non-quirk class though. I was feeling extra juiced today!” 

“This is even more manly in a way, Kaminari! Real combat without quirks can be a whole ‘nother level of seeing what you’re made of!” He said to the blonde who shrugged in response. 

Delia slowly pulled back to stretch Jiro and laughed at the boys, “I agree. You don’t need a quirk to punch someone in the face which can be just as great as electrocuting them.” 

The class was finally assembled and facing their teacher who stood over them with a small tablet in hand. “Alright, class. As you know this is our Non-Quirk Combat Class which is self-explanatory so if you weren’t aware of that already you shouldn’t be in my class anymore. Now, we are going to start with basics to see where everyone stands before we up the ante. Grab a spot in front of a bag, and we will be doing basic 1-2 punches until I say stop.” Aizawa quickly demonstrated what he meant with the correct form and then shooed them towards the bags he had set up earlier. 

Delia grabbed a bag in between Midoriya and Todoroki who was already hitting the bag with perfect form. Seems like he’s done this before. She curled her hands as Aizawa showed them and hit the bag. Huh. She side-eyed Todoroki before trying again. It felt awkward at first but once she found a rhythm...Man this feels great! Her knuckles were beginning to hurt as she hit as hard as she could but she sort of liked it. The past week and a half had been stressing her out and running was usually her only outlet, but she was finding this was a great way as well. 

“Midoriya, turn your back foot a bit more. Good.” She heard her teacher making the rounds as the class hit the bags non-stop. “Good, Bell and Todoroki. Keep it up.” Delia practically glowed and hit the bag with even more energy than before. 

Through the first half of the class, they were shown punches, kicks, and then some fighting moves when they were joined by Ectoplasm.  He demonstrated some defensive and offensive maneuvers before the class was split into partners to practice for the remainder of class.

Delia was paired with Kaminari which was fine as she had nothing against the good-natured albeit immature guy, but the moves involved getting physical with your partner. She had played twister as a kid but not for some time and never held hands with a guy much less threw her whole body at them. Oh my god, you prude. Get over it. She chided herself.

Kaminari gave a confidant smile and squared up to her, “Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll take it easy on ya.” 

Delia raised an eyebrow at him, “You’ll take it easy on me? How kind of you.” Okay, nerves have left the building and have been replaced by a mini super pro feminist ready to hand him his ass. 

Their teachers had them go through the motions one step at a time collectively as a class before they were given the go ahead to let loose. As soon as Ectoplasm gave the green light, Delia felt a bit more solid with  her moves and was ready to try in real time especially since Kaminari hadn’t lost his smirk. “Ready, babe?” 

“Let’s go, Sparky.” Ectoplasm hit a buzzer and Kaminari swung at her almost immediately, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled towards her. Before he could react, she used the momentum of pulling him to knee him in the stomach (reminding herself to not use full strength as this was training). While he was coughing, she swept her leg under his causing him to fall on his back. 

“Did I take it easy enough? Cutie?” Delia stood over him grinning. Kaminari held a hand on his stomach and grimaced. “Okay, point taken.” 

Delia huffed a laugh and held her hand out to him which he grabbed tentatively like she was going to hit him again. Pulling the blonde up, she felt someone’s eyes on her. Bakugo was standing coolly across the room with his hands in his pockets while Sero got himself off the ground. He looked away when he saw her looking back at him. Hmm. 

Bakugo:

He would never admit it, but he was impressed on how quickly the brat took down the blonde idiot. However,  he also would never admit that he was watching her in the first place as his eyes slid over to her laughing with her partner as she helped him off the ground. Katsuki chalked it up to pure convenience of sight as he had laid out the guy he was fighting in about five seconds, and she was in his direct line of vision. Since the park, what she had said unsettled him. Katsuki couldn’t get it out of his head and hated that she got under his skin and then walked the fuck away with the last word. 

As if she could sense him, the brat turned towards him curiously. Shit. 

Katsuki looked back down at his partner who was now getting off the floor and rolled his eyes. Tch. I didn’t hit him that hard. Fucking wimp. 

“Hit the lockers. You’re done today.” Aizawa announced. Ectoplasm had left already. “Remember to make sure you do the assigned reading and grab the extra worksheets on my desk before leaving for home. We are skipping Ethics tomorrow for a longer class activity.” 

A longer Quirk Training Combat Class, he meant. His eyes flitted to stupid Deku who was flapping his arms at some round face girl and then over to the brat who was walking back to the girls locker room. He was ready for his next combat class despite what the annoying girl said. He was going to be number one and damn anyone who got in his way of that. 

He pushed the locker room door hard enough that the purple dumbass who was walking before him flew forward across the room but Katsuki was too in his head to bother looking where he landed. He kept seeing those stupid blue eyes looking at him, judging and unimpressed. He shook his head as if to shake the image out of his head.  I don’t need anyone's damn approval. 

[palbabor-writes]

Yōkai

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Horror Tales

Warnings: Ghosts, spirits, blood, gore, adult language, death, mentions of violent crime

Word Count: 9403

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t. 

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Notes: I went with a whodunit theme for this fic with some healthy ghosts and haunts thrown in. As this is pre-All Might’s retirement, Hawks is the #3 Hero.

Yōkai

Yōkai are a class of supernatural monsters and spirits in Japanese folklore. The word 'yōkai' is made up of the kanji for "bewitching; attractive; calamity" and "spectre; apparition; mystery; suspicious."

The small island of Miyako is renowned for its turquoise waters, pristine coral sanctuaries, amusement parks, and sprawling mansions. All in all, it’s a trust fund tourist trap. Still, like most pristine and shiny things, there’s a seedier underbelly that’s scrapes against the rough, sandy bottom. Come at low tide and you’ll catch a whiff of decay and rot. 

Miyako Island is another example of that duality that exists within everything. No matter how pretty the water, there are always dark creatures that lurk in the shallow shoals and coves.

Hawks isn’t looking forward to his new assignment on the island. He’s been called in by the HPSC and Miyako’s police force. There’s been a string of unsolved murders and, with the onset of August, tourist season is in full swing. Homicide is bad publicity during the best of times. But, combine the discovery of freshly charred corpses popping up in various buildings, piers, and alleyways, with mass hysteria and you’re going to have a big problem on your hands. 

For eight open murder cases, there’s not much for Hawks to go on, and the data he does have is spotty. 

Hawks poured over the notes as soon as he got off the phone with the HSPC, the luster of the new assignment fresh in his mind. He swiped through the briefings and crime scene photos that were attached in the long email from Miyako’s chief of police. 

It looks like the trouble started in the poorer areas of town. No matter how bright the city lights shine, there’s always the common shadow of a downtrodden, overworked, and underpaid populous straining under the weight of “keeping up appearances.”  

Who else would do the nitty gritty jobs that ensured that the tourist season stayed afloat, and, most important of all, profitable? 

Sadly, it’s the blue collar areas that first experienced the horrors. The notes on these cases are borderline elitist, skirting close to xenophobic. The usual: ‘it was just something that happened when you crammed people in that close’. ‘What else did you expect’? ‘Most of the victims aren’t even from the island’. ‘They’re strangers, they’re not locals.’ ‘They’re not one of us’. 

The word immigrant pops up in the documentation frequently and it feels like a slur each time it appears. There’s a slinking, cloying animosity curling behind the looping words. 

It pisses Hawks off.

The only reason he’s been called is because the crimes have jumped over the poverty line. Now, two prominent members of Miyako society have been murdered. So, what’s the connection you ask? 

It’s the state of the bodies. 

All of the victims, rich or poor, have been mutilated. Something sharp was drawn across their skin, cutting and splicing, marring them, marking them. Then, as if to add insult to injury, they’d been set aflame. It must have been a scorching blaze. Something that leaves them so crisped and blackened that they’re more husk than human. In each case, it’s taken dental records to identify the deceased. 

The Miyako chief of police is doing a review of the known peculiars with Hawks. 

“They mirror the, uh, earlier crime scenes. As you can see, this one, she is, er, was a woman in her late 30’s-”

“She was 37,” Hawks supplies, his golden eyes running over the chart that the chief of police is showing him. He’s trying his best to hide his agitation, but his feathers still bristle, the red plumage flaring, refusing to lay against his back. 

“Uh, yeah, a bad age they say.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, it’s supposed to be bad luck. You know?”

“I don’t. Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?” 

Hawks has to grit his teeth to keep his tone even. He’s really not liking the way these crime scenes are processed and he’s made his opinion known to the police chief and investigative team. Why now, he’d pressed, hours after flying in, sweat still clinging to his brow. Why didn’t the bodies matter when it was relegated to the lower socio-economic citizens? 

He’s also critical and skeptical of the motives of this police chief. There’s something about the whole thing that feels...off.

 But, now’s not the time to project that suspicion. He’s only just arrived, besides, he needs more information, more data. Despite his agitation, he gets why the HPSC sent him on this assignment. He’s known for doing things quickly. Plus, he’s usually calm, collected, and he’s got the clout to get things moving again. 

He’s also observant. The HPSC both loves and hates this particular skill of his, but it’s to their benefit in this instance. His sharp eyes might spot something that’s been missed, they’d said on the phone with him as they handed off his assignment. If he played his cards right, they said, he could pull these murders from unsolved to solved. Oh, and the commission is thinking these murders might involve some agents from the League of Villains. 

It’s not a confirmed connection. 

There’s nothing solid about it, besides the body mutilation and burned corpses. But both are known habits of two members of the League. They’re shadowy leads, more steeped in hearsay than fact. All the same, one is rumored to have a fascination with blood, and the other, has a proclivity for using a bright, blue flame. It’s a hot heat, perfect for cremation and these bodies have all been practically, well, cremated.

“Have you met the other heroes that will be assigned to work with you?” 

Hawks snaps out of his head and nods at the tall, balding police chief. “Amano and Matsuura? Yeah, we’re supposed to take a look at the first locations as soon as this...meeting...is concluded.” Hawks hopes the police chief can hear the air quotes he just put the word meeting in. 

“Good, good. I saw your additions on the later cases. I really feel that we should look a little harder into those. One was a member of the city council. He was beloved by the city and-”

“If I’m looking for a pattern, there’s a higher probability that the killer was sloppier in the earlier cases. New habits and all. I’ll get to the councilman when I get to the councilman. Again, this string of murders started in the lowlands. While I realize that doesn’t get you the most publicity, and I hear a re-election is coming up for your position as chief of police this fall, I’m not going to pick at certain elements of this and leave others by the wayside. 

You gotta’ problem with that, take it up the HPSC. But, listen, they’re a lot meaner than me and they’re not going to like that you’re obstructing my investigation. You asked the commission to send someone down, and, lucky you, you’ve gotten yourself stuck with me.” 

Hawks flashes the police chief a bright grin, his teeth gleaming as his eyes crinkle to crescents. The man stammers for a moment, his face flushing under Hawks’ false joviality, then he tosses a bulky manilla folder on the desk. 

“Why you...I heard you were an arrogant son of a...no, no.” The chief sputters, his teeth clenched, anger bared behind the grinding of his jaw. “You’re right, we’re so very grateful to the number three hero taking time out of his busy modeling schedule to lend us a hand with these murders.”

“Ooh, you saw that spread in the sports magazine? Nice use of color right? Loved that new set of watches I’m sponsoring.” 

Fucking prick. Hawks is used to this kind of irate reaction, hell, it’s pretty expected now. He’d heard it so many times he has it memorized. Yeah, yeah, he’s twenty one, a kid who’s too big for his boots. He has no idea, no real world experience. Did you hear how he talked to me? The audacity.  

Let this guy try to report his snarky attitude, it’s not going to get his low level wannabe bureaucratic ass anywhere.

“I’ll get my agency to send you a signed copy. I had no idea you were such a fan! Lemme grab these files, got some work to do. Catch you around, sir!” Hawks pantomimes a salute, a serious expression making his eyes narrow. Fuck this dude. He’s got bigger fish to fry.

Closing the door on the police chief’s mottled expression, he meanders down the stairs of the police precinct, his wings still arching and rustling his temper. You’d think this case didn’t matter to these buffoons. The sheer implication of Hawks’ presence should clue them in. The HPSC doesn’t do anything lightly. Nah, these killings could be related to the League. Plus, his background checks on the victims had revealed some startling discoveries. 

All of them, down to the nineteen year old restaurant hostess, were involved in minor villain activities. Some had smuggled drugs, some laundered money on the side, one was a known broker. They kept climbing the ladder of severity. It was worrisome. 

While the chances of the LOV’s involvement was low, the commission was still searching for their hideout. He’d caught wind of some of the activity revolving around that ongoing mission. He wasn’t assigned to it, but he liked to keep an ear to the ground. 

Association with the LOV or not, these homicides kept bothering him. There’s something he’s not seeing. He dislikes the sensation. It makes him tense, ill at ease. Once he steps outside the police headquarters he launches himself into the sleet grey skies. 

It looks like rain. 

If he’s wanting to glean as much as he can from those early crime scenes, he better hurry. Hawks doesn’t like rain. It makes his feathers feel bogged down and dampened. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on evidence. Rain can whisk the little details away, slicking and drifting as it washes down to the vast sea. It can easily snag vital clues on its meandering path, erasing as it goes. 

******

The first murder took place on the fourth floor of a shabby apartment. The victim lived in the 19th unit and was a 43 year old male. He was a well known loner. So, it was a shock to discover that he ran a pilfering ring. The ring wasn’t a small scale enterprise either. No, this went deep. It connected to three other islands and the Japanese mainland. There’s no way this guy was a simple recluse. If anything, he was nothing short of a criminal mastermind. 

His body had been left in an odd position. It was likely staged, purposeful.  

He was discovered by his landlord. Rent was due and it was unusual for him to be late with the payment. So, the landlord let himself into the 19th unit. It’s a small wonder no one reported the smell earlier. Apparently, it was putrid, acidic, gut churning. A mix of tarnished copper and old, rotten meat. 

In all likelihood, he was murdered elsewhere and dragged back to the unit. Nothing in the room, besides his corpse, was scorched. The victim was splayed on his small bed, but the placement was strange. His feet were resting on his ashen pillow, shoes still on his feet. Meanwhile, his head was at the foot of his bed, pointing northward. 

Hawks and one of the assigned heroes, a friendly guy named Amano, are going over the case file with two members of the forensic team. Apparently, one of the team members hadn’t been part of the original investigation clean up and bagging. As Hawks and Amano are sharing the crime scene photos, asking the forensic team questions, the taller of the two, gasps, clapping a hand over his lips. 

Hawks tilts his head at the man’s reaction, his feathers automatically feeling for his pulse. It’s elevated and the guy appears to be truly bothered. It’s an upsetting picture, to be sure, but this is his job. He cleans up blood and guts for a living. Surely, he’s seen worse.

“You ok?” Hawks’ asks, his amber eyes shifting over the man’s face. 

“F-fine. It’s just, well, look at him.” 

Hawks takes the photo back. Did he miss something? 

“What about him?”

“Look at the direction his head’s facing.” 

“Uh,” Hawks examines the position of the hazy sun that peeks through the rain clouds outside the window. “North?”

Now the other forensic team member gasps. What the hell? What does facing north have to do with anything? It’s a cardinal direction. What would they say if he was facing the West? Again, are these people deliberately trying to bog his investigation down?

“I don’t see what, uh, relevance that has.” Hawks tells the two, looking over to Amano. The hero doesn’t seem to be bothered by their outburst. He just shrugs at Hawks’ frank stare.

“It’s supposed to be bad luck, but yeah, there’s not-” Amano begins, finally placing some clarity on the forensic team's outburst of paranoia, but he’s interrupted by the taller, jumpier man. 

“Not just that. You collect iron in your blood if you sleep facing north. It brings death.”

The guy said death like it might summon the fearsome spector down on them at any moment. Amano coughs, his hand covering a badly concealed smile. “Yeah, sure. Facing north is bad luck, and, I guess it can bring death, too. Learn something new everyday...”

“Worked pretty well in this guys case,” Hawks muses, arching an eyebrow at the jittery forensic team. “You guys see anything else? Something a little more, I don’t know, pertinent?” 

They don’t get much further with that crime scene.

Amano tags along for Hawks’ review of the other two cases. His agency runs out of this area and he was one of the first responders. He’s not got a lot of extra information, but he knows the people and they know him. It takes the edge off, lets the locals open up a little more. 

The next case is in a home. Well, home feels generous, it’s more like a shack. Apparently, the victim liked to collect cat figurines. Like, really, really liked to collect cat figurines. There’s over sixty of them, they’re scattered around the place, tucked into nooks and crannies. It feels like a thousand little eyes are watching the two heroes as they canvas the space. It’s creepy.  Hawks dislikes the sensation. His feathers keep lifting, feeling, spreading out.

The woman had been found at her kitchen table. She was propped into a chair, sitting, like nothing in the world, save her crisp remains, was amiss. The only way you could achieve a staging of that caliber was to wait for the body to enter rigor mortis. 

That takes time. 

Full rigor sets in around 5 to 12 hours after death has occured. Whomever did this must have had time to spare. And they weren’t worried about being caught during that time. No, they were too busy planning out the dramatic effect of their crimes.  

Once again, he feels like he’s missing something. 

One body was left pushing a garden cart. Literally, the man was found, early in the morning with his hands tied to a wheelbarrow. He was posed mid task, his arm lifted, reaching for someone, or something. Trouble was, the guy didn’t work as a gardener. No, he was a low level broker. Someone darting under the criminal radar. He’d eluded the police and heroes for months. Looks like his luck ran out.

The eighth body, the congressman, was discovered at a popular wharf. This crime scene is still in the process of being cleaned up, so there’s a flurry of people bustling around. Amano, and the other hero, Matsuura, who’s also been assigned to Hawks’ investigation, are talking with witnesses, gathering information and scheduling interviews. This kind of hero work is never ending. Hawks is grateful they’re willing to take on the grunt work. 

As Hawks is kneeling, peering over the ledge of the pier, looking down on the blackened wood and debris, a loud cawing breaks out. It echoes on the wind, coiling and lifting. It’s a funny sound. Like it’s far away and dulled. It makes Hawks’ wings fan out, overstimulated and brittle. The heroes and crime scene investigators debate on the origin of the noise. It doesn’t help that there’s no bird that’s wheeling above them. No, the skies are dark and empty, with a light misting of rain starting to drip onto the lashing sea. 

“What is that?”

“Is it a gull?”

“It’s creepy. There’s nothing even flying around. But, it sounds so close.”

“I think it’s a seabird. It’s gotta be, sometimes they fly out here looking for fish.”

“I’ve never heard a seagull sound like that.”

“There are other birds besides seagulls, idiot. It could be a pelican-”

“It’s a crow,” Hawks’ supplies, standing and turning back to the clutch of people who are quickly gathering up their supplies, doing their best to get the important pieces of evidence protected from the rain. 

“Huh? Did he say a crow?”

“Oh, damn, that’s a sign of death.”

“No...I think it’s illness, not death.”

Hawks’ walks to Amano and Matsuura, he tells them he’ll meet them back at the police headquarters. He needs to start his interviews if he wants to even have a prayer of snagging a bite to eat. He’s been subsisting off coffee since he flew in and his stomach is rumbling, loudly. 

The investigators are still debating the meaning of the crow caws when he takes off. His wings beat powerfully beside his head and he lifts above the grey storm clouds, coasting high, past the skyline. 

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t. 

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye. 

Things feel off in every crime scene. Were their belongings really left that way? Or, have the details been staged? Plus, the murders keep escalating. The particulars are spreading out and deepening as they interweave. The major connecting thread is still the state of the bodies, but even that is starting to feel vague. Hawks shudders a bit of excess moisture from the tips of his wings. Fingers crossed, some of these witnesses and relatives of the victims will have a little more substance for him to chew on.

******

Oh, they have something alright. 

It’s more hushed rumors and strange folk tales. God, the sheer frightened gullibility of these islanders is wild. The whole place feels so backwoodsey, lost in a bygone era. There’s always a prayer or blessing that needs to be uttered. Or, some supernatural logic that he needs to look into. Did you consider the devil, Hawks? He hides in the details, you know? 

It’s fucking weird. 

Hawks is treading in unfamiliar waters with this tripe. He didn’t grow up with any of this. The HPSC certainly hadn't offered him a course on Japanese islander folk traditions during his childhood. Still, these people, for the most part, seem well off, educated, cultured even. Some aren’t even from this island. But, they seem to be infected with the same disease: ghosts, oni spirits, and bad omens. It’s a whirling circle of nonsense and Hawks’ wants off this ride.   

“I got a call from her.”

“From the victim, your sister?”

“Yeah, it came in at 4:49 am.”

“Ma’m, that’s not possible. The coroner noted that rigor mortis had set in by 2 am”

“She sounded faint. It was like she was underwater, but it was her. She screamed at me.”

“She screamed at you?”

“Yeah, it was this low scream. Kinda, like a gasp? Like she couldn’t breathe. It kept getting louder and louder and louder. It hurt my ears. They felt like they were ringing, pounding. Then, the line just went dead. I can still hear it, that scream. Every time I close my eyes, or whenever I least...I-I can still hear her.”

“Do you have your phone records?”

Hawks is trying to make sense of it all, but it’s like they’re talking to each other before they come into the interview room, telling each new interviewee to up the ante. 

See if you can spook the number three hero. Go on, it’ll be fun. 

There’s a slew of strange occurrences. Disembodied voices, knocking on windows, doors opening on their own, quiet voids of cold that they step into. Ghosts keep popping up.

Then, there’s the oni spirits. They have red faces and they lean in close, their fangs reaching, gnashing, grinding. One woman, who was married to one of the victims, burst into tears, her terrified sobbing turning into a frantic wail. 

She had seen an ogre in her back garden. It was pushing a cart and the cart was on fire. Hawks’ checked his notes as he patted the woman’s back, trying to help her move through a few breathing exercises. One of the victims was found propped, pushing a wheelbarrow, could it be…

No. It’s another dead end. 

This woman didn’t know that dead man, the one who was pushing the cart. She didn’t even live on the same side of town. Ugh, this is endless. It might be easier if he did apply these delusions to his investigation. At least that way he’ll feel sane. 

Some of the victims had been acting suspicious, paranoid, on edge before their deaths. One of them had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night and ran off. The next day she was found dead in her home, burnt and drifting into ash. 

“So, she got the call and just ran out the door?”

“Yes. But, she let it ring four times.”

“You said that already. I’m not sure-”

“She picked it up after the fourth ring.” The aunt of the victim is looking at Hawks expectantly, her blue eyes wide, starting. 

“I don’t-”

“You know what that means...don’t you?”

“The hidden significance of picking up a phone on the fourth ring? No, no I don’t.”

They never fully expand on their weird theories. They’re normal comments to them. He debates looking up the meaning of the number four on his phone, but he tamps down the urge. It doesn’t pertain to the case. It’s useless drivel, a waste of time. 

An adult man shows him this ugly, ugly drawing of a cat. It’s pulling a flaming cart. Hawks doesn’t even want to touch the paper. The man keeps pointing back at it as he goes over his neighbor’s timeline. 

This particular witness is connected to the city councilman. The one that was oh, so important to the police chief. It’s a high profile case and it’s being taken seriously. Yet, here’s this supposedly credible witness, flashing a childish scrawl up to his nose, asking him to look for the phenomena, like it’s a normal request to ask the number three hero to look for nonexistent demons. 

‘There’s gotta be more to this’, he tells Hawks, his voice broken, fervid. ‘Something, something has to be there, after all, the councilman was murdered for a reason’. 

The man with the drawing is right about that, at least. 

These are not random crimes. The MO is too similar. Every single victim was involved in some sort of villainous activity. Yeah, the guys correct on that one sane theory of his: ‘There’s gotta be something there’. But, whatever it is, it’s not this cat thing. 

Hawks calls a halt to their interview and glumly munches on his cold chicken sandwich as he waits for the next witness to be called in. His head is pounding and he’s praying for some new development to fall into his lap, at least that way he can conclude things and get the hell off this island. 

****** 

The 9th victim is an outlier. 

He’s high up in social circles and he was a popular man. He’s also been accused of money laundering, tax evasion and fraud. He was acquitted on all charges, but his past never did stop nipping at his heels. However, that’s not what makes him an outlier. 

No, that’s reserved for the state of his body. 

Most of the victims have been burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind, save bone and gristle. You can still see this guy's face and defining features. He’s a little charred, but it’s almost like the flames stopped right before they got past his chin. 

They transport his body to the morgue and Hawks finishes the combing of the crime scene, setting up a new batch of interview times and creating witness reports. He leaves just as the sun is dipping under the horizon. 

******

It’s late now, and the cool sea breeze blows in through his open hotel windows, soothing across his crimson plumage. It’s his first evening off in over a week. He’s still working though, typing his reports into his laptop. 

He’s forgone his usual coffee this evening. He wants to try and see if he can catch a full eight hours tonight. God, what a fucking delicious treat that would be. Eight hours? That’s the real ghost here. 

He shuts off his laptop and flops himself across his bed, his wings tucking into his side, burrowing his shoulders into their reassuring warmth. 

He slips into the lull between realities, his mind whirring, the case resting heavily against the forefront of his thoughts. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he can’t distinguish between dream and actuality as he drifts off. 

There’s something there.

It keeps to the edge of his vision, a dark shadow that leeches the color from whatever it touches. He can feel it watching him. It shifts quickly when he cocks his head to get a better look, sliding across the blank expanse like quicksilver, fluid and slick. 

He looks away from the edges of his dreamscape and turns. He blinks in surprise. He’s at one of the crime scenes. It’s the one with the man in the wheelbarrow. There’s a crowd pressing around him and that dark figure is blotted toward the back, lurking, watching. The people around him murmur and whisper, too soft to hear. They don’t seem to notice him. They also don’t appear to have faces. They’re just blank voids, with soft notches where eyes, noses, and mouths should be. Unthinking, Hawks reaches for one of them and his hand slips through the air, weightless and heavy in the same motion. 

When he blinks again he’s in that lady’s shack, the one with all the cat figurines. That wraith is sitting at her kitchen table. It’s not moving and he doesn’t feel particularly threatened by its proximity. Still, he dislikes this whole thing. If he can touch it, maybe he’ll wake up.

He’s stepping forward when he hears a soft mewl. There’s a black cat on a shelf. It’s tiny and lithe. It jumps in front of him, a low purr rumbling from its chest. It looks up at him, orange eyes fastening on his amber ones. Odd, he thinks, that woman only had figures. No living cats were evident in the house. 

The cat chirps four times. It’s a light, high pitched sound that makes his ears ache. It almost sounds like a phone. The cat lifts its tail and turns, padding soundlessly into the next room. Intrigued, Hawks follows.

Now, he’s walking down a street. The cat is still in front of him, weaving in and out. That purr of it is loud and sharp as it vibrates around his ears. He keeps trying to get the feline’s attention. He pspsp’s at the dark cat, clicking his tongue, but it doesn’t respond. Hawks is distracted, not paying any mind to his surroundings, wholly focused on the feline. 

The voice startles him. 

It’s rasping and deep and it’s calling his name. Not his hero name, no, it’s saying his real name, over and over. 

KEIGO TAKAMI. 

Keigo Takami, he thinks, stumbling over words that make him, him. It sounds strange now, foreign. He hasn’t heard that name in such a long time.  How did…

The voice is coming from behind him now. He whirls around and is face to face with that man. The 9th victim, the one whose face you could still see. He’s charred and battered, and blood is dripping in long rivulets from his gaping skin, pooling onto the ashen sidewalk. 

His eyes are wide, searching but not seeing. The pupil and iris are both milky white, rolling around in the cavities of his sockets. Then, his mouth pops open. It’s horrifically wide, like it’s caught in a scream. His teeth are crumbling before Hawks’ eyes, black pearls that slide from the man’s lips and clatter around his feet. 

Hawks is stunned, unsure, but, fuck, he can’t move. He tries to flap his wings, knowing that they’ll tug him away from this horror that’s in front of him. Except, there’s no whoosh of air, no lift. There’s nothing. What? How... 

His hands bat at the emptiness along his back. Where are they? What is this? His fingertips press along his shoulders, searching, desperate. His quirk, it’s...it’s just gone. He’s frantic now and that makes him clumsy. His feet tangle under him and he falls. Grounded, his legs instinctively begin to push away from the shell of a man in front of him.

The figure moves with him. Hawks keeps scrabbling away, but the man is even closer now and his bare feet are disintegrating with each shuffling pad forward. Still, he keeps on. Hawks tries to move again, tries to shift, but he’s been cast in stone. He can’t look away...he can’t…

The man is almost upon him now. His fingers are crumbling, the ash they create is making him choke. He can’t breath, he’s wheezing, unable to pull oxygen through his trembling lips. Hawks’ lungs are burning...

Then, Hawks’ wakes up. 

He’s sweating. His skin feels hot and his wings are flared. The feathers are quivering, searching. They bring him back bits and pieces. There’s someone sobbing two rooms over, someone is sleeping below him, their breath warm, he can almost feel it, pushing in and out, in and out. There’s a phone ringing. How many rings? What if it’s four...

Stop, stop.

Hawks tucks his wings back, ignoring the sounds, the sensations. The plumage wraps around him and he ducks his head into the darkness that they blanket him in. He’s comforted by the reassuring, solid presence of his quirk. He thought he’d lost it. His shoulders still hurt from his flailing motions. What is going on? He’s never had a dream like that. It felt so...so real. 

No. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He doesn't believe in this stuff. It’s not real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

He tries to lay back down. 

He’s cooled off some, but his wings keep flapping, he’s stopped trying to fight them. His quirk is going into overdrive. This hasn’t happened to him in years, not since he was a kid. He tosses his pillow over his head, trying to stifle out the noise his quirk keeps drowning him in. He’s tired and overstimulated. Each breath stings and he tries to count, to walk through the steps that have been with him since childhood. Just be still, Hawks. It doesn’t matter. 

The sun is peeking over the horizon when he finally dozes off, his head heavy, fogged with exhaustion. 

******

Hawks grabs two nitro coffees the next morning. 

He practically inhales the dark liquid, hoping it will let him evade the haze of tiredness that thrums through his veins. It’s a slow day, thank God. There’s nothing of note that occurred the night before. Everything is pacing along its planned trajectory. There are no new bodies and the last interviews go by without any mention of spirits or the paranormal. 

Matsuura offers to take him for some lunch. Hawks, always eager to expand his palette, eagerly agrees and the two men head into the city. It’s a weekend, so the streets are crowded. People recognize Hawks and he chats with them, grateful for the welling of normalcy that the interactions bring. He’s signing an autograph when he catches sight of movement in a darkened alleyway. 

It’s not a particularly noticeable shift, but something about it feels strange. Hawks hands the freshly signed soccer ball back to the gang of kids around him and tilts his head toward the motion. He blinks. What the fuck? That’s not possible. 

It’s the man from his dream. He’s walking, steps heavy, sluggish and he’s moving into the alley. The 9th victim? But, but how? What? 

His wings react to his agitation and he hones in on the spot, reaching, snatching at anything he can sense. His fierce wings never let him down. They’re versatile, practiced and perfected. Feathers detach and shimmer into the midday sun, ducking around corners and onto rooftops, feeling. 

There’s nothing. 

No heartbeat, no footsteps, no voices. Hawks’ eyes had slipped closed as he felt for the man and he snaps them open again, his avian pupils dilating, constricting to a fine point. He turns to Matsuura and tells the hero he’s going to check something out. His wings lift before Matsuura can answer and he flaps into the air, the sea breeze assisting his ascension.

The rooftops are empty and Hawks scans the streets below, his wings rustling as he pulls himself along. Maybe it was a trick of his mind? Did he really see that guy? That’s a stupid question, how could he have? That man is dead. It’s gotta be his tired psyche. He didn’t sleep well, plus this case has been on his brain so much that he’s even dreaming about it. 

He lands on a nearby roof, his boots hitting the tiles roughly. Hawks closes his eyes again, sending a few more feathers out. The man, if he is real, will take this path if he is using the alleyway as an escape. There are no other routes available to him. 

He’s still attuned to his scattered feathers when he hears the cat hiss at him. His eyes open and he sees the animal. It’s a black cat. 

It’s across the street, lingering in an open window, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Hawks narrows his eyes at the aggressive display. There are way too many cats on this island. 

As he and the cat continue to engage in their silent staring contest, he hears a scritching sound coming from the street below. Hawks follows the noise, leaning over the edge of the rooftop. A child is playing below. She is sketching something into the concrete with bits of multicolored chalk. 

It looks like...huh? 

It looks like some kind of cart, but, why...why is it on fire? She is busy tracing the licking flames, a yellow piece of chalk clutched in her small fist. She’s humming a mindless song. It sounds like some kind of dirge. It’s soft and melancholic, following a minor tune. A shiver creeps up Hawks’ spine, but he ignores the pebbling of his skin, shaking his head.

Curious, Hawks wheels down, tapping along the street. He keeps a little ways away from the girl, he’s not wanting to startle her. His long fingers reach behind him, into his utility pocket that sits on his belt. He tugs out a small sticker sheet. He always keeps little trinkets in his pockets. It takes real effort to put people at ease and Hawks prides himself on his ability to steadfastly maintain that part of his image. He kneels on his haunches, dropping himself to a friendlier level before calling out to the little girl.

“Hey! That’s a pretty picture.” His voice is all light and honey and he has a bright smile on his face.

“Oh!” the little girl chirps, beaming her own grin back at him. “Thank you!”

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“It’s a Kasha.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what a Kasha is. Can you tell me about the Kasha?”

“They come to take away bad people.” The little girl replies, going back to her sketch, perfecting her lines and colors. 

“Oh! There’s a kitty in your drawing. Is the kitty a Kasha too?” Hawks asks, noticing the calico cat that’s attached to the handles on the front of the cart. It looks angry, vengeful. Strange for a kiddo to draw something so eerie.

“That’s the spirit of the nekomata, silly. Don’t you know anything?”

“Haha,” Hawks laughs, a genuine sound that makes him throw his head back, his hand bashfully scratching the back of his head. “Guess I don’t, huh? Do you like to draw...ghosts?”

“Not really. If I draw them they won’t-”

A distant voice is calling out a name. It’s female and coming from a house a few feet away, no doubt the girl’s mother or sister. The little girl calls back. 

“Coming mama! I gotta go, mister.”

“Here,” Hawks begins, detaching a smaller feather and drifting the little set of stickers over to the girl’s chubby hands. “Thank you for answering my questions,” he smiles. She coos and snatches the sparkly sheet, the sunlight catches the glitter that adorns the stickers. He tickles her cheek with his detached feather and she laughs. 

Her mother calls again and she starts to run off, her yellow shoes pounding on the street. Belatedly, she pauses before rounding the corner and bows low, a quick thank you slipping from her mouth. He waves back and smiles as she walks into her home, the door clicking behind her. Once he’s alone in the alleyway his grin drops and he stands, looking down at her drawing. 

It’s so freaking odd. Sure, sure, these cases are in the news. But the drawing looks...familiar somehow. 

Oh, that’s why. 

That man he interviewed, the one connected to the congressmen, had drawn something similar. Even then, back in that dark interrogation room, the strange figures looked like something he’d seen before, but where?

That nagging feeling is back. It pulls at the back of his mind. What is going on?

Hawks pulls out a small notepad and replicates the girl’s drawing, noting the colors and positions of the nekomata. As he sketches, his wings arc above his head, lifting and lowering meditatively. 

******

He comes back to the police precinct, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets. As he walks toward the chief’s office he runs into Amano. He’s the elder of his two assigned heroes and a font of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. Maybe he’ll know something more about this doodle that keeps cropping up.

“Hey, Amano, you seen any weird drawings around town? Or, at the crime scenes maybe?”

“Weird? Like how?”

Hawks pulls out his notepad, flipping to the page with his sketch of the cat pushing the burning cart. Amano chortles, one gloved hand coming to cover his mirth. 

“What is that? It looks terrible.”

“I’m not much of an artist, I'll give you that one. In my defense, it’s based on a kid's drawing, so cut me some slack here, man. She said it was supposed to be a kasha and a nekomata?”

“Oh! Yeah, I can kinda see that now. I know what those are. According to legend, kasha appear during rainstorms. They steal corpses out of their coffins. Some of the older folks say they collect the souls of the damned. You can’t get the souls back if the kasha get them, they’re taken to hell, or eaten, depending on what version of the story you’re listening to. 

I mean, they’re all just old wives tales. We used to tell them on camping trips. They’re bedtime stories, something to scare kids into being good. Ooo, misbehave and you’ll get taken to hell. 

Eh, that feels kinda strong when I say it outloud, hopefully people don’t tell their kids stuff like that. Anyway, it’s not real.” Amano pauses, his head tilting at Hawks’ serious expression. “Isn’t it a little early to be getting into ghost stories? It’s summertime. Besides...” 

Hawks tugs his phone out of his jacket pocket, flicking through the crime scene photos as Amano elaborates on how ridiculous this ghoulish conversation is. Normally, Hawks would agree, but there’s got to be...oh...OH. 

There it is. 

His finger stills over the glass of his phone. It’s tiny, basically a scrawl, but it’s there. He flicks through some of the other photos, swiping through the different locations, searching. Ah-ha! Again, there’s that scrawl. This time, it’s almost cropped out of the photo. Still, there are two crime scenes with the scrawling of chalk. 

It’s a tiny drawing, so tiny he looked right over it originally, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s there, plain as day. It’s a drawing of a tiny cart with a cat pulling the handles, lugging the wheels forward. 

Amano is still talking when Hawks looks back up. Hawks butts into his elaborations, not caring that he’s interrupting the man. 

“Ok, so they take evil doers away? Spooky. Question for you. You got any theories on why it’s cropping up all over town?” Hawks lifts the phone to Amano’s face. Amano takes the device and examines the strange markings, his brow creases, but he hands Hawks his phone back with a small smirk on his lips.

“It’s just talk, man. People do all sorts of superstitious things around here. Don’t look too hard into it. You believe what you want to, I don’t know. If that makes sense. Like those old sayings: ‘Don’t clip your nails before bed’. ‘No whistling at night’. It’s just something to say.

Superstitions are weird like that. Kinda like why you don’t have a fourth floor in a hospital. The number four looks like the word for death when you write it out. It’s bad form. It’s asking for trouble. So, don’t put a fourth floor, and boom, no problems with death.”

Hawks hums at Amano’s explanation. Ok, that superstition about the fourth floor, yeah, that one he had heard about. Amano claps a hand on Hawks shoulder and tells him he’s going to call a few more witnesses in. Hawks nods distantly, his mind whirring, processing. Despite Amano’s assurances, something still feels off.

******

He’s got a night shift. 

It’s only for one evening, so it shouldn't fuck up his sleep schedule too much. Hawks has already decided that he’s going to circle back to all of the crime scenes. He’s not used to being out of the loop, or being the one that people are looking at quizzically. 

He’d shown the drawings to the head investigator and the man had given him a blank look before asking Hawks if he needed some time off from the case. If he’d been asked that question a few days later, Hawks might have taken him up on the offer. 

It’s been five days since he had that dream, but he’s still seeing that man. He’s determined to haunt him, to flit on the side of Hawks’ vision, drifting around like a dead leaf in a breeze. 

He saw him at a bus stop the other evening. His dark hair was plastered to his face, burnt skin sloughing off his shoulders. He looked like a walking horror and Hawks had brought himself to an abrupt stop, staring at the figure below. The bus pulled up to the stop seconds after, the sleek metal shielding the man from view. By the time Hawks lifted himself higher, the man was gone. 

He saw him in windows, peering sightlessly out of the glass. He spied the man walking home from the train, trailing long streams of ash and smoke behind him. He never makes any sound. He’s not alive, so why would he? He had spoken to him in his dream, called his name, but after that? There was nothing. 

The vacancy of his presence is what startles Hawks the most. 

There’s nothing to feel, nothing to sense. It’s just this vast, blank, emptiness. For someone with a quirk like his, it’s deeply unsettling. Hawks’ life revolves around his ability to sense, to feel. The plight of the dead man makes his chest hurt with its loneliness and abject barrenness. Is that what it’s like to die? You drift into this void, alone? He doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Is this his routine? Is he trapped in an endless loop, playing out his final movements? How long does he have to participate in this charade? Is this some kind of purgatory for him?    

Distracted by his thoughts, Hawks spots a different man down a dark street as he flies overhead. It looks like he’s pushing a creaking wheelbarrow. Wait. A wheelbarrow? He looks again, wheeling back through the night sky, but there’s no one there now. No, the street is desolate, not even the gleam of the moon can brighten the winding sidewalks. 

Is this really a ghost? Do these visions even exist? Hawks has never given the topic of the paranormal much thought. It’s always been an outlier, untrue, and untested. A pseudoscience. Well, ghosts or not, whatever is going on, Hawks needs some rest. 

The rest of the night passes uneventfully and Hawks collapses onto his bed, drifting to sleep as soon as his golden head hits the pillows. 

******

After a goodnight’s sleep, it does get a little easier. 

He feels like his mind has cleared, the cobwebs brushed to one side, for now. Despite the clarity, he’s still seeing something. The man hasn’t gone away. No, even the daylight sun isn’t able to banish him. He saw him in his hotel lobby this morning, waiting for an elevator. By the time Hawks zoomed over, he was gone, the only evidence of his presence is the rising numbers on the illuminated floor panel, clicking up, toward the 4th floor.

That night, while getting a late night coffee, Hawks, long since given up his avoidance of caffeine in the evenings, spies something a little more sinister. As he’s paying the friendly barista, he notices someone lugging something across the road. It looks like it’s heavy, dragging against the street. They’re struggling to hoist it and it’s looking more and more like a body to Hawks’ frazzled nerves. He can’t be sure if it’s the specter that’s been lurking after him, but he’s not taking any chances. Again, Hawks is fast, but it’s not his speed that’s letting him down here. 

Each and every time, there’s just nothing there.

Is he freaking haunted now? Is that a thing? That crazy dream hasn’t returned, so that’s one, fleeting, plus. Wait. Does thinking about the paranormal bring it into existence? Is that how ghosts work? Ugh, if he’s going to be plagued, he might as well read up on this shit. What the fuck is going on? Is it the town? Is it the pressure of this case? Is it him?

As he takes himself, and his coffee, up to his hotel room, he ponders the strange predicament he’s landed himself in. He can’t fit all the pieces together. It’s too strange, too abnormal. He wants to lay down, try to get a little sleep. But, a hero's work is never done. He’s got another report to type up and another set of interviews to schedule. 

As he sits at the small desk that faces the window, he hears a strange cawing. It sounds close, almost like it’s right outside the glass. It’s not the call of a seagull, no, it’s that crow again. But, crows aren’t indigenous to the island. He’d looked them up after that discussion on the wharf. No crows have been spotted on the island in over 50 years. The last known specimen was an old bird, living in the Miyako zoo. It died over 3 years ago. 

Hawks pulls himself to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor. He opens the window and pokes his head outside. He can smell the salty aroma of the sea. It tickles his nose and makes him take a big inhale of air, filling his lungs with the crisp aroma. The crow can still be heard, shrieking into the night. There’s a soft, familiar, beating of wings, too. He cranes his head, scanning the blackness, his wings are lifted as well, but there’s no bird. Per usual, there’s no movement, and no creature is flapping its way into the night sky. 

He closes the window and the cawing echoes to the other side of the room before fading away. Annoyed, he takes a sip of his coffee. Hopefully that’s the last he’ll hear of it. He’s got enough ghosts fucking with him, thank you very much, he’s not wanting to add a disembodied crow to the role call. 

******  

The next morning Hawks is on a patrol. 

The murder cases have stagnated again. While this, on the whole, is good news, simply because there are no new bodies, he still can’t get that damned drawing off his mind. It feels like things are slipping away from him, pulling out with the tide and into the vast realm of the dreaded: unsolved cold case. 

He’s frustrated, no, he’s not frustrated, he’s pissed. 

He feels like he’s letting the whole town down. He’d been called out here to do a job, but what good has he really been? Sure, the townsfolk are weird, the police chief is an ass and the lead detective pretty much has Hawks written off as a conspiracy theorist nut, but he was sent here to do a job. He’s good at sniffing things out. He’s good at being a hero. He’s not good at waiting, and that’s all this case has turned into, one long stint of stagnation and thumb twiddling. 

Hawks glides across the bright sky, the sun reflecting warmly on his ruby red feathers. His eyes and wings are alert, feeling for any disturbances. He’s rounding onto the main street when he sees him.

It’s a living, breathing man. Hawks can feel his heartbeat, it’s pounding against the man’s breastbone. Only problem is, he shouldn’t be in the realm of the living.

The 9th victim ducks into a large bank, his familiar dark hair gleaming in the sun. 

Hawks maneuvers to land immediately, his wings tucking against his back and dropping him to the earth at an alarming speed. He startles the small huddle of pedestrians on the sidewalk, but he’s too intent on catching his quarry to smooth any ruffled feathers. He races up the steps of the bank, one broad, gloved hand yanking the glass door open.

There he is. He’s talking with someone. Hawks can almost hear what he’s saying, he just needs to get closer…

“Sir? Can I help you?”

It’s a bank employee. He’s wearing a crisp blue suit and his eyes are wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Hawks pauses at his question, then slides past him, but it looks like it was just enough time for the 9th victim to evade him. He’s walking now, disappearing from view, stepping down a back hallway. It looks like he’s following someone…

Hawks turns back to the bank employee, his wings vibrating with annoyance and impatience. “I need to talk with that man, he’s wanted in a murder investigation. My name is Hawks, my hero number is-”

“Oh, I know who you are. O-of course, please, do what you need to d-”

The bank employee’s voice fades as Hawks lifts himself, pulling over the heads of the people waiting in the lobby. A few feathers dash out, feeling, searching. 

Where did he go?

Hawks reaches the hallway in record time, his wings folding as he paces over the marble flooring. There’s not much back here, but it does lead to a large, closed vault. Damn it all. 

“Sir, sir, SIR! Can we help you? I am the bank manager. You’re not permitted to be back-”

“Sure, you can help me. I need access to this vault. There’s a man, you can check your security cameras, he just walked-”

“I do not have access to the vault. You will need to make a formal-”

“Whaddya’ mean, “you don’t have access”? Then find someone who does. Two men just...Damn it…”

Hawks phone is ringing, he tries to ignore it, but it persists, vibrating and chiming against his leg. The bank manager is bristling, his mustache quivering as he babbles on about warrants, and how heroes can’t act like cops. It doesn’t matter if Hawks is the number three, he can’t ignore protocol. He needs to come back with a warrant, or get out…

His phone’s ringtone continues to slice through the tense air and Hawks, after the 9th, exasperating, ring, lifts it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID: it’s the HPSC. Fuck. He accepts the call on a final, shrill note.

“Hawks, here.”

“You need to come back...there’s been...All Might...Kamino...attack…”

An intermittent static keeps breaking over the phone line. It’s a crackling sound, snapping and rustling, it makes his skin crawl. It almost sounds like someone is whispering something, just below the faint hissing. “What? The line is breaking up-” Hawks lifts the phone, ah, there’s no bars in here.

The bank manager is still carrying on, heedless of Hawks’ inattention. “And so, I am within my rights to ask you to-”

“I’m going to need you to wait here and don’t move. Yeah, yeah, sure thing buddy, I don’t have a warrant, but I can make things pretty rough for you if you don’t do as I say. You don’t want to be involved in this case, believe me. Now, do what I asked and stay here.”  

Lifting his wings, he flies across the lobby again, swiping a quick text to the police chief, if they hurry they might be able to catch this un-dead, dead guy. He jets himself onto the sidewalk, scattering a gaggle of beach goers. 

As he re-dials the HPSC’s number he hears it again. It’s the call of that crow. It startles him and he almost doesn’t lift the dialing phone to his ear. God, this has gotta stop. He scans the sky for any physical sign of the screeching bird. It’s close, cawing and shrieking into the wind. It’s different from the other calls it’s made. It sounds angry, desperate, trying to reach him...trying to tell him something... 

The line picks up and a voice repeats the familiar greeting of the HPSC. 

“HAWKS, here,” he says, vexed, eyes scanning, looking for the disembodied crow. 

The person on the other end asks for him to hold, and a few seconds later the head of the HPSC is answering, her soft voice both grating and reassuring to Hawks. 

“Hawks. You need to return to Tokyo, immediately. All Might has been attacked by All for One. There are developments that we cannot discuss over the phone. Leave whatever intel you’ve gathered for the Miyako police chief and get back here. This is a national emergency. We need all hands. I don’t need to tell you, but the implications of this are dire. Hero society as we know it will be forever changed. I repeat, drop whatever you’re doing and get back to headquarters.”

The line clicks and that static sound rises again. There’s a garbling, muttering sound that’s rising from the hiss. It’s saying his name. KeigoTakamiKeigoTakamiKeigoTakami. 

Then, all is silent. The voice is gone, the cawing is gone. A deep feeling of dread washes over him. It makes his feathers flair, plumage spreading and flexing. All around him, voices are chatting, laughing, living. They have no idea, blissful in their ignorance. Everything is, no, nothing is ever going to be the same again. God, All Might. If he can’t recover, if he dies... 

Hawks lowers the phone, his eyes wide. Suddenly, all these ghosts of his don’t feel so important now.

Notes: @hawksweek2020​

Beta edited by @albinoburrito​

[ofendlesswonder]

#50 for the prompt thing. Supercat please ♥️

50. “People are staring.”

Kara isn’t exactly hoping to run into Cat when she’s summoned to Washington D.C. for a missiondebrief, but when she spots her as she’s leaving the Oval Office, she can’t exactly say that she’s disappointed.

Cat looks as amazing as ever, dressed in a pair of dark pants and a white blouse, a black blazer thrown over the top and her hair perfectly curled, striding down the hallway like she owns the place and, Karacan’t help but wonder, as she watches her approach, if one day she will – she wouldn’t be surprised if Cat was planning on announcing a presidential bid,come the next election.

“Supergirl.” Cat doesn’t look surprised to see her asshe pauses in-front of her, hands slipping into her pant pockets as she tilts her head up to meet Kara’s gaze. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Ms Grant.” It feels like an eternity sincethey’d last seen on another in person (Kara tunes in to the White House press briefings, sometimes, because Cat’s running commentary is always anentertaining one), but the years fade away into an easy sort of familiarity that only working so closely together for so many years can bring. “How haveyou been?”

“Oh, you know.” Cat lifts one shoulder in a delicateshrug. “Always busy putting out the next fire. Though I’m sure you can relate.”

Kara hasn’t exactly been short of those, lately, andshe’s sure that her wish for a quieter 2020 won’t be granted.

“Ms Grant,” a woman appears at Cat’s shoulder, atablet in her hands, “here are the last minute changes you asked for.”

Cat’s new assistant, then, and Kara can’t help butsize her up as Cat scans over the words on the tablet screen. She’s a similar age to Kara, and she wonders, hiding a smile, if she’d changed Cat’s opinion onmillennials. She looks nervous as she waits for Cat’s response, and Kara wonders how much the poor girl has already been yelled at today, or if Cat hasgrown mellow since she’d left CatCo for pastures anew.

“Good.” Cat’s voice is brusque as she hands the tablet back to the woman. “Tell them I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Ms Grant.” The woman scurries away withoutanother word, and Cat sighs as she watches her go.

“Good help is so hard to find,” she mutters, eyes onher retreating assistant’s back, and when she turns back to Kara there’s the hint of a knowing smirk on her lips that Kara pretends not to notice.

(Even though the last time she’d seen Cat, the ‘go get them, Supergirl’ had been perfectly audible).

“I should let you get to your briefing,” Kara decides,because as much as she’d like to spend the rest of her day with Cat, she knows the other woman probably has a busy schedule ahead of her.

“If you have an hour or so to spare,” Cat seemsreluctant to let her go so easily, “you could wait in my office for me? It’d be nice to have a drink. Catch up.”

“I… okay.” She’s surprised by the invitation, but shecan’t bring herself to turn it down, not when seeing Cat again has been like a breath of fresh air – she’d pushed all thoughts of her former boss down deep(and even deeper still when she’d sold the company, because that, as irrational as she knew it was, stung like a betrayal) when she’d left, and she’d almostforgotten how much she enjoyed spending time with the other woman.

When she wasn’t being yelled at, anyway.

“It’s this way.”

Kara falls into step beside Cat as she sets off down the hall at what can only be described as a march, Kara struggling to keep up even with her longer legs. The halls are bustling with people, who fall silent asthey pass them by, curious eyes watching them go, and Kara shifts uncomfortably under the weight of their gaze.

“Something wrong, Supergirl?” Cat asks, as she pauses beside a heavy wooden door, the plaque beside it indicating that this is Cat’s office,and when Kara glances through the open doorway, she finds quite a different space from the one she’d occupied at CatCo, but one that is distinctly CatGrant, all the same.

“I… yeah, it’s just… people are staring.” Kara glances over her shoulder as she says it, and the huddle of people opposite them quickly look away.

“Because it’s not every day that Supergirl walks down these halls,” Cat replies, ushering Kara inside the room and pulling the door shut behind them.

“But… the President walks these halls every day.” Surely the person wielding the most power should garner the most attention. Political power, anyway – Kara’s pretty sure she could beat the President in a fist fight even without her powers.

“Yes, well, people do tend to expect that to happen in the White House.” Cat looks amused as she grabs something from her desk. “Superheroes, on the other hand, are a bit harder to come by.”

Kara supposes that she’s right, but that doesn’t really set her more at ease, and she’s glad she’s now hidden from view.

 “I really should get going – feel free to make yourself at home,” Cat says, heading towards the door, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. “I’ll be back soon.”

She shuts the door behind her, and silence echoes around her as she glances around the room. There’s a screen behind Cat’s desk, an echo of her wall of screens from CatCo, muted but showing the podium that she knows Cat will take her place behind shortly. The desk is cluttered, like Kara remembers, and she smiles as she catches a glimpse of a framed photograph of Cat and Carter, her son now towering over her, his blonde curls unruly as he grins atthe camera.

The view out of the windows is much less impressive than Kara is used to, looking out into the White House grounds rather than the city skyline, so Kara settles for watching Cat’s press conference, instead, easing herself down into one of the chairs behind Cat’s desk, and resisting the urge to kick her boots onto the top of it.

The sound of the door opening startles her, and Kara whirls around to find the girl from before frozen in the doorway, blinking at Kara with stunned surprise.

“Oh, sorry.” Kara jumps to her feet and throws a reassuring smile her way. “Cat said I could wait for her in here.”

“T-that’s okay, Ms Supergirl.”

“Just Supergirl is fine, thank you.” The girl could barely look her in the eye, and Kara wonders how someone so meek could survive as Cat’s assistant – but then, people had probably thought the same thing about her, when she’d started. “You work for Cat?”

“I’m her assistant.” She runs a nervous hand through her hair before inching further into the room and dropping down behind the other, smaller desk in the room, and Kara wonders how well she would have fared, sharing an office with Cat. “Sophie.” She holds her hand out towards Kara, and she takes it, shaking it firmly. “Could I… would it be alright if I asked foryour autograph? My little sister loves you, it would literally make her year.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” It’s been years, but she still isn’t used to this side of her job, and doesn’t think she ever will be. “What’s your sister’s name?” Kara asks, as Sophie scrambles for a pen and a pad of paper.

“Emily.”

Kara scribbles a quick message before signing her name, and she’s handing it back to Sophie when the door is pushed open, Cat striding through a moment later – Sophie jumps at the sound, and Cat pauses when she sees Kara hand back the pen.

“Sophia,” Cat begins, and Kara tries not to smile, because it’s nice to know that some things never get old, “are you harassing my guest?”

“N-no, Ms Grant.”

“Oh?” Cat arches an eyebrow, arms folding across her chest. “Then what’s that in your hand, hm? Because it looks suspiciously like anautograph.”

“It’s fine,” Kara interrupts, because Sophie looks like she might be about to cry. “Honestly.”

“Hm.” Cat purses her lips, but she doesn’t press. “Here.” Instead, she reaches into her pocket before brandishing a twenty dollar bill at her assistant. “Take this, and go and buy yourself something nice for lunch.”

“Ms Grant?” Sophie looks highly confused, and Kara bites her lip so she doesn’t chuckle at the look on her face.

“Are you deaf, Sophia?” Cat sounds exasperated, a tone that Kara is more than familiar with. “Go, before I change my mind. Oh,” Cat calls out when Sophie is almost through the door, “and bring me back a latte, please.”

“Yes, Ms Grant.” She scurries away, closing the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone, and Kara takes the opportunity to sink back down into the chair she’d been sitting in before.

“You always this hard on your assistants?” Kara asks, lips twitching as Cat leans back against her desk and kicks off her heels, as she’s been known to do after she’s been on her feet for too long.

“Only when they deserve it,” Cat answers smartly, and Kara grins. “So, Supergirl – how are things?”

“Busy,” Kara sighs, glad that J’onn and Alex have assured her that National City will be safe during her absence, meaning that she doesn’t have to rush back. “If everyone could just stop being evil for aminute, that would be really, really nice.”

“Have you tried asking the criminals nicely?” Cat snipes, and Kara had forgotten how much she enjoyed this, the easy way that Cat spoke to her when she was shrouded in the cape.

“No, but maybe I’ll try that next time.”

“See that you do.” There’s a soft smile on Cat’s lips, atwinkle in her eyes, and Kara wonders if she’s missed this as much as she has. “And how is CatCo?” Cat’s gaze turns challenging, then, a single eyebrowraising upwards, and Kara swallows.

“Ms Grant?”

“Are we still playing this silly game?” Cat sighs, liftingherself onto her desk in one easy movement, eyes never leaving Kara’s face. “After all this time?”

“I…” Kara trails off, worrying at her bottom lip, and she knows that Cat already knows, that she isn’t going to do anything untoward with her identity (because she’s had more than enough chances, over the years), and surely it shouldn’t be this difficult to admit it, when there are no consequences? “CatCo is fine,” Kara manages to force out, eventually, and Cat’s eyes flicker with interest. “Different, since you left. There have been a lot of changes.”

“For better or for worse?” Cat asks, and she almost looks like she’s afraid of finding out the answer.

“Definitely worse,” Kara murmurs, her voice soft. “It hasn’t been the same since you left.” She can scarcely remember what things were like, with Cat at the helm, it’s been so long, but she knows that it was definitely more interesting with Cat prowling the halls. “Do you miss it?”

“Every day,” Cat sighs, her voice sad. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do now, but… it’s just not the same.”

“You could come back,” Kara offers, but Cat gave a slow shake of her head.

“No, I couldn’t. Selling it saw to that.”

“Why did you sell it?” She has to ask, because it’s bothered her ever since she found out.

“So I wouldn’t give in to the temptation to come back,” Cat explains, fingers tapping against thesurface of her desk. “It would be a step backwards, and, much as I might miss it, there were reasons why I left, and none of those have changed.”

“Like?”

Cat purses her lips for one long moment, her eyes locked on Kara’s, an unreadable expression on her face. “I told you – I wanted a change.”

“Is that all?” Kara has to press, because she’s sure that hadn’t been what Cat was planning to say. “You said reasons. Plural.”

“So I did,” Cat replies, a note of finality in her voice,and Kara decides that’s the most she’s getting out of Cat on that particular subject.

“How’s Carter?” Kara asks, instead, watching as Cat’s lips twitch into a fond smile.

“He’s wonderful,” she answers, that light in her eyes that she gets whenever she thinks about her son. “It took him a little while to come around to the idea of moving out here, but he’s flourishing in his new school.”

“That’s good. He must be what, almost sixteen, now?”

“Next month, yes.” Cat looks touched that she’d remembered. “He’s all grown up – he even has a girlfriend.”

“And you?” Kara finds herself asking, even though she’s positive she doesn’t want to know the answer – her feelings for Cat had faded over time, but that doesn’t mean that she wants to hear about her falling in love with someone else.

“Forever single,” Cat answers, curtly. “I learned a long time ago that I don’t need to go home to someone else at night. Besides, I was never exactly very lucky in love.”

“Maybe you just hadn’t found the right person,” Karamurmurs, and Cat’s smile is soft.

“Or maybe I let them slip away,” she replies, and Kararaises a curious eyebrow, but Cat just shakes her head. “What about you, Supergirl? Got a guy waiting for you at home?”

“I haven’t exactly been very lucky in love, myself.” Her relationship with Mon-El has been her one and only, and it hadn’t exactly been easy for her to recover from him leaving. She’s had offers, since, but she’s yet to meet anyone that really sets her alight, makes her feel alive, even though she desperately wants that happiness that she’s seen her sister have,first with Maggie and now with Kelly. “And I’m not the safest person to be with,” she shrugs. “Maybe I’ll be forever single, too. We can start a club – spinsters only.”

“Watch it,” Cat cautions, but there’s a smile on her face.

“What, you don’t want to be in a club with me?” Karapretends to be offended. “How rude.”

“We’re already in a club,” Cat fires back, “of ‘mostpowerful women in the United States’. I may no longer be the queen of all media, but I still hold some sway.”

“How can you not, working in this place?” Kara gestures to the space around them. “Although the view is slightly less impressive.”

“Yes, well, some sacrifices did have to be made.” Cat looks out of her window more than a little wistfully. “Although, I - ”

The ringing of Kara’s phone interrupts whatever Cat had been about to say next, and Kara throws her an apologetic look as she pulls it out of the hidden compartment in her suit. “Sorry, but I have to take this,” she murmurs, when she sees Alex’s name on the screen. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Uh, not really,” Alex answers, and Kara hears the sound of something explode in the background, justas the screen behind Cat’s head flickers to life on a news story – Kara recognises the city skyline immediately and jumps to her feet. “We have a situation.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” The monster fills half the screen, enormous in size, and Kara isn’t surprised that Alex had called. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Go,” Cat tells her, eyes wide as she takes in thedestruction being wrought in her former home. “Be a hero. And don’t be scared to come by again – perhaps the spinster club could start having monthlymeetings.”

“You got it,” Kara chuckles, and she surprises Cat bypulling her into a quick hug, allowing herself a few precious seconds to breathe the other woman in, to remember the feeling of her, warm and soft anddainty in Kara’s arms. “I don’t suppose that window opens?” She asks, when she steps back, and it takes Cat a moment to blink away the dazed look in her eyes.

“Ah, no. Security hazard.”

“Of course.” Kara turns toward the doorway, pausing before she speeds away. “Goodbye, Cat.”

“I’ll see you soon, Supergirl.”

She shoots Cat one last smile before darting down the hall, launching herself into the air as soon as she’s cleared the building and hurtling back towards National City, vowing, as she turns to take one last look at the White House before it disappears on the horizon, that she’ll make a return trip sooner rather than later.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Good Enough [Part Two] Sink or Swim [Madara Uchiha]

“I know it’s not my place to ask … but how exactly did this happen to you?”

Kirino – being curious – was referring to the abrasion on her sister’s fair skin. It was an eye sore. She rubbed her finger over it, gauging the impressions until Kururi swiped at her. Serious as it was, she couldn’t help it. Her sister was a feverish mess and for some reason it intrigued her. Then again, it’s very unbecoming of her to act so helpless. She was anything but, in her opinion.

Kururi was tactful, even though her moods changed on a whim. She was also a skilled kunoichi, able to stand toe to toe with even Madara; which is why Kirino thought it was surprising to hear that she yielded to him so easily. Unless, she thought. Maybe she knew.

“Do you plan to answer my question, or continue to pout like a scolded brat?”  

Kururi met her eyes in the reflection of the mirror she sat in front of. Her lip curled up into a scowl. “Don’t ridicule me. What’s more, I already told you what happened.”

“Then maybe I should rephrase my question,” Kirino said. She pulled a brush through her sister’s soft, damp hair – the knots were nearly out. “Capable as you are … why let them treat you like they did? Am I to believe that you’ve gone weak.”

“You know that I haven’t. I just don’t exactly know how to explain it. Their actions were baseless, and I let my guard down because … well because I liked the feeling of having Madara covet me.”

The youngest chuckled. “And you said he wasn’t one to court. I warned you; maybe not in those words, but I did.”

“Easy there, baka.” Kururi rolled up her eyes in annoyance. “You have no idea how absurd that sounds. Not once in the many years I’ve known him have I seen him take interest in another person.”

“That’s because you’re not looking with your eyes,” Kirino professed. She drummed the brush against the back of her head to emphasize her point. “Your mind is your strongest ally, but sometimes you overthink things. Take now for instance. You keep telling yourself that Ma-kun doesn’t have an interest in you, and the more you do, the more you believe it. Doesn’t mean that you’re wrong, but there’s something going on between the two of you.”

This made Kururi doubt herself. She always pondered every option; the good and the bad. It could be that along the way she forced herself to ignore the obvious chemistry between Madara and herself. It was him that initiated the kiss with her. In fact, he did it the previous time too. Still, that didn’t excuse the way he treated her this morning. No man, no matter how much Kururi fancied them, would ever manipulate her. Not even Madara Uchiha.

Huffing in annoyance, she curled her arms beneath her chest and glared at the abrasion on her neck. “Even if there is, I just can’t excuse the fact he let Izuna bite me. Marks like this just don’t fade on us.”

“I don’t blame you, but honestly … was it that bad?”

Kururi snorted. “You say such unusual things sometimes.” Taking a minute to reflect on it, she agreed that it was indeed bad. “It hurt horribly, so yes.” Not even Kirino could change her mind about this. Madara was the only person – besides Izuna – to have consumed her chakra. It was a dire situation and even then, she hated it.

“What's more, it feels weird. It reminds me of drowning,” she added quietly. “Fighting to resurface, but I can’t. The current only pulls me further along until I haven’t the strength to move. I feel almost helpless this way.”

“Why not just let go. It might not be so bad given the right cir– ”

Kururi interrupted her. “Don’t say it … just don’t.”

She frankly didn’t want to think about it. Her mind was still not set on what to do. All she knew was that the next time she saw Madara she was going to chew him out for what he did. Betrayed; that was the only word she could think of to define how she felt right now. To even consider letting him use her again made her blood pump harder, keen to beat the hell out of him. Kururi didn’t even know she was clutching her fingers into a fist until Kirino brought her out of her thoughts by yanking her hair.

She whined in protect, shooting the woman a fiery glare. “The hell was that for?”

Fat tears poured from her sister’s round, colorless eyes. “Your chakra is scary when you get mad. It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” Kururi said with embarrassment. Again, she didn’t realize she had been doing it. She did her deep breathing exorcises and waited for Kirino to resume her previous task before stopping them.

Quietness fell over them for a small amount of time until an unrelated thought came to Kirino. She chuckled softly. “If I remember accurately, it was Ma-kun who stole your first kiss.”

Kururi puckered her brow. “We were barely adults back then. I was so unexperienced.” That was a random thing to say.

“That should have been the moment you knew,” Kirino stated with a laugh. She drummed the brush against her sister’s head again. “You may be smart, but sometimes you’re pretty dense. It could be the reason Ma-kun teases you so.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Kururi ignored the fact she just called her slow and rolled her eyes. “And since when did you start nicknaming him that? You’ve said it three times now.”

Kirino grinned deliberately. “Since the moment I knew you were in love with him.”

In hindsight, the moment she said this, she should have expected retaliation from her sister, but Kirino being too slow to react was caught in a headlock. She waved her arms frantically, crying as Kururi flicked her head over and over. Luckily for her, a sudden rap at the door made her stop.

“My lady,” called out a gentle voice. “Sorry to disturb you, but Lord Hashirama is here. He wishes to speak with you privately.”

Hashirama!? What could he want? Kururi wondered if his unexpected visit had something to do with earlier. It was possible, which is why she was unsure about letting him in. “Can it wait until tomorrow? It’s sort of late.”

“He said it was urgent. I’m very sorry.”

Kururi huffed in annoyance. She was curious, therefore she decided to see him. “Take him to my workroom. I’ll speak with him there.” She could hear the housemaid retreat down the hallway, and took a moment to make herself look presentable. The wrap she wore was pulled up to her neck and snugly tied to prevent the mark from being seen.

Arising, she said her goodnights and left Kirino alone, unhurriedly walking to her private workroom were Hashirama was patently waiting. Entering, she saw him peering at her pressed flowers. Each one was cased in glass and framed on the wall; a hobby of hers she quite loved.

“Pretty, are they not?”

Hashirama turned and smiled at her. “Exceedingly … but do they stay like this forever?”

“Sadly, no. Eventually their color fades,” Kururi retorted. She watched Hashirama for a brief second, appreciating her work, then deeply sighed. “It’s late, Hashi.”

“Sorry, Kururi. I couldn’t put it off much longer.”

She hummed in wonder. “Have a seat then. Make yourself comfortable.”

“I won’t be long,” he stated. “I’m very busy as of late, but I wanted to stop by and check up on you. Earlier you seemed upset.”

So I was right. He did notice. Kururi masked her uneasiness with a laugh. “Is that all? I’m fine, really. Please don’t worry about my problems.” She took another deep breath. “I’m relieved though. I honestly thought the worst.”

Hashirama puckered a brow. He didn’t buy her front, but he also couldn’t do anything about it either.

She misinterpreted his curious look. “I thought you came here to say that you regretted our decision to nominate Madara.”

His brown eyes widened in shock. “No. Of course not – what would make her say that? I do believe in all honesty that Madara deserves the title of Hokage, but that’s not why I came here to see you. The issue does involve him, though.”

Again, the scarlet haired woman hummed. She motioned for him to continue, intent to hear.

“He’s smitten with you. It’s not a serious matter, but I worry he will make it one. Sometimes he comes off a little possessive,” Hashirama stated all at once. Frankly, he didn’t know how to address it. This seemed to be the only way.

“And you know this how?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Kururi scoffed at this. “What do you suggest I do then? Cover my face?”

She was playing the fool; Hashirama knew. He gave her a stern look. “Keep in mind that you are the only female he’s ever shared his life with. It wouldn’t surprise me if now he’s wanting you as just that.”

I doubt that. To keep from arguing with him, Kururi agreed. She frankly didn’t want to think about it anymore. A change in subject was the only solution. “Busy you say. Has it to do with the upcoming election?”

Hashirama took the bait, huffing a sigh of annoyance. “I just want a minute to relax, but Tobirama won’t let me. He would have signed the blank note for me if I had not; he’s too serious about all this.”

“Blank note?”

“The balloting note,” he confirmed. “It’s the paper the council gave you to have Madara sign, since you nominated him. I assumed that was what held you earlier.”

Kururi remembered – only she left in a hurry before she got him to sign it. A dark, foreboding cloud hung over her head. “I completely forgot.” She must have tossed it somewhere as soon as she got back; her desk probably. Hurrying over to it, she set aside clan documents and other unimportant papers, looking for it. A humorous laugh from Hashirama briefly tore her eyes away from the task.

“Hashi, this is serious. The note has to be signed and given to the Elders by morning or else Madara won’t be allowed to run,” she said nervously. “They will assume he declined the offer.” Her mind was racing, but thankfully she found it.

Clutching the note in her hand, she darted towards the bright eyed man. “Please, as a favor. Can you take this to Madara tonight?”

He frowned. Honestly, he would have, but he couldn’t. “I have plan to meet with Tobirama in the morning. He has documents he wants me to look over before the meeting. I’m sorry, Kururi.”

I’ll have to go, she thought. But it’s late. He’s probably in bed. There weren’t many options for her to choose from. Kururi would have to go and wake him up. She couldn’t imagine what kind of foul mood he’d be in.

“At best,” Hashirama interrupted, putting his large hand over her shoulder. “I can keep the council from making their decision at first light, but that is all. I’ll have to reschedule with my brother, but for you, I don’t mind.”

Kururi sighed in relief. “Thank you, Hashi. Let’s be honest though, you agreed because you don’t want to do any work.”

“Am I that obvious?”

She nodded. “I won’t tell. You’re doing me a favor after all.”

His hand squeezed her shoulder; all jokes aside. “You are family. For that I cannot help but to worry about you.”

“Go home and rest, Hashi. I’ll be fine,” Kururi assured him with a fake smile.

She certainly hoped so, but a bad feeling told her otherwise.

Why not let go? How bad could it be to have love?

She wanted to know.

[kindabraveandlittlestupid]

Love her or hate her, Congresswoman Pelosi has been one of strongest women in DC and one of the major leaders of the Democratic Party. She scares the right because of her effectiveness as a Congresswoman and she upsets the left with a long history of making compromises and conflicting interests that continue to orbit her. This article isn't a reflection on her career as a whole but reflection of whether or not she should take up the mantle of Speaker of the House again as she did under President Bush and for a short time under President Obama. While I have my opinion on the subject (which I will share in the end) I want to go over why she should be afforded the position while also making a case for her to step down.

Speaker of the House Position

Before we get into the nitty-gritty details of why Pelosi should and shouldn't take the job, it's important to go over what the position entails. The Speaker of the House Position is effectively the mediator of the House of Representatives elected by the Representatives (usually the party with the majority). The election is pretty straightforward as a candidate must have a clear majority in Congress IE over 50% and if the vote cannot get over that bar then another vote takes place. Another notable aspect of the position is that it does not have to be someone from Congress to hold the role of Speaker of the House which means an outside individual can be voted into the role (I plan to touch base on that idea again later).

So, in a nutshell, the Speaker of the House is the arbiter for the house of representatives which enables him or her to bring votes on legislation to the floor, create special oversight committees (something essential for the Trump Administration), and keeping order within the house. The role has a fair amount of power but it is fragile in the sense that if a House Speaker loses the majority support of his/her party they could be voted from the position quite easily.

Reasons to Consider Pelosi

Pelosi’s Power

What I have read/heard about Pelosi over the years is that she is a focused woman who has a lot of influence in the Democratic Party. She can raise money like crazy, knows all the right people in DC and Rolodex full of all the contacts she has acquired over the years. Her networking skills are nothing short of something of the Mafia keeping favors on the books and knowing where to put pressure to get things done. This makes her very unlikeable because it represents some of the major fundamental issues with American Politics but on the other hand, if this is how the game is played you most certainly want her on your side. If not because these connections but also because of her experience and ability to fundraise for the DNC.

A Tarnishing Position

While the position brings with it power, a louder voice with the political party and prestige, the position also moves whoever is in the position to the front of the line for the mudslinging. Successes in the role are short-lived in their celebration and failures stick to a person like deep stains. Believe it or not Pelosi over a decade and a half ago was far from the polarizing person she is today. Most of the bad reputation she earned (while some of it deserved) came BECAUSE she held this role under the Bush and Obama Administrations. The Conservatives can/will demonize anyone holding the position over time making the Speaker of the House the ‘enemy of the people ‘if they don't have the R after their name.

On this point, I think this is one good reason to keep Pelosi as Speaker. Already covered in mud from years of being a democratic leader makes it hard to bring her low since she has are been vilified as much as she could possibly be. If anyone does step into this position there must be an understanding that the Speaker of the House position can possibly limit any long-term aspirations to climb higher in the political power structure. The alternative to dealing with the Partisan Tarnish is to either put someone who is completely neutral into the position as Speaker who represents a fairness between parties or let someone outside of Congress take on the role and see if they CAN build a career from being the Speaker by being that neutral arbiter that will appeal to centrist/undecided voters in upcoming elections (more on this later).

No Better Options

The last reason why I think Pelosi should be considered for the role besides the fact she already dealt with the worst of the GOP’s mudslinging and has a strong/established power base in DC is the fact she appears to be the best option at the moment. I know this sounds like Hillary Clinton again but there is something to say about tried and true politicians who know how the sausage is made. While we have lots of fresh young faces entering the white house after this blue wave, I see no reason to put anyone into the role simply because they are charming, energized, and optimistic. We have better ways of utilizing those traits and the Speaker role is perhaps not the best place to start (see Tarnish again if you need a reminder of why). I, however, DO NOT think Pelosi should hold this position for long but I think she takes the role and begins thinking about the future of the party instead of any personal motivations she might have for holding to power. In other words, thinking who should come after her and become the new face of the party should be one of her priorities. 

Reasons to Reject Pelosi

Grooming A Successor

So its pretty clear I am kinda Pro-Pelosi at this point but I also believe in the long game of politics and building a better party. I think Democrats benefit from a diverse base, a belief in equality/equity regardless of race and gender and appeal to humanities better characteristics. This party cannot survive without bringing in the New Generations X,Y, & Z into the base. Part of that is having young politicians who inspire these larger voting demographics to put their support behind candidates they relate too.

Pelosi is actually pre-Baby Boomer herself and is a representation of a harsh reality that the current Democratic Party keeps investing its power in politicians who are simply... old. This isn't agism mind you but just an observation of a flawed structure in our party and one that we need to frankly address. What I purpose is a shift in the structure where the faces of the party are the younger/newer politicians that can stir up their voter bases in a positive/effective way. The veteran politicians take a step back for the new generations and take on the advisor like role steering the party from behind but no longer being the face. I know some people’s egos might have an issue with this but if you care about democratic values it's all about thinking what comes next and grooming younger successors to undercut the old white man party as deep as possible.

In regards to Pelosi, while she should take the Speake of the House role it should be on the condition that she keeps one of the younger Congressmen or women close to her and prepares them to take her role permanently. Whoever does this should know that the position comes with that big red target on their back and should look to tap Pelosi’s (and other veteran Democrats) expertise regularly to be an effective House Speaker.

The Outsider

Since the position does not have to be a sitting Representative of the House, we could consider the option of bringing in an outsider to take on the role. The way the current law is written allows for this and provides a unique opportunity to do one of two things. 

A) We can bring in an upcoming/motivated official who perhaps lost the recent election but provides an important injection of energy into the DNC. I am thinking Stacey Abrams or the like taking on the position being someone who can bring new energy and perhaps avoid the mudslinging enough to build a name for herself and return to the governor's race with enough renown to unseat the racist who presently took that position in her state.

B) Take the neutral path. A representative who a bit left of center who takes on the role of being an objective nonpartisan speaker. This does a few things: 1) Displays democrats willingness to be nonpartisan for the sake of the country. 2) Allows conservatives to do their mudslinging ineffectively tarnishing a person who has no long-term interest in a political career. 3) Makes it harder for Donald Trump to scapegoat his own impotent policies on the new Speaker of the House.

We can use this position to either build up someone's career (if done properly) or we can have someone looking to serve his/her country in a meaningful way and letting the GOP focus their hate attacking someone who will simply move on wasting their time and efforts. Either way helps the long-term interests of the Democratic Party.

My Thoughts

If I had any political power in the House of Representatives and was able to establish a game plan for the Progressives; it would be voting Pelosi into the position without all the infighting, seeking out a newer/young man or woman to take up the position one or two years from now (perhaps switching them into the Speaker position months before the 2020 election), and reorganizing the power structure of the party where the young politicians are at the front stirring up support/votes while the veterans use their influence and experience to draft legislation to further the progressive goals for the long run. 

As I said before I am not a big fan of Pelosi but no one can deny her influence and effectiveness as a politician in DC. Expelling her because she represents some of the problems in DC won’t save us from the fact that those problems are part of the institutions. If we DO want to move on the age of politicians like Pelosi we need to change the rules and the game before switching out the players who know the game best. This infighting we are currently seeing does not make us a stronger party. 

As always thanks for reading.

Regards, Michael California

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to FiveThirtyEight’s weekly politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

sarahf (Sarah Frostenson, politics editor): We’re back with our third snake draft of 2020 Democratic presidential contenders, god help us all. Previous drafts can be found here and here. And remember, we’re trying to pick who’d win the nomination, although our picks tend to get less selective and more inventive(?) as the rounds wear on.

The rules are as follows: Six rounds, so between the four of us, 24 potential 2020 Democratic nominees. Let’s determine the order. (And yes, we really do write our names on slips of paper and pick randomly!) We’re going to have Geoffrey Skelley, our new elections analyst, announce today’s order. Welcome, Geoff!!

geoffrey.skelley (Geoffrey Skelley, elections analyst): The office is currently doing the draw.

Clare has first pick.

Geoff is second.

Sarah is third.

Nate is fourth.

natesilver (Nate Silver, editor in chief): OMG what bullshit.

clare.malone: heh heh

geoffrey.skelley: There are many witnesses.

sarahf: OK, Clare, you’re up first! Take it away.

clare.malone (Clare Malone, senior political writer): Elizabeth Warren.

natesilver: Dammit.

geoffrey.skelley: Wow, that was my pick.

Stunning, I know.

clare.malone: My picks are gonna haunt your dreams, Nate.

sarahf: So she’s been popular in previous drafts, why is she your No. 1 now, Clare?

micah (Micah Cohen, managing editor): I’m really pissed I’m not participating in this draft.

clare.malone: Warren has captured the mood of the party for a long time as far as economic angst goes, she’s been a consistent and eager Trump antagonizer, and she’s gonna be raising mucho $$$$$$$$$$$

natesilver: She’s also seemed more candidate-y recently — like her weekend speech about Kavanaugh, which was nominally a speech for her Senate race, felt very much like something she could deliver in Iowa or New Hampshire.

clare.malone: Right, that speech is basically the reason we’re having this chat.

sarahf: For any readers that missed it, Warren said in a town hall this weekend in Holyoke, Massachusetts, that “after Nov. 6, I will take a hard look at running for president.” So yeah, definitely she seems like she’s considering running.

OK, Geoff, who’s your pick?

geoffrey.skelley: I’m going to go with Kamala Harris.

Tough call, was debating leading with a certain former vice president. But when I think about candidates who can put together winning coalitions, I think of candidates who could have a strong appeal to the Democratic Party’s African-American base.

sarahf: Betting markets seem to agree with you, Geoff.

geoffrey.skelley: Harris is also fresh and Democrats may be poised to go for a woman nominee again. Plus, Harris will have access to that California $$$$.

sarahf: And I’m going to continue the #2018yearofthewoman with my pick … Kirsten Gillibrand.

clare.malone: So, Sarah, a question for you on that one: Worried at all about the way that she has been screwed by some in the donor class?

sarahf: For sure. I also think her ties to Clinton are problematic for a 2020 run.

But I think she has a lot of experience going for her. She’s been in the Senate since 2009 and was in the House before that. Plus, she has some bipartisan appeal as well. Part of what we saw in 2016 I think had to do with the fact that both Trump and Clinton were deeply unpopular, which means I don’t think Clinton’s loss necessarily means that a woman like Warren, Harris or Gillibrand can’t win.

geoffrey.skelley: Gillibrand is probably the leading NY candidate, which ain’t nothing in a Democratic field.

sarahf: Nate, you’re up.

clare.malone: Nate’s gonna go with noted populist Democrat Jamie Dimon, I can feel it.

natesilver: OK, we’re going snake so I get two picks, right?

geoffrey.skelley: Yeah.

sarahf:

natesilver: I’m going with (4) Joe Biden, (5) Bernie Sanders.

OLD WHITE DUDES FTW

clare.malone: Bad pick.

natesilver: Which one?

clare.malone: Both.

All bad picks.

(For old times’ sake.)

natesilver: Joe Biden is LEADING in polls of Iowa.

And Bernie Sanders was the runner-up last time.

sarahf: I agree with Clare. How old is Biden?

clare.malone: I do actually think Biden’s a bad pick ultimately.

Biden is someone who’s going to probably look good to a general electorate, but I still wonder how his history with Anita Hill would play with a Democratic base in a primary.

geoffrey.skelley: I’m very down on Sanders — the moment’s passed, in my opinion. With someone like Warren running, I just don’t see it.

natesilver: Yeah, Warren running is a big negative for him. And his polls haven’t been great. It’s possible he benefited from being “not Hillary” in 2016, but now there are a lot of “not Hillaries.” But pretty good value at the No. 5 pick, IMO?

geoffrey.skelley: Yes.

clare.malone: He’s also someone who could be spun as too old, like Sarah said, or even not progressive enough for the moment. Again, this is for a Democratic primary.

natesilver: I just think … candidates’ fortunes will wax and wane, but Bernie is always going to have a built-in constituency.

geoffrey.skelley: No question that Sanders ran a good campaign — that “America” ad will live on forever.

geoffrey.skelley: Thinking about black voters, it’s possible that Biden can make an appeal among such voters if he’s facing white liberals like Warren and Sanders, which would help in South Carolina, for instance.

clare.malone: He’s an Upper Midwest/Pennsylvania candidate, and that’s what he’s billing himself as, I’d say.

But if Booker or Harris run, they would potentially neutralize a Biden advantage with black voters.

geoffrey.skelley: Exactly, Clare. If Harris or Booker are in, that weakens Biden’s case.

sarahf: OK, I think it’s time to move on to our No. 6 pick … Cory Booker.

clare.malone: He did some great grandstanding last week at the Ford/Kavanaugh hearings.

geoffrey.skelley: Every potential candidate has weaknesses, so Booker’s may be ties to Wall Street. But he’s good on the stump, safe to say.

sarahf: That said, I do think Booker is a very talented politician. He’s a great orator. And he’s really built a profile for himself as a #HellNo Democrat.

clare.malone: I think I’ve said this in previous drafts, but I find Booker to come off a bit gooberish in a way that could maybe grate during a campaign. He’s such the eager beaver. Of course, that might play very differently with an electorate that sees a candidate mostly through Facebook video feeds and so on.

Like, this dude has been running for president since he was mayor of Newark. It’s been a long time.

geoffrey.skelley: Hahaha, it’s so true.

Booker has been pegged as a potential presidential candidate since Day 1.

sarahf: OK, you’re up, Geoff.

geoffrey.skelley: Well, I think it’s time to shake things up.

BETO

sarahf: Oh my.

Clare, what do you think?

clare.malone: I think this.

But in all seriousness, I do think that if O’Rourke loses his Senate race, people will be trying to get him to run for president.

natesilver: That’s a predictable shake-up. I’m surprised he lasted this long.

geoffrey.skelley: I was just worried one of you would take him before it got back to me.

sarahf: We’re saving Jon Ossoff for later, Nate.

geoffrey.skelley: Funny thing is, if he were to upset Ted Cruz, that might reduce the chances he runs. Or at least, I’d be less likely to run for president if I’d just become a senator.

But if he comes close and generates all this coverage and Democratic enthusiasm as RFK 2.0 or something, I can see the attraction.

clare.malone: I think if he wins, he serves the Senate term.

All bets are off if he loses, because the next big Texas office doesn’t open up for a while.

natesilver: I guess his optimal scenario is that he loses like in a recount.

geoffrey.skelley: But President Trump might win re-election, so why not wait until 2024 if you’re O’Rourke in that case?

clare.malone: Ah, we’re getting to the dregs.

OK, I’m picking two, and one is Eric Holder. Pretty obvious reasons why: He’s a respected former attorney general who’s made voting rights a project, an African-American, and a close friend and ally of Obama, which would help in a campaign season. And God help me, but my other pick is Michael Avenatti, for no other reason than the world has gone mad and he’s on TV a lot.

sarahf: I was hoping someone would mention Avenatti!

clare.malone: Your wish is my command.

We needed to stir shit up here.

geoffrey.skelley: You just know the cable news channels won’t be able to resist covering him.

sarahf: I know mentioning him as a contender is very

, but i don’t think it’s unrealistic!

clare.malone: Me neither, that’s why I picked him

natesilver: On the one hand, Avenatti is very Trumpian, which doesn’t seem like it would be a very good sell in a party that hates Trump.

On the other hand, politics is becoming exponentially more annoying every day, and so that would be the best way to stick to the trend.

micah: OK, I’m butting in here on that Avenatti selection …

Clare …

Bad pick.

clare.malone: Which one, person-who’s-not-participating?

I THINK THEY’RE BOTH AMAZING PICKS

micah: Avenatti.

clare.malone: “A street fighter for Democracy,” etc. etc. The ads write themselves.

micah: Let’s not overlearn the lessons of 2016. After all, Democrats chose Hillary Clinton in 2016!!!

OK, I’m out.

Sorry, Sarah.

sarahf: What a note to leave on, Micah.

clare.malone: This is a low round pick. I doubt he will win, but I don’t doubt Avenatti will run.

sarahf: I think that’s solid. OK, Geoff, you’re up with the No. 10 pick.

geoffrey.skelley: Yeah, this is harder.

Let’s go with Amy Klobuchar.

Midwestern nice certainly would provide a contrast to the incumbent president.

clare.malone: Good pick.

geoffrey.skelley: And she got some very positive headlines out of the Kavanaugh hearing.

clare.malone: I debated picking her. I think the one thing about her is that her “brand” (ugh) won’t stick out as much in this year.

There are already a number of better-known women who will run.

And I think Biden’s probably taking up a lot of the Upper Midwestern voter appeal space.

But I think last week she was really impressive.

natesilver: Klobuchar is like as far as you can be from Trump, personality-wise. She’s the anti-Avenatti.

sarahf: OK, i’m going to piggyback off the Kavanaugh hearing publicity for Democrats and throw out Sen. Jeff Merkley, even if his lawsuit to stop the Kavanaugh vote was ill-advised.

He’s been considering running for a while and I think is another boring (but solid) possibility for Democrats come 2020 if it turns out the 2018 midterms aren’t as much of a progressive victory as expected.

We’ll be having a very different discussion if Andrew Gillum loses the governor’s in Florida or Kyrsten Sinema loses the Senate race in Arizona (even though they are very different candidates running for very different offices).

natesilver: Hmm … I think we’re rapidly running out of good candidates.

Or at least obvious ones.

sarahf: This is true, too.

clare.malone: JOHN KASICH

natesilver: Not your turn.

clare.malone: I know. Also, not a Democrat.

Which I think is at least a nominal requirement to get into this draft.

geoffrey.skelley: Michael Bloomberg would also like a word on that party ID question, maybe?

sarahf: But it is Nate’s turn! And he gets to pick two!

natesilver: I can’t believe I have to make two picks, I want to forfeit.

But let’s go with …

Uhhhhhh

clare.malone: Bad pick.

natesilver: Sherrod Brown and Oprah Winfrey.

Bad picks.

geoffrey.skelley: This is my first chat, but I recall Oprah made an appearance in the last one.

natesilver: I do think she’d be very formidable if she ran.

geoffrey.skelley: Resources, name recognition, appeals to an interesting cross-section of the country …

clare.malone: Oprah and The Rock make an appearance in every draft we do.

sarahf: What a ticket!

clare.malone: Yeah, Oprah would probably win.

geoffrey.skelley: I’ll be sure to take Dwayne later on.

sarahf: Ugh, so it’s back to me. Can we just do four rounds? (Apparently, we can’t. Nate says a snake draft has to be six rounds.)

OK, rapid fire!

She’s not going to run, but I’d like to see a Mazie Hirono ticket.

geoffrey.skelley: Why not two Hawaiian presidents?

sarahf: Indeed!

OK, Geoff. You’re up.

geoffrey.skelley: Hmm, one white male governor … but which one?

sarahf: I’m going to say Hickenlooper if you don’t.

geoffrey.skelley: I think I’ll go with — oh, there you go.

Yes, John Hickenlooper is my pick.

A little too think-tank-y, maybe.

But who knows, swing-state governor with a background as a brewery owner?

sarahf: Gotta get the craft beer vote and the yoga vote.

OK, Clare you’re bestowed the honor of two picks.

clare.malone: Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, just to fulfill the prophecy, and … even though I don’t think she’s ever going to actually run, Michelle Obama because she, like Oprah, would also probably win.

sarahf: Obama/Oprah another interesting (although unlikely) ticket.

geoffrey.skelley: Because he’s seemingly interested, I’ll take Deval Patrick for Round 5, Pick 2.

Though if he does run, the New Hampshire primary is going to be a New England homer event with Warren and Sanders potentially in the running as well. But this could weaken New Hampshire’s importance.

sarahf: I think this is the point in the conversation is where we talk about John Delaney. So I’ll submit him as my option for this round, and unlike my previous pick, at least he’s running!

natesilver: OMG

sarahf: Who knows! He could have a better stump speech than Lincoln Chafee.

geoffrey.skelley: I haven’t heard Delaney talk about the metric system, so that’s a start.

natesilver: Why not just pick Martin O’Malley while you’re at it, at least he was governor of something.

clare.malone: And was in a band.

Is in a band.

natesilver: O’Rourke/O’Malley 2020.

geoffrey.skelley: But is “I’m bipartisan” the appeal that will work in the 2020 Democratic primary?

Count me a skeptic.

sarahf: OK, Nate. You get to pick two.

natesilver: My god, how much more of this.

I’ll take uhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

clare.malone: Will no one rid me of this troublesome snake draft?

natesilver: Eric Garcetti.

And the guy I always take, Doug Jones.

geoffrey.skelley: The Doug Jones Memorial Pick

natesilver: I think he’s more likely a VP than a top-of-the-ticket guy, but still …

clare.malone: He is facing a tough 2020 re-election fight as a Democrat in Alabama.

natesilver: Which might be a reason why he quits the Senate and runs for POTUS instead?

He was pretty outspoken against Kavanaugh.

Which doesn’t seem like a move you’d make if you’re focused on Alabama.

sarahf: OK, this is thankfully the LAST ROUND. And good news, Clare, you only have to pick one this time!

But I have to go first.

And I’m going to go out with Jay Inslee! I know, yet another exciting 2020 former-governor pick.

Plus, he’s recently said he’s not ruling out a 2020 run.

geoffrey.skelley: Western governors are actually a plentiful Democratic candidate grouping.

sarahf: OK, what’s your last pick, Geoff?

geoffrey.skelley: Well, the late rounds of drafts are where you pick sleepers.

So I’m going with someone who isn’t even elected yet but is currently running.

Andrew Gillum.

sarahf:

clare.malone: OK, me next?

sarahf: Yep, Clare. Take us home.

clare.malone: I’m going with Mitch Landrieu, who, correct me if I’m wrong, none of us picked earlier?

geoffrey.skelley: He’s all yours

clare.malone: White, Southern, progressive … yada, yada, yada.

geoffrey.skelley: I’d say the one name I expected but didn’t see was Steve Bullock.

natesilver: Some of these picks feel very 2024ish to me.

geoffrey.skelley: Gillum certainly could be if things go his way.

sarahf: So now we have to vote on this madness? Is that how this shakes out?

natesilver: I don’t even like my team this time, so I’m going to vote myself last to preserve my credibility.

sarahf: Here are our teams. Who wants to vote first?

2020 Democratic Primary Draft, October 2018

Round Clare Geoff Sarah Nate 1 Elizabeth Warren Kamala Harris Kirsten Gillibrand Joe Biden 2 Eric Holder Beto O’Rourke Cory Booker Bernie Sanders 3 Michael Avenatti Amy Klobuchar Jeff Merkley Sherrod Brown 4 Dwayne Johnson John Hickenlooper Mazie Hirono Oprah Winfrey 5 Michelle Obama Deval Patrick John Delaney Eric Garcetti 6 Mitch Landrieu Andrew Gillum Jay Inslee Doug Jones

natesilver: I like Geoff’s team.

clare.malone: I’ll rank ’em: Clare, Geoff, Sarah, Nate.

sarahf: I’d vote Clare, Geoff, myself and then Nate, I guess.

geoffrey.skelley: I’ll be that guy and vote for myself

clare.malone: Even more the #1 team, then.

sarahf: I think this means we have a tie between Clare’s team and Geoff’s team.

Quite the slate, y’all.

geoffrey.skelley: I think a late-primary debate between Kamala Harris and Elizabeth Warren would certainly be something to behold if the field were to ever shrink to two (who knows).

[blyanten]

THE DUCK AVENGER PK2: #15 THE TRUE ENEMY

AKA “Kids, I'm going to tell you an incredible story: The story of how I met your mother”

Right now, the Avenger is wearing a hole in Lyo’s carpet. As per status quo, he’s still confused as to what Everett is up to. They used to be friends, now they’re enemies, except when they’re allies… sometimes Everett seems to be what he presents himself as, an entrepreneur who created an economic empire thanks to his inventions or a criminal with some kind of planet-wide scheme.

Lyo finishes the sentence, pointing out that the Avenger has been repeating this over and over again for weeks. Lyo also thinks the Avenger is starting to sound like Agnus. Rude.

The Avenger takes a moment to ask for Lyo’s opinion, but he can’t add much. He has collected everything they have on Everett in the computer, so they have it easily accessible. So we get a quick summary of Everett’s greatest hits, microchips in the brain, weird antennas, the North Pole thing… nothing that seems friendly, and yet nowhere near the kind of devastation Everett could manage if he wanted to.

And then there’s Korrina and Juniper. The Avenger notes despite Korrina’s hostility, he owes her his life. Then there’s the seemingly sweet Juniper, who more and more seems to give no fucks about anyone but herself. The body-switch incident was an eye-opener on that.

The Avenger decides it’s enough. They need to start somewhere if they’re going to figure this out, and they’re going to start with the device from the North Pole. But first they have to find it.

Over at Ducklair Enterprises, Everett is telling his two underlings that they better make sure said device gets where it’s supposed to go, Ducklair Enterprises. Birgit Q is responsible for transport. Anymore Boring will be the one to receive it, and make sure there’s a lab ready.

The minions leave that meeting needling each other, while Everett throws a pity party.

Even excluding genuine accidents, at least 60% of that is still your own fault.

Everett notes that “family” is an inappropriate term for him and Juniper, before starting a rant about how he’s super-rich, and can basically ruin entire countries if he wanted to. But what he really wants is a family of mutual love and support.

Instead he was forced to abandon everything, home planet, his wife, to save his daughters, with the result that Juniper barely speaks to him and who knows where Korinna is?

We do, of course. Korinna is busy training the kids she’s responsible for to be perfect little robots. She warns them she can see them no matter where they are, and sends them in to be with their parents and a family friend.

Said family friend has a dog, who just can’t wait to play with the two kids again, but the kids inform their parents and friend that they can’t waste time on useless animals. They should only focus on important things.

The adults react accordingly.

At Duckmall, the competition to be boss is heating up. Donald claims he hasn’t thought of it, but Fitzroy calls him a liar. Rupert also has his mind on other things, like his date with Stella. He leaves them to it. As does Donald, who really has more important things to worry about.

Lyo has located the device. It’s just been delivered at the pier, where a small army and Birgit is waiting for it. The Avenger tries to come up with a plan, but he’s spotted by some security robots. No that he’s busted, he decides to just punch his way through.

Birgit tries to shoot him, and she’s not really open for talking about this either. She’s not letting him get in the way, and uses a secret weapon to trap the Avenger in a “blob-ball”, and then dropkick him into the sea.

I just love the confused seagulls. It’s the kind of detail that just makes a page.

At Ducklair Manor, Everett has straight up trashed his office, and freaked out Juniper more than a little from the looks of it.

And so the lord said to ye... you’re really not helping your case here.

He then decides it’s time for some real talk with Juniper. Juniper says it’s not the time, but Everett insists. While it might be difficult for him to talk about this, especially with Juniper unwilling to listen… Juniper interrupts, declaring it her fault and asking if that makes him happy.

Not really.

Everett took them from their home, their mother, and them brought them to Earth where he forced them to grow up in a machine. He stole entire years from them.

Everett objects, saying that while that’s what it looks like, he was forced to. He grabs Juniper, who tells him to let her go. He does, and Juniper goes back to her chair. Everett takes another one, finally getting to the point. He’d like for Korinna to be there too, but since that’s not possible, he at least wants to explain the situation to Juniper.

Now, what does she remember about Corona?

Juniper says it was beautiful, and Everett agrees. Corona had managed to balance technology and nature, leading to a high quality of life and welfare. This was the result of centuries of hard work, lead by a rigidly structured government.

There was the Queen, who had final word on every law, and was elected by a parliament, composed of representatives from every city state on Corona. One more, important detail, every member of the government had to be a woman.

I just love this throne room.

Because, while all Coronans have mental powers, the women were much stronger, capable of controlling their emotions in order to make decisions for the common good, ignoring the suffering of individuals, even if it was family, or themselves.

This, of course, required a lot of traning.

FINALLY.

Everett was hunting insects with a freeze gun, as you do, and a fascinating one just landed on their mom’s shoulder. She seems unimpressed by his explanation, so he introduces himself, Everett Ducklair, aeronautical scientist, and she has to be a new member of parliament, following the course of emotional self-control.

Since she wasn’t startled when he shot at her, he challenges her to a “see who laughs first” contest.

Dork.

So, at a guess, women are supposed to be in control of themselves at all times and they’re in charge of all politics... wonder if that has a side effect of expecting guys to be less mature? I mean, if the deal is that they literally can’t reach the level of self-control women can, then you might get a society that basically takes “girls mature faster than boys” even further than RL earth does.

*points at Weight of Memories* I mean, Everett was pretty much adopted.

She laughs, then argues that making faces isn’t fair. True, but if making faces is all it takes to make you crack, you might wanna work a little harder on that self-control thing. He offers to buy her a djufango shake as an apology. She agrees and introduces herself as “Serifa”.

Actually, you introduced yourself as Everett, but whatever.

Everett tells Juniper that he fell hard for Serifa, sure that underneath the cold exterior there was a living heart, full of feelings. My, aren’t we poetic. They started seeing each other, and soon became lovers.

Two moons.

Over time, both moved up in the world, but managed to keep a happy life together.

Until it turned out that queen Artana V had secretly created a family. The queen was not supposed to have a husband or children, she was supposed to be entirely focused on the responsibility of command. Artana didn’t have complete control of her feelings, and that was a real scandal. The queen had to resign and the parliament had to chose a new queen.

All the parliament members wanted to be elected, Serifa included.

You’re both so selfish. The complete lack of regard for what the other one might be feeling... which she points out, to be fair, but looking at this entire issue, I’m not gonna be surprised if the attitude is common on this planet.

You know, if you want to be chosen for a job that demands no emotion, no family ties whatsoever… maybe dump your boyfriend. Or at least not have him pick you up. Having a Plan B is nice and all, but not when Plan B straight up disqualifies you from said job. Find a new one later, if you fail.

And it seems kinda mean to not break up when what you really want is… well, definitely not a family. Though, I think world building wise, it could make sense that people try to live as normally as possible, even with the strict emotional control, but if they get a shot at being queen, it’s accepted that they drop all emotional ties to be the queen.

But even if that’s true, if the choice is between woman A, who has a boyfriend, and Woman B,  who doesn’t, I figure woman B just earned herself a crown.

Serifa is unhappy at not being chosen, while Everett is thrilled. He had other plans, which would have been sadly interrupted if Serifa had been chosen as queen. 

That same night he proposes.

I get the impression these two are not on the same level when it comes to this relationship.

Serifa gets over her disappointment real quick though, and is seemingly happy to accept the proposal. So they get married, buy a house and have kids, because that’s what you do, I guess. The happiness lasts for a few years more, and then the problems started.

Everett and the girls were outside and they found an animal. Korinna and Juniper takes it with them home, asking Serifa if they can keep it. She says no, telling them to go study. She and Everett then has a fight.

Everett doesn’t see anything wrong with letting the kids get used to caring for animals, while Serifa does. How can the kids learn to be as unemotional as their culture demands if Everett goes around teaching them to care?

On one hand, there’s no way every woman can be a member of the government, so the same level emotional control might not be necessary for all of them, even if it’s probably something most want to achieve on some level, or at least it is expected of them even if they don’t go into government.

And a world like this, with a single queen as the final arbiter of law, where people are expected to supress emotion and where the greater good is explicitly more important than individual people has to be fairly authoritarian. Standing out in a way that’s not generally approved of might be really bad for you, so you might end up with a question of not just a career in government vs. emotional health, but your life in general vs. emotional health.

That’s enough speculaion, I think.

The main reason Everett is causing problems is that after the scandal with Artana V, the Parliament has decided that future members of the government must be educated more severely than before. And whatever that means for the general population, it does mean that anyone who really wants their kids to have a chance at being queen is going to have to step up their game.

So Serifa does. Korinna and Juniper will be isolated from their peers and home schooled, under her supervision. So she throws out all their toys and brings in a robot to teach them.

Everett apparently have no say in this. A general thing on Corona, or just this family?

As soon as Everett has the chance, he allows the kids to play video games and programs the robot-teacher so that when Serifa checks, it will look like the kids did the work they were supposed to.

That seems like a bad idea, both education wise, even is mom is going nuts, you still need one, and because all Serifa has to do is ask the kids a question about their schoolwork.

Or because eventually, mommy’s going to come home early.

But who could have predicted this?

Everett takes the blame, to Serifa’s complete lack of surprise. Everett again starts objecting to their daughters’ education depending on a robot, which is currently sweeping the floor. Serifa says this nonsense is over, and they should all follow her.

She brings them to her home office and shows them what the Parliament has planned. They’ve chosen 20 girls, one of which will become queen in the future. To make sure they won’t get up to what Artana V did, the girls will be put to sleep inside an experimental machine that will teach them all the facts they need to rule, and no emotion whatsoever.

Oh, the irony.

Serifa has made sure both Korinna and Juniper are among the 20 girls.

So what happens if they don’t get chosen? Actually, since there’s only one queen anyway, what happens to the 19 that don’t get chosen? Is it a heir and spare deal, except it’s a queen and her 19 spares? Or “hey, at least one of them has to come out right”?

Everett did not agree to this, but the new queen has already made it a law.

Well, I think that answers my previous question about parental rights.

The very next day, a special squad will come to pick up the girls and take them to a secret place to begin the treatment. So that’s a no on this being something you can volunteer your kids for. Serifa insists that one of the girls will be able to have what she didn’t.

So, either this obsession was brought on by the opportunity, or she’s been playing a real long game. Either way, it’s time to get the hell out of there. That night, Everett makes sure Serifa won’t notice by putting some kind of force field around their bed, as he takes the kids and runs.

He takes the kids to the research center he’s in charge of, where he was working on a prototype for an intergalactic spaceship that had yet to be tested. So experimental machine vs. untested spaceship! 

Everett chose the planet most like Corona, in the closest galaxy, and, well, we know how that went.

That seems like the obious place to look as soon as anyone notices the missing spaceship, but time was definitely an issue here.

In the present, Everett finishes his story, hoping Juniper will understand. She asks him to leave, seeming confused by the new information. Everett does, also hoping he’ll get to tell Korinna what happened as well.

Korinna is putting her charges to bed, taking away their toys and turning off the light against the kids’ wishes, telling them they’ll be punished if they disobey her.

The kids’s father, having noticed the strange behavior earlier, seems to have been keeping an eye on them, and goes in to the kids, turning the light back on. He says he’ll talk to “Judith” tomorrow.

This seems like a reflection of Serifa and Everett. Korinna, not knowing what happened back then, is acting like the parent she thinks she can still trust, and that’s Serifa. Which is tragic when the exact thing they’re furious at ther father for is something their mother would have done on purpose. 

Meanwhile, the kids’s father is clearly the one we’re supposed to side with, and he’s basically acting like Everett would. Which feels... okay yeah, he’s the better parent, compared to the low bar Serifa set here, buuut... 

The story Everett is telling here is info Juniper should have been given the moment she was lucid enough to understand it. It’s understandable that it’s a difficult conversation to have. You know what is probably more difficult? Waking up on a different planet, having gone from a small child to an adult over night, and then realizing your father took you away from everything you knew for... reasons! And also, your sister, who was with you when you father kidnapped you, is missing. 

Of course, it would have been a way less dramatic reveal if this came earlier, considering that it answers several of the driving questions of this arc.  

 ¯\_(ツ)_ /¯

And character wise, Everett making a mess of personal relationships is not something I’m gonna argue with. 

Still, the reflection of Korinna and what’s-his-name to Serifa and Everett as bad parent, good parent, feels kind of hollow, but taking it as an echo of the simpler times of the past, it still works.

Back at the docks, the Avenger has managed to get out of the blob and back on land. He takes off after Birgit and the alien device, and now he’s the one who’s done messing around.

At least there’s no one else on the road.

He blasts them. They shoot back, and when he tries talking, Birgit runs him over. He’s fine, hiding behind a shield, but not the shooting war in on. The Avenger manages to slow down the truck Birgit’s in, but they crash, straight into Duckmall.

Fitzroy is rather confused.

Birgit and driver gets the car back out of the mall, but end up crashing into the trailer they’re escorting. The Avenger, seeing that the two are fine, takes the opportunity to look inside the trailer, hoping to grab the device.

It’s empty.

Birgit shows up again, aiming a gun at him, but is as surprised as he is when he asks if she often spends this much effort defending empty trailers.

She had no idea what’s going on, and finally admits that despite working for and with Everett for a long time now, she doesn’t know him at all. And now he’s even made a fool out of her by not trusting her with what he was really doing. This seems to be the final straw of… something, as sits down on her knees, tells the Avenger she doesn’t know anything anymore and to please leave.

Everett’s people skills in action.

The next day at Duckmall, Fitzroy uses the situation last night to pretend he was a hero. Donald is annoyed, but still has other things on his mind.

Korinna is having a bad start to her day, as she’s being fired. She’s not allowed to say goodbye to the kids, but when she notices the two staring at her from a window, she gives them a wave, before walking away crying.

And she really liked that job too.

At Ducklair Manor, Juniper is also crying. Because she’s still processing what Everett told her or because Korinna is?

And at Century, the Avenger is asking the same questions as he was at the beginning.

[shannyfishwriter]

Arrow: “You Will Be Found” 07

Title: You Will Be Found Rating: T Summary: Picks up from where the season five finale (5x23 - Lian Yu) leaves off. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"If you're going to take my medical opinion," the doctor said.  "Then I'd advise against another procedure on your spine, especially an elective one, even one as minor as they implant that you've shown me."  There was a pause.  "At least for now.  Your body's been through a lot.  Your spine is finally starting to look like your last scan before your more recent accident." His eyes weren't on the doctor, though, they were on Felicity the whole time.  She looked like she was taking it well, but he wasn't sure if that was honestly the case deep down inside of her.  He was having a hard time hearing it.   "I'll have instructions, exercises, and some modifications I want you to be following in order to continue your healing," the doctor went on.  "That includes physical therapy." "I already know a good one," Felicity spoke up for the first time.   "If you have their contact info, then you can give it to the nurse and she can forward my orders over," the doctor said with a nod.   With that the doctor was gone and they were left alone in the room in silence.  Oliver didn't know what to say or if saying if anything would actually help.  Did they discuss things?  Was it the right time?  Would there be a right time?  Instead, Oliver just reached out with his hand to her, she took it and squeezed it.  That was all.  He just wanted her to know that he was there and he was with her.   Always. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Felicity had been quiet and Oliver didn't know when was going to be the best time to discuss things.  They were heading towards where the vehicle was parked, but the fear and guilt were consuming him.  They'd been at a similar point before, but then Curtis had come in with the miracle chip that had allowed her to walk.  Hearing the doctor say that might not be an option made it all harder. "Do you know what time Wimbleton's going to be on the BBC?" Felicity randomly spoke up as they made it to the vehicle.  "I know it's tomorrow, but I'm not sure of the time." "Wimbleton?  BBC?" Felicity shook her head.  "Wimbleton.  It's tennis.  It's like a huge deal in England, which is why it's on the BBC.  The British Broadcasting Corporation." Oliver blinked for a moment, confused at pretty much everything Felicity had just said.  he clicked the key fob to unlock the vehicle and open the trunk.  He tried to process what had been said and how any of it made sense.  "Since when did you start watching tennis?" "I don't," Felicity said like it was the most ridiculous question.   From her tone, he felt even more confused, like he was really missing something from what she'd just said to him.  "Then why the interest for it and Wimbleton?" Felicity rolled herself towards the passenger door and shrugged when she came to a stop.  "I'm more trying to calculate when it will be over." Opening the passenger door with care, he scooped up Felicity and slid her gently into the seat without a thought.  "Why do you need to know when it's over?" "They're announcing the new Doctor." "What?" he blurted out in clear confusion. "The thirteenth Doctor," Felicity tried to clarify.  "There's been all kinds of rumors about who's going to replace Capaldi.  Don't get me wrong, I know a lot of the Classic Who fans really liked him, but he was a little grumpy for my tastes."  She continued to ramble on, not giving Oliver a chance to get a word in.  "But there's this huge want slash need for the Doctor to finally be a woman...and there are so many talented female actors that would be perfect." "This is Doctor Who that you're talking about, isn't it?" Oliver asked as he leaned against the open passenger door.  It had taken him a while to figure out, especially with no keywords like timelord, TARDIS, or time and space being used.   "Of course." "Okay," Oliver said in simple response.  He leaned in and kissed her.  "I love it when you go on about things that confuse me."  He beamed at her.  "Also, I'm sure you can look up the times on your phone." "Right," Felicity said with a slight nod as she just stared back at him with a grin in place.  "We'll have to see how gracious the great Google Gods are today." He let out a light chuckle at that before closing the door and moving to fold up the wheelchair.  As his fingers brushed the canvas-like material, all he could think about was how things had been before.  There were difficult times and there were good times.  None really overshadowed the other.  The good ones had never been because of the implant, but out of their love for each other and in general how full of love, hope, and happiness Felicity always was.  Pushing out a heavy breath and shelving the thought, he got busy folding the wheelchair and moved to put it into the back of the vehicle. Things might be different for them, but some things would always be the same.

Read more on AO3 or ff.net

[temperkitten7-blog]

“Can keto help with recovery from fertility treatments?”

Can keto help with secondary infertility? Can a keto diet be used for recovery from fertility treatments? Do you suggest adding estrogen? And, can high insulin levels be related to the development of HELLP?

Get the answer to these questions in this week’s Q&A with fertility specialist Dr. Fox:

Secondary infertility, can keto help me?

Dear Dr. Fox,

I am 34 years old and have been on a ketogenic diet for around two months now. My husband eats lower carb but does not wish to follow a keto diet. I started the diet for minor weight loss and because of secondary infertility. I lost around 8 pounds and my BMI is now 21.3.

I’m currently trying to give up caffeine entirely (at the moment 1 cup of decaf in the morning). I do not exercise except from longer walks with my dog, but I have been running around 5-8 miles weekly when I was in University (until around 7 years ago).

I have never been overweight, but I suffered from hirsutism since puberty.

I have a son who is almost two years old and was conceived without medical assistance after 1.5 years of trying. My husband and I have been trying for a second baby for around eight months now (we anticipated it would take some time). My cycles are very short (21-24 days) ever since my period came back after my son was born. I talked about this to my gynecologist, who told me that he would only do hormone or other diagnostic tests after one year of unsuccessful trying to get pregnant. The ultrasound he did showed a corpus luteum on one ovary (it was day 10 of my cycle). I have since then been charting a few cycles (trying to figure out whether my short cycles are due to lack of ovulation or to a short luteal phase) and the rise in body temperature was always around day 10 in those cycles. (I gave up charting because I found it too stressful)

Now my questions are: Do you think a ketogenic diet and eliminating caffeine can help me conceive? Which diagnostic tests would you do if I were your patient? (Alas, I live on a different continent…) What do you suspect is the cause of my problems conceiving?

Regards, Lisa

  Dr. Fox:

That’s a hard one. Ketogenic diet and shedding the caffeine will definitely improve your chances. You likely have other causes, though. With short cycles, we think of diminished ovarian reserve almost always caused by endometriosis. Ovulation occurs early because the FSH rises higher before your cycle starts. They can study you with an AMH value and or a Clomid challenge test.

It is our opinion that laparoscopy with treatment of endometriosis does increase your pregnancy rate through improving the endometrial receptivity. I definitely would not do aerobic exercise and would try to eat frequently and avoid hypoglycemia. I definitely wouldn’t wait a year to evaluate. Good Luck…  

Depo shot/adding estrogen?

Hi!

I’m 37, with BMI of 41 (Started at 43, YAY!). Been doing LCHF for three months, and have lost about 20 lbs. Steadily in ketosis — was testing blood every day, but now just when I eat/do something different to make sure I don’t get knocked out. Background — I’ve been on hormonal BC of some sort constantly for 21 years. Never had kids, never want kids. No diagnosis of anything at all, but I’ve spent my whole life avoiding pregnancy, so I’ve never really been tested for anything. I do have ovarian cysts that were particularly bad with my Mirena IUD.

I’m on the Depo shot. I know it’s making it harder to lose weight. I have tried oral contraceptives, but I spot almost constantly on them and bleed periodically for no reason. I had the Mirena, but it fell out (seriously) after about 4.5 years, so I elected not to replace it. Depo works, and keeps my period mostly at bay- I still spot, but it’s nowhere near as bad as the pill was.

I see you suggest adding estrogen, but what exactly should I tell my doctor? Is adding estrogen the standard response to spotting on depo, or will she look at me like I’m crazy if I suggest/request it?

And, if it’s not the standard response, and she won’t do it, is there a particular question I can ask as I call around to try to find a doctor that’s on board with LCHF and supplemental estrogen?

I definitely don’t want to get pregnant, and I don’t much care for having a period at all, so if I can get the spotting under control and help improve my weight loss rate at the same time, I think that would be awesome!

Thanks so much!

Theresa

  Dr. Fox:

These are often tough issues. Depo provera or oral provera is the “worst” progestin (progesterone like drug) available from a negative metabolic standpoint. I would highly encourage another approach without provera. In my mind, the only use for that drug is in young teens with a high risk of pregnancy. Even balancing with estrogen might not completely reverse the negative metabolic effects. Ask your doctor to check your estradiol. Tell them that you want it to be at least 125 to 150 pg/ml. If you are not interested in children you could consider an endometrial ablation and then consider birth control + estradiol.

I don’t know really what to say, calling around looking for doctors. We have none in our area that think the way we do. Even in our specialty nationally I don’t know of anyone who is aggressive at normalizing estrogen levels in premenopausal women. Since there are only a handful of MD’s of any specialty that practice nutritional (ketogenic) medicine, the average hormone doctor or gynecologist really doesn’t consider metabolic consequences when prescribing hormones or birth control. Sorry, I can’t help you more.

Keto for recovery from fertility treatments?

For many years in my 30s, I ate a fairly solid paleo type of diet which then included IF and regular exercise. At 37, unable to get pregnant, we decided to go through fertility treatments. I went through 3 IUI, 2 IVF, and finally 1 FET in just under 1 year. I wouldn’t have changed that as we now have our son and couldn’t be happier. However, my health (of which I was in perfect health) has declined and the biggest problem was all the weight gain.

I gained approx 50# just from the fertility treatments alone and while pregnant, I was really quite strict with my Paleo eating. I didn’t gain any additional weight until I was able 7 months pregnant and then I put on approx 15# towards the end of the pregnancy. So about 65–70 pounds of total extra weight by the time I had my son…and the weight will not come off no matter what. I’ve gone back to Paleo/clean eating to zero results. Counting calories – nothing will get any of this weight to budge.

I’m a physical therapist so this aggravates me to no end as I have generally been fit for most of my life. I know I can’t go back to IF anytime soon because that could put more stress on me and it’ll backfire. My thyroid function was normal as was most of my labs. Does keto help in recovering from the physical and hormonal trauma of back to back to back fertility treatments?

Thank you, Melissa

  Dr. Fox:

Melissa, this is a great question! My standard answer to such questions is, “the ketogenic diet is the best nutritional approach for all humans at all time points in life.” With that said, what you have proven to yourself is what so many experiences, the paleo approach has too much carbohydrate for most with significant insulin resistance and metabolic dysfunction.

Now after your weight gain, you are by definition more insulin resistant and now are having trouble making progress. I am not a huge fan of intermittent fasting for women since most women, even keto adapted, will experience hypoglycemia with caloric gaps. I would definitely recommend this approach both for you and your child. Children thrive under a ketogenic approach. Best of luck.  

Can high insulin levels be related to the development of HELLP syndrome in pregnancy?

I got the HELLP syndrome five years ago with my son and have always been wondering why it happened to me. It would be really interesting to hear your take on this and if you think it has something to do with having high insulin levels…

I would be really grateful if you are able to answer.

Best regards, Johanna

  Dr. Fox:

Johanna, I think without a shadow of a doubt it is associated. I call pregnancy the ghost of Christmas future referring to the “Christmas Story” where Scrooge is shown his future in order to get him to reform his ways to change the negative future he is destined to realize.

Pregnancy and the associated hormones dramatically worsen insulin resistance. This is why people experience pregnancy induced hypertension, HELLP syndrome and gestational diabetes. If a pregnant woman follows a strict ketogenic diet this will most likely not occur or recur whatever the situation. We had a nurse practitioner who knew better but strayed from her diet. At 30 weeks gestation began spilling 4+ protein and her pressure went up considerably. I encouraged her to follow keto for the remainder of her pregnancy and she delivered at term without any hypertension, proteinuria, or edema. This was proof for me that the physiology is related to insulin resistance/elevation. Good Luck…  

More questions and answers

Questions and answers about low carb

Read all earlier questions and answers to Dr. Fox – and ask your own! – here:

Ask Dr. Fox about nutrition, low carb and fertility – for members (free trial available)

Source: https://www.dietdoctor.com/can-keto-help-for-recovery-from-fertility-treatments

[artisfear]

Breaking Bread

After the election, I invited three Trump voters to my home for dinner. I wanted to understand why they voted for a man who seemed to me so obviously abhorrent. I’d interacted with a few Trump supporters over social media during the campaign season. However, I don’t think even the best DC spin doctors could have found a way to characterize those exchanges as thoughtful or constructive. To gain deeper insight, I devoured analysis and opinions from experts and pundits on why they thought so many people voted for Trump. I read Hillbilly Elegy, Gilded Rage, and Strangers In Their Own Land searching for clues from across the country. I felt like I was getting filtered information, though, and I wanted to find out for myself what was really driving those votes. I wanted to meet the Trump voter face-to-face.

Living in DC where only 4% voted for Trump, I knew I would have to search beyond my usual networks to find his supporters. I posted this invitation on Facebook on November 16:

“I've hosted scores of small dinners over the years with people who represented a diversity of skin colors, sexual orientation, and economics. Sometimes there were misunderstandings and disagreements, but mostly we agreed on political ideology. Maybe it's time to invite this new layer of diversity to dinner.… I don't support or respect Trump. But I want to respect the Trump voter by learning more from him or her by talking face to face and not on social media. If you voted for Trump, please let me know if you are interested in talking over dinner at my house. I'm a pretty decent cook!”

I was inspired by artist Elia Alba, who has been organizing a project called The Supper Club, in which she makes dinner for artists of color to discuss difficult questions about the intersection of visual culture and race. I have also been a longtime fan of artist Rirkrit Tiravanija, who practices relational art. He creates installations that bring people together for a social experience, like inviting visitors to drink tea in a replica of his home. Treating what I imagined would be an uncomfortable dining experience as an art project made the experience more palatable.

No Trump voters accepted my offer, though many liberal friends asked if they could attend. None of the pro-Trump people who had previously commented on my political posts contacted me. Though Facebook lets you befriend thousands of people, not one of them felt friendly enough to take the bait. I had to rely on friends of friends. One liberal friend introduced me to a former co-worker who’d voted for Trump. She felt reticent at first, perhaps fearful that I was setting a trap for her, but she wanted to learn about other viewpoints. After I reassured her of my sincere intention to understand, she agreed and brought two additional conservatives to the table, one who hadn’t been able to stomach Trump and had voted for Johnson, and another who was a a true believer.

I had no expectations, only curiosity.

The conversation turned to politics from the first moments. We talked about personal details only as they related to politics. When we discussed immigration, one Trump voter told the story of her Syrian grandmother who had immigrated to America years ago. Another Trump voter cited a New York Times article that he said proved Hillary Clinton had used her position as Secretary of State to enrich the Clinton Foundation. I wanted to open my laptop and fact check on the spot. I resisted the impulse. This was a dinner party and a learning experience. I didn’t need to be right and I wasn’t trying to persuade them. I simply wanted to understand. I think I muttered, “C’mon you don’t really believe that” only twice during the two hours we spent together.

Afterward, a friend who writes for DCist saw a picture of the dinner party I’d posted on Facebook and wrote a short piece about it. A Trump voter read that article and contacted me through Twitter and asked if he could join the next dinner. After meeting him first in a public place to make sure he wouldn’t murder me and my friends in my home, I invited him and then started digging deep into my networks in search of two more Trump voters. I wasn’t about to invite family members who’d voted for Trump, or the one close friend I knew had voted for him, too. I was afraid of doing irreparable harm to those relationships.

I remembered a woman I’d worked with over 15 years ago and had not seen since. She’d made some comments on my Facebook page last year that led me to believe she’d voted for Trump. She asked if she could bring her boyfriend after disclosing that his political views made her seem liberal and, in fact, were so extreme that she’d unfriended him on Facebook. She promised he would behave. I also invited three liberal friends to balance out the evening.

I planned a menu of blue and red foods. I set out red salsa with blue corn chips, along with blue cheese and red grapes to start. For the first course, I served a blue cheese sauce over red tomato linguine. For the main course, I served roast beef (red meat!) with roasted Brussels sprouts. I’d wanted to serve blue potatoes but hadn’t been able to find them that day. And for dessert, my pièce de résistance, I served a blueberry and cherry crisp. Preparations included reading On Dialogue by David Bohm to strengthen my conversational skills, and writing down a list of questions I wanted to ask. Finally, I emailed everyone in advance and told them that I would enforce a strict prohibition on political discussion for the first half hour. We would first get to know each other.

My former co-worker brought a bottle of Trump wine. I laughed politely at her joke and placed the bottle of Viognier in the refrigerator, unable to bring myself to drink it. I feared the artificial tannins might trigger an allergic reaction.

After 30 minutes, I asked everyone to place their hands on a baguette and promise to engage in respectful discourse, and then we broke the bread and dipped the pieces into an eggplant dip (purple!). Maybe in the old days, bread was harder and actually broke, because that night we tore the bread apart with some difficulty. Some people got larger pieces, while others ended up with small morsels, so we redistributed the pieces to make sure everyone got enough. I restrained myself from stating the obvious analogy.

Then we sat down at the table and engaged in a lively, respectful discussion that ranged across a wide spectrum of topics. When the subjects veered into settled issues like Benghazi or into fake news topics, I wished I’d had that baguette to bludgeon my guests and steer the conversation elsewhere before the mood turned sour. When everyone was talking at the same time about Muslim registry and debating whether it would lead to internment, my liberal friend sitting across the table shot me the “it’s time to wrap it up before I lose my cool” eye roll. I tapped my glass with a fork and thanked everyone for coming and encouraged them to host their own dinners with people whose views differed from their own. Overall, the conversation had been eminently polite. But it was also eminently clear where everyone stood on the issues.

Someone had suggested we go around the table and say what we hoped would happen in the first 100 days of Trump’s presidency. I made two demands: Trump should rebuke Putin and Russian interference in our democratic process, and he should release his tax returns. I knew neither would ever happen and I regretted not offering something more constructive. The next day, I emailed everyone with a new wish for the first 100 days: I’d like to see President Trump follow through on his campaign promise to improve our country’s failing infrastructure.

I believe that the dinner party is an opportunity to speak to each other as human beings and not as avatars. Breaking bread builds relationships that can bridge the vast ideological gap that exists in our country if we are to make improvements that lift up all Americans. We need to cultivate and nurture those relationships in order to find ways to work together to heal the divide that threatens the now tenuous fabric of our democracy. Polarization serves politicians, not what’s best for American people.

There is a basic human instinct to connect with one another. I made no secret of my political leanings when I invited the Trump voters to my home and they were still willing to join me. One Trump voting guest said, “I believe we can all learn from thoughtful and intelligent people that grew up in different communities and have different experiences then our own.” I still abhor Donald Trump, but I don’t abhor all the people who voted for him. I won’t be inviting any of the extreme ones to my house for dinner, however, I intend to host more dinners that bring ideologically opposed people together to figure out how we can co-exist and even find common ground. I hope Americans across the nation will do the same.

[itsfinancethings]

New story in Politics from Time: Angela Davis In Conversation With Yara Shahidi: ‘We’re Doing Today What Should Have Started 150 Years Ago’

Actor and activist Yara Shahidi was born in 2000, three decades after Angela Davis began wielding her platform as a UCLA professor for radical activism. But their generational gap hasn’t stopped them from becoming friends or uniting in their efforts to dismantle white supremacy. The pair reconvened on Zoom to discuss the global nature of their struggle and the value of voting, regardless of ideology.

Yara Shahidi: Dr. Davis, I know it’s been almost a year since our last meeting, and so much has come to light in that time. Many people are talking about how unprecedented what we’re going through is, when, in reality, there have been generations of precedent set. What is the importance of opening the conversation to involve many generations?

Angela Davis: It seems like this is the moment we’ve been struggling to reach for many decades. It’s an extraordinary moment—and when conjunctures like this happen, they happen almost serendipitously. But if we have been doing the organizing work over the decades, then we can seize the moment.

But at the same time, I think we’re formulating questions and addressing issues in ways that ought to have happened in the immediate aftermath of slavery. We’re doing today what should have been started 150 years ago. Of course, beginning to eliminate or even minimize the impacts of racism on structures and institutions in our society is going to require a great deal of labor: intellectual labor, activist labor.

The focus has largely been on Black people. I’m glad about this. But we should also acknowledge how essential it is to understand racism against indigenous people, and what you might call the unholy alliance of colonialism and slavery-produced, racist state violence. So that when we examine all the complex ways in which anti-Black racism expresses itself in this country, we also should look at anti-indigenous and anti-Latinx state violence.

YS: It makes me think back to that event at the Underground Museum [when they first met], and how impactful it was for me as a high schooler to have a globalist perspective in regard to connecting our struggles here to our communities globally. Right now is another moment in which we’re witnessing a world visibly in crisis after generations of colonialism and imperialism. I was wondering, when facing what seems like many a problem, how we go about fighting for them all? Is there a perspective we can help cultivate that allows us to simultaneously dismantle systems of white supremacy that have happened globally?

AD: From the time I was very young, from the earliest period of my activism, I became convinced that our work has to be global. This insight came to me when I was in Paris for the first time. I was in college, and I went to France in search of a place without racism: I thought I would find ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité.’ Instead, what I found was the Algerian revolution. I joined demonstrations against the French government in support of their liberation.

In this country, It’s difficult to persuade people to think about what is happening in Brazil, or Africa, or the Middle East, because such a U.S.-centric focus has been encouraged. But I think this crisis of COVID-19 and the fact that almost all of our public interactions are happening virtually allows us to understand how easy it is to be connected to what is going on in other places. I think we can learn a great deal from listening to people who are involved in other struggles.

YS: I go back to the words of James Baldwin, when he talked about how one of the greatest sins of white supremacy was taking away our global language and our ability to communicate with one another, making it harder to actively disassemble these common evils and racisms. I think what you’ve said about being virtual is also something my generation is trying to utilize to the best of its ability. It feels like I and some of my peers have received great benefit from being in direct connection with one another on social media, regardless of where we are. At the same time, social media also has the tendency to allow us to disappear things as trends pop up and then fade. Something I’m trying to figure out is how we maintain consistent touchpoints and sustain conversations.

AD: Social media is very important. Unlike you, my formative years were not spent with these new technologies. My experience as an organizer involves knocking on people’s doors. I’ll never forget when H. Rap Brown was in jail, we raised $100,000 for his bail by going door to door in Los Angeles, largely in South Central, asking people to donate coins! That sounds prehistoric at this point.

But it’s still important to try to encourage that kind of contact. I know how important it was back in 2014, when Ferguson happened, for people involved in the BLM movement to visit Palestine: To witness with their own eyes what was happening in occupied Palestine, after the Palestinians were the first to express solidarity with them.

I think It’s so important to utilize the technology—to use it as opposed to allowing the technology using us. As a friend of mine pointed out many years ago, how many likes you have is not necessarily an indication of the organizing work you’ve done.

YS: I can look at every photo I’ve posted and see how many people have shared it. It then creates a hierarchy of what we think makes an impact rather than what actually does. One question I had tangentially: Being a part of the social media world is often how one develops a political opinion. Do you have guidance for young people developing an opinion now, on how to develop a non-reactionary politic?

AD: As a person involved in education for the vast majority of my life, it’s so important to not to confuse information with knowledge. In this day and age, we all walk around with these cell phones that give us access to a vast amount of information. But that does not mean as a result that we are educated. Education relies precisely on learning the capacity to formulate questions—what we call critical thinking. Learning how to raise questions not only about the most complicated issues, but about the seemingly simplest issues, so important.

This is one of the reasons I find the trans movement so important. When one learns how to question the validity of the binary notion of gender, one is questioning that which has persistently been the most normal context of people’s lives. The work of ideology happens in those seemingly normal spaces.

This is also why the police-abolition campaign has been so important. Prisons and the police state are assumed to have been with us forever. So we begin to ask questions about how we address issues of harm without replicating the violence: how we create safety by not resorting to the same tools of violence that are responsible for us being unsafe.

YS: I love the wording of “questioning the most simple.” This summer, I was going through an African philosophy canon, and what it highlighted for me is these Euro-centric or U.S.-centric norms that have been established. For readers who are submersed in Western media, are there other texts we should be turning to subvert these norms?

AD: I’m reading this book now that’s on my desk: Françoise Vergès’ A Decolonial Feminism. Speaking of which, I know you’re passionate about feminism. I’m interested in how that passion is expressed in the social-justice work you’ve been doing over the last period.

YS: At first, my interest came from, “How do I interrogate my own identity?” I realized for so long that the primary prism through which I viewed most things was through being a brown and Black person in the world. It’s been an ongoing process of being more honest in my experience and the ways my identities layer on top of each other. What does it look like to structure a movement strong enough to hold many of our truths in one, while still actively dismantling the lack of equity that is often tied to presenting as a woman?

How has the hetero-normative tradition influenced the rest of our trajectory? While I do voting work, what does that mean to know that the solutions presented to us on the ballot aren’t perfect? How do I engage with voting while engaging with this larger movement of equity in these spaces?

AD: So, how do you?

YS: The conclusion I’ve come to is that it is by no means the only means of civic engagement. It is actively necessary to engage throughout the year in whatever way -possible—and the months of continued protests have helped nuance this conversation. There can no longer be this binary of whether to vote or not is the difference between having an equitable society and not.

AD: Or to assume there has to be a perfect candidate in order for us to participate in the electoral process. I was severely criticized when I suggested during the last election that we all needed to vote, even though the candidate was not the one we wanted. It was a difference between a candidate that would allow our movements to flourish, which would also include being extremely critical of that candidate once she was elected to office—or be faced with the alternative we have experienced. I’m someone who historically has not been excited at all about the electoral arena. I was excited only to the extent I knew how important achieving the right to vote was, because I myself wasn’t able to register in my home state of Alabama when I first attempted to. I always tended to vote for the other parties: The Communitist Party, the Peace and Freedom Party.

Now, and I hope I haven’t gotten less radical in my framework, but I think that we vote for our own capacity to continue to do the work that will bring about change. Individuals don’t change history or create transformative moments. Every major change in this country has been a consequence of a kind of collective imagination. So we have to ask, Will this candidate enable that kind of arena or shut it down? In a sense, when we vote, we’re either voting for ourselves or against ourselves.

YS: I love the term imagination. One of the strategies of white supremacy is to take away the potential of the Black imaginary. We’re in a moment right now of world building—in which it’s time to build a world not based on precedent, or even in reaction to the systems that have been set up, but truly independent, based on these values of equity.

So I view this election as an opportunity to reclaim our space for imagination. We know the people we vote for will not be perfect, but we will dedicate our time to actively critiquing and moving forward. We know at the very least, that overt white supremacy won’t be sanctioned. Not to say it won’t be allowed. There just may be more space for us.

Moderated by Andrew R. Chow

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[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/our-third-ish-2020-democratic-primary-draft-got-weird/

Our Third-ish 2020 Democratic Primary Draft Got Weird

Welcome to FiveThirtyEight’s weekly politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

sarahf (Sarah Frostenson, politics editor): We’re back with our third snake draft of 2020 Democratic presidential contenders, god help us all. Previous drafts can be found here and here. And remember, we’re trying to pick who’d win the nomination, although our picks tend to get less selective and more inventive(?) as the rounds wear on.

The rules are as follows: Six rounds, so between the four of us, 24 potential 2020 Democratic nominees. Let’s determine the order. (And yes, we really do write our names on slips of paper and pick randomly!) We’re going to have Geoffrey Skelley, our new elections analyst, announce today’s order. Welcome, Geoff!!

geoffrey.skelley (Geoffrey Skelley, elections analyst): The office is currently doing the draw.

Clare has first pick.

Geoff is second.

Sarah is third.

Nate is fourth.

natesilver (Nate Silver, editor in chief): OMG what bullshit.

clare.malone: heh heh

geoffrey.skelley: There are many witnesses.

sarahf: OK, Clare, you’re up first! Take it away.

clare.malone (Clare Malone, senior political writer): Elizabeth Warren.

natesilver: Dammit.

geoffrey.skelley: Wow, that was my pick.

Stunning, I know.

clare.malone: My picks are gonna haunt your dreams, Nate.

sarahf: So she’s been popular in previous drafts, why is she your No. 1 now, Clare?

micah (Micah Cohen, managing editor): I’m really pissed I’m not participating in this draft.

clare.malone: Warren has captured the mood of the party for a long time as far as economic angst goes, she’s been a consistent and eager Trump antagonizer, and she’s gonna be raising mucho $$$$$$$$$$$

natesilver: She’s also seemed more candidate-y recently — like her weekend speech about Kavanaugh, which was nominally a speech for her Senate race, felt very much like something she could deliver in Iowa or New Hampshire.

clare.malone: Right, that speech is basically the reason we’re having this chat.

sarahf: For any readers that missed it, Warren said in a town hall this weekend in Holyoke, Massachusetts, that “after Nov. 6, I will take a hard look at running for president.” So yeah, definitely she seems like she’s considering running.

OK, Geoff, who’s your pick?

geoffrey.skelley: I’m going to go with Kamala Harris.

Tough call, was debating leading with a certain former vice president. But when I think about candidates who can put together winning coalitions, I think of candidates who could have a strong appeal to the Democratic Party’s African-American base.

sarahf: Betting markets seem to agree with you, Geoff.

geoffrey.skelley: Harris is also fresh and Democrats may be poised to go for a woman nominee again. Plus, Harris will have access to that California $$$$.

sarahf: And I’m going to continue the #2018yearofthewoman with my pick … Kirsten Gillibrand.

clare.malone: So, Sarah, a question for you on that one: Worried at all about the way that she has been screwed by some in the donor class?

sarahf: For sure. I also think her ties to the Clintons are problematic for a 2020 run.

But I think she has a lot of experience going for her. She’s been in the Senate since 2009 and was in the House before that. Plus, she has some bipartisan appeal as well. Part of what we saw in 2016 I think had to do with the fact that both Trump and Clinton were deeply unpopular, which means I don’t think Clinton’s loss necessarily means that a woman like Warren, Harris or Gillibrand can’t win.

geoffrey.skelley: Gillibrand is probably the leading NY candidate, which ain’t nothing in a Democratic field.

sarahf: Nate, you’re up.

clare.malone: Nate’s gonna go with noted populist Democrat Jamie Dimon, I can feel it.

natesilver: OK, we’re going snake so I get two picks, right?

geoffrey.skelley: Yeah.

sarahf: 🐍

natesilver: I’m going with (4) Joe Biden, (5) Bernie Sanders.

OLD WHITE DUDES FTW

clare.malone: Bad pick.

natesilver: Which one?

clare.malone: Both.

All bad picks.

(For old times’ sake.)

natesilver: Joe Biden is LEADING in polls of Iowa.

And Bernie Sanders was the runner-up last time.

sarahf: I agree with Clare. How old is Biden?

clare.malone: I do actually think Biden’s a bad pick ultimately.

Biden is someone who’s going to probably look good to a general electorate, but I still wonder how his history with Anita Hill would play with a Democratic base in a primary.

geoffrey.skelley: I’m very down on Sanders — the moment’s passed, in my opinion. With someone like Warren running, I just don’t see it.

natesilver: Yeah, Warren running is a big negative for him. And his polls haven’t been great. It’s possible he benefited from being “not Hillary” in 2016, but now there are a lot of “not Hillaries.” But pretty good value at the No. 5 pick, IMO?

geoffrey.skelley: Yes.

clare.malone: He’s also someone who could be spun as too old, like Sarah said, or even not progressive enough for the moment. Again, this is for a Democratic primary.

natesilver: I just think … candidates’ fortunes will wax and wane, but Bernie is always going to have a built-in constituency.

geoffrey.skelley: No question that Sanders ran a good campaign — that “America” ad will live on forever.

geoffrey.skelley: Thinking about black voters, it’s possible that Biden can make an appeal among such voters if he’s facing white liberals like Warren and Sanders, which would help in South Carolina, for instance.

clare.malone: He’s an Upper Midwest/Pennsylvania candidate, and that’s what he’s billing himself as, I’d say.

But if Booker or Harris run, they would potentially neutralize a Biden advantage with black voters.

geoffrey.skelley: Exactly, Clare. If Harris or Booker are in, that weakens Biden’s case.

sarahf: OK, I think it’s time to move on to our No. 6 pick … Cory Booker.

clare.malone: He did some great grandstanding last week at the Ford/Kavanaugh hearings.

geoffrey.skelley: Every potential candidate has weaknesses, so Booker’s may be ties to Wall Street. But he’s good on the stump, safe to say.

sarahf: That said, I do think Booker is a very talented politician. He’s a great orator. And he’s really built a profile for himself as a #HellNo Democrat.

clare.malone: I think I’ve said this in previous drafts, but I find Booker to come off a bit gooberish in a way that could maybe grate during a campaign. He’s such the eager beaver. Of course, that might play very differently with an electorate that sees a candidate mostly through Facebook video feeds and so on.

Like, this dude has been running for president since he was mayor of Newark. It’s been a long time.

geoffrey.skelley: Hahaha, it’s so true.

Booker has been pegged as a potential presidential candidate since Day 1.

sarahf: OK, you’re up, Geoff.

geoffrey.skelley: Well, I think it’s time to shake things up.

BETO

sarahf: Oh my.

Clare, what do you think?

clare.malone: I think this.

But in all seriousness, I do think that if O’Rourke loses his Senate race, people will be trying to get him to run for president.

natesilver: That’s a predictable shake-up. I’m surprised he lasted this long.

geoffrey.skelley: I was just worried one of you would take him before it got back to me.

sarahf: We’re saving Jon Ossoff for later, Nate.

geoffrey.skelley: Funny thing is, if he were to upset Ted Cruz, that might reduce the chances he runs. Or at least, I’d be less likely to run for president if I’d just become a senator.

But if he comes close and generates all this coverage and Democratic enthusiasm as RFK 2.0 or something, I can see the attraction.

clare.malone: I think if he wins, he serves the Senate term.

All bets are off if he loses, because the next big Texas office doesn’t open up for a while.

natesilver: I guess his optimal scenario is that he loses like in a recount.

geoffrey.skelley: But President Trump might win re-election, so why not wait until 2024 if you’re O’Rourke in that case?

clare.malone: Ah, we’re getting to the dregs.

OK, I’m picking two, and one is Eric Holder. Pretty obvious reasons why: He’s a respected former attorney general who’s made voting rights a project, an African-American, and a close friend and ally of Obama, which would help in a campaign season. And God help me, but my other pick is Michael Avenatti, for no other reason than the world has gone mad and he’s on TV a lot.

sarahf: I was hoping someone would mention Avenatti!

clare.malone: Your wish is my command.

We needed to stir shit up here.

geoffrey.skelley: You just know the cable news channels won’t be able to resist covering him.

sarahf: I know mentioning him as a contender is very 🙄, but I don’t think it’s unrealistic!

clare.malone: Me neither, that’s why I picked him

natesilver: On the one hand, Avenatti is very Trumpian, which doesn’t seem like it would be a very good sell in a party that hates Trump.

On the other hand, politics is becoming exponentially more annoying every day, and so that would be the best way to stick to the trend.

micah: OK, I’m butting in here on that selection …

Clare …

Bad pick.

clare.malone: Which one, person-who’s-not-participating?

I THINK THEY’RE BOTH AMAZING PICKS

micah: Avenatti.

clare.malone: “A street fighter for Democracy,” etc. etc. The ads write themselves.

micah: Let’s not overlearn the lessons of 2016 — never write someone off, outsiders can win … “characters” can win. Those are true and worthwhile but not rules. After all, Democrats chose Hillary Clinton in 2016!!!

OK, I’m out.

Sorry, Sarah.

sarahf: What a note to leave on, Micah.

clare.malone: This is a low round pick. I doubt he will win, but I don’t doubt Avenatti will run.

sarahf: I think that’s solid. OK, Geoff, you’re up with the No. 10 pick.

geoffrey.skelley: Yeah, this is harder.

Let’s go with Amy Klobuchar.

Midwestern nice certainly would provide a contrast to the incumbent president.

clare.malone: Good pick.

geoffrey.skelley: And she got some very positive headlines out of the Kavanaugh hearing.

clare.malone: I debated picking her. I think the one thing about her is that her “brand” (ugh) won’t stick out as much in this year.

There are already a number of better-known women who will run.

And I think Biden’s probably taking up a lot of the Upper Midwestern voter appeal space.

But I think last week she was really impressive.

natesilver: Klobuchar is like as far as you can be from Trump, personality-wise. She’s the anti-Avenatti.

sarahf: OK, i’m going to piggyback off the Kavanaugh hearing publicity for Democrats and throw out Sen. Jeff Merkley, even if his lawsuit to stop the Kavanaugh vote was ill-advised.

He’s been considering running for a while and I think is another boring (but solid) possibility for Democrats come 2020 if it turns out the 2018 midterms aren’t as much of a progressive victory as expected.

We’ll be having a very different discussion if Andrew Gillum loses the governor’s in Florida or Kyrsten Sinema loses the Senate race in Arizona (even though they are very different candidates running for very different offices).

natesilver: Hmm … I think we’re rapidly running out of good candidates.

Or at least obvious ones.

sarahf: This is true, too.

clare.malone: JOHN KASICH

natesilver: Not your turn.

clare.malone: I know. Also, not a Democrat.

Which I think is at least a nominal requirement to get into this draft.

geoffrey.skelley: Michael Bloomberg would also like a word on that party ID question, maybe?

sarahf: But it is Nate’s turn! And he gets to pick two!

natesilver: I can’t believe I have to make two picks, I want to forfeit.

But let’s go with …

Uhhhhhh

clare.malone: Bad pick.

natesilver: Sherrod Brown and Oprah Winfrey.

Bad picks.

geoffrey.skelley: This is my first chat, but I recall Oprah made an appearance in the last one.

natesilver: I do think she’d be very formidable if she ran.

geoffrey.skelley: Resources, name recognition, appeals to an interesting cross-section of the country …

clare.malone: Oprah and The Rock make an appearance in every draft we do.

sarahf: What a ticket!

clare.malone: Yeah, Oprah would probably win.

geoffrey.skelley: I’ll be sure to take Dwayne later on.

sarahf: Ugh, so it’s back to me. Can we just do four rounds? (Apparently, we can’t. Nate says a snake draft has to be six rounds.)

OK, rapid fire!

She’s not going to run, but I’d like to see a Mazie Hirono ticket.

geoffrey.skelley: Why not two Hawaiian presidents?

sarahf: Indeed!

OK, Geoff. You’re up.

geoffrey.skelley: Hmm, one white male governor … but which one?

sarahf: I’m going to say Hickenlooper if you don’t.

geoffrey.skelley: I think I’ll go with — oh, there you go.

Yes, John Hickenlooper is my pick.

A little too think-tank-y, maybe.

But who knows, swing-state governor with a background as a brewery owner?

sarahf: Gotta get the craft beer vote and the yoga vote.

OK, Clare you’re bestowed the honor of two picks.

clare.malone: Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, just to fulfill the prophecy, and … even though I don’t think she’s ever going to actually run, Michelle Obama because she, like Oprah, would also probably win.

sarahf: Obama/Oprah another interesting (although unlikely) ticket.

geoffrey.skelley: Because he’s seemingly interested, I’ll take Deval Patrick for Round 5, Pick 2.

Though if he does run, the New Hampshire primary is going to be a New England homer event with Warren and Sanders potentially in the running as well. But this could weaken New Hampshire’s importance.

sarahf: I think this is the point in the conversation is where we talk about John Delaney. So I’ll submit him as my option for this round, and unlike my previous pick, at least he’s running!

natesilver: OMG

sarahf: Who knows! He could have a better stump speech than Lincoln Chafee.

geoffrey.skelley: I haven’t heard Delaney talk about the metric system, so that’s a start.

natesilver: Why not just pick Martin O’Malley while you’re at it, at least he was governor of something.

clare.malone: And was in a band.

Is in a band.

natesilver: O’Rourke/O’Malley 2020.

geoffrey.skelley: But is “I’m bipartisan” the appeal that will work in the 2020 Democratic primary?

Count me a skeptic.

sarahf: OK, Nate. You get to pick two.

natesilver: My god, how much more of this.

I’ll take uhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

clare.malone: Will no one rid me of this troublesome snake draft?

natesilver: Eric Garcetti.

And the guy I always take, Doug Jones.

geoffrey.skelley: The Doug Jones Memorial Pick

natesilver: I think he’s more likely a VP than a top-of-the-ticket guy, but still …

clare.malone: He is facing a tough 2020 re-election fight as a Democrat in Alabama.

natesilver: Which might be a reason why he quits the Senate and runs for POTUS instead?

He was pretty outspoken against Kavanaugh.

Which doesn’t seem like a move you’d make if you’re focused on Alabama.

sarahf: OK, this is thankfully the LAST ROUND. And good news, Clare, you only have to pick one this time!

But I have to go first.

And I’m going to go out with Jay Inslee! I know, yet another exciting 2020 former-governor pick.

Plus, he’s recently said he’s not ruling out a 2020 run.

geoffrey.skelley: Western governors are actually a plentiful Democratic candidate grouping.

sarahf: OK, what’s your last pick, Geoff?

geoffrey.skelley: Well, the late rounds of drafts are where you pick sleepers.

So I’m going with someone who isn’t even elected yet but is currently running.

Andrew Gillum.

sarahf: 🔥

clare.malone: OK, me next?

sarahf: Yep, Clare. Take us home.

clare.malone: I’m going with Mitch Landrieu, who, correct me if I’m wrong, none of us picked earlier?

geoffrey.skelley: He’s all yours

clare.malone: White, Southern, progressive … yada, yada, yada.

geoffrey.skelley: I’d say the one name I expected but didn’t see was Steve Bullock.

natesilver: Some of these picks feel very 2024ish to me.

geoffrey.skelley: Gillum certainly could be if things go his way.

sarahf: So now we have to vote on this madness? Is that how this shakes out?

natesilver: I don’t even like my team this time, so I’m going to vote myself last to preserve my credibility.

sarahf: Here are our teams. Who wants to vote first?

2020 Democratic Primary Draft, October 2018

Round Clare Geoff Sarah Nate 1 Elizabeth Warren Kamala Harris Kirsten Gillibrand Joe Biden 2 Eric Holder Beto O’Rourke Cory Booker Bernie Sanders 3 Michael Avenatti Amy Klobuchar Jeff Merkley Sherrod Brown 4 Dwayne Johnson John Hickenlooper Mazie Hirono Oprah Winfrey 5 Michelle Obama Deval Patrick John Delaney Eric Garcetti 6 Mitch Landrieu Andrew Gillum Jay Inslee Doug Jones

natesilver: I like Geoff’s team.

clare.malone: I’ll rank ’em: Clare, Geoff, Sarah, Nate.

sarahf: I’d vote Clare, Geoff, myself and then Nate, I guess.

geoffrey.skelley: I’ll be that guy and vote for myself

clare.malone: Even more the #1 team, then.

sarahf: I think this means we have a tie between Clare’s team and Geoff’s team.

Quite the slate, y’all.

geoffrey.skelley: I think a late-primary debate between Kamala Harris and Elizabeth Warren would certainly be something to behold if the field were to ever shrink to two (who knows).

Source: https://fivethirtyeight.com/features/our-third-ish-2020-democratic-primary-draft-got-weird/

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What I Learned From Female Trump Supporters on Inauguration Day

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Yesterday, Obama said goodbye to the White House after 2,921 days as president, and Donald Trump started the first day of his 1,460-day term. For millions of Americans, this Inauguration Day is an occasion of mourning, one that will be protested peacefully by hundreds of thousands participating in tomorrow’s Women’s March on Washington. For millions of others, today is a huge victory, a transfer of power to conservatives who will run the government—and the country—for the next four years.

As a liberal, a march participant, and (like Meryl Streep) a proud “Hillary lover,” for me, this weekend represents much more fear than excitement. The only thing harder than watching our first female presidential candidate concede the election is watching our first black president leave the oval. Still, if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last few months, it’s that we could all do a better job listening and talking to one another—especially those whose opinions don’t just differ from, but completely clash with, our own.

MORE: How Your Birth Control Rights Will Change With Trump

Barack and Michelle Obama on Inauguration Day, January 20, 2009. Getty Images

I’ve been lucky to have candid, respectful conversations with women whose perspectives are worlds apart from my own about why they voted for Trump and how they campaigned to make it happen (props, ladies—your activism clearly made a difference). I spoke with an old friend who chose not to vote at all, who said, “Look, I think they were both flawed candidates, and a president’s job is about more than just social matters and civil rights—he also needs to address bottom-line issues like the national debt.” I bit my tongue when a former college roommate casually said, at happy hour a few days after the election: “Did I vote for Hillary? Yes. Do I think Trump’s win is the end of the world? No.”

Did I vote for Hillary? Yes. Do I think Trump’s the end of the world? No.

These words, as hard as they are for me and many others to stomach, are valid. Why? Because they’re the opinions of our fellow humans, citizens, and voters. The Electoral College might be an archaic institution that effectively nullifies the premise that every vote has the same value, but it’s a fundamentally American concept that every vote matters. On November 8, a minority of 62,979,879 Americans were empowered to put Trump in office, leaving 65,844,954 of the rest of us wondering how the hell this happened, and WTF is next. Pundits, journalists, historians, sociologists, and political experts will spend the next four years trying to figure that out, but right now, this is our reality.

MORE: 9 Times Donald Trump’s Hair Has Tried to Run Away

Obama and Trump meet to discuss the transition on November 10, 2016. Getty Images

To start coming to terms with that reality, to learn to live with it without condoning it, and, most importantly, to use it as a springboard for passionate, positive change—the kind we might have taken for granted had there been a President Hillary Clinton—I went back to the women who had generously explained their points of view to me before the election. I wanted to understand: Were they as elated about Trump now, post-win, as they were before? Did they have any concerns whatsoever—if not for themselves, as women, but for their fellow Americans who’d felt victimized and marginalized by Trump’s treatment of minorities?

I did question some of Trump’s cabinet nominee choices.

“I was relieved and proud after Trump’s win, because our election process worked and protected our democracy,” says Ashley, 32, a Trump voter and stay-at-home mom from Massachusetts. “The results have naturally drawn some very passionate responses, and I wouldn’t have expected less. But my feelings about Trump remain the same: I knew he wouldn’t change minds overnight, nor did I think he would suddenly change his approach—not that a little filtering would be a bad thing—but I think his actions will speak for themselves, and I look forward to that.” As for his actions during the three-month transition, Ashley says that while she’s not “deeply concerned,” she raised an eyebrow at a few.

Obama delivering his Farewell Address in Chicago, January 10, 2017. Getty Images

“I did stop and question some of Trump’s choices for cabinet nominees,” she says. “I would have liked to see some nominees who were a little less controversial for the sake of unifying the country. That said, I have faith that Trump has a plan and that’s why I voted for him. Of course I feel there are things he could have handled a little better during the transition, but at the same time, I’m not sure it would have made a difference. People are angry and some are in complete disbelief that he is the new president. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and a chance to put his plan in place before critiquing too much.”

I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Other Trump supporters don’t have even a shred of doubt about his presidential competence. “I feel more enthusiastic than ever and I think he handled the transition beautifully,” says Sarah, 20, of New Jersey, who says she was cyber-bullied for supporting Trump. “Nothing he has ever done will make me feel concerned about how he’ll handle certain issues. I knew who I voted for when I went to the polls, and am excited to see real change and action take place. I think it will be quite a transition going from Trump Tower to the White House, but I’m confident in his intellect, intuition, and the team he has put together.”

Donald and Melania Trump travel to Washington for the Inauguration, January 19, 2017. Getty Images

Neither woman harbors fears for her reproductive rights, either. “Not many voters watched the Republican primary debates, but Trump was the one nominee who made it clear how important women’s healthcare is,” says Sarah. “As a young lady, I’ll never forget that moment. He even mentioned how he’d advocate for birth control without prescriptions! I realize that people are worried that defunding Planned Parenthood will hurt women, but that organization is making revenue, according to their annual reports, so federal defunding won’t necessarily mean the end of Planned Parenthood.”

We all need to try to have faith.

Shortly after Trump’s win, Obama said—in an effort to unify a gaping, angry divide—that Americans need to give Trump a chance, like it or not. Ashley echoed that message. “We need to give Trump the opportunity to follow through on his plans before judging his intentions,” she says. “We all need to try to have faith.” That’s something too many of us are feeling understandably low on. I asked Sarah what she’d say to those feeling targeted or marginalized by the new president. “I would say to anyone who feels Trump isn’t interested in their civil rights that they’re wrong,” she says. “He has reached out to minority communities more than any other Republican candidate. His supporters were of many backgrounds and ethnicities because his ideas will help them. There’s not a doubt in my mind that he’s looking out for all of us as Americans.” Let’s hope, for our country’s sake, that she’s not wrong.

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from What I Learned From Female Trump Supporters on Inauguration Day

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Taxes Higher Than Mortgages on Cook & Co. News

New Post has been published on http://cookco.us/news/taxes-higher-than-mortgages/

Taxes Higher Than Mortgages

That was a Canadian article headline a client in Fayetteville, Tennessee just shared with me.

It reminded me of an article I wrote back in July of 2015. Something is very wrong with a system of taxation that takes more from a hard-working man or woman, than it leaves him or her to provide for their family.

Think about it for a moment. Every time our government officials (elected politicians) vote to spend a billion dollars here or two hundred million dollars there, they are putting whatever cause that money is going to, ahead of you and your family. They only have one source of funds, tax money from taxpayers.

There was a time in our country when a family could have one wage earner and one homemaker. The family unit not only survived, but it prospered. And the children that came out of those families took values with them when they went out into the world to make it on their own, values that made our country great and the world a better place to live in.

There have been so many things we’ve lost along the way (I don’t mean to borrow words from the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song, Wasted On The Way), and I certainly don’t want to sound like I’m lamenting for the good old days.

These really are the good old days that we live in. If we make it so.

Losing the ability for one parent to stay at home and run the household, which is every bit as much work as going to any job, has had a very negative impact on our society, in my opinion. For the majority of families, both parents must work outside the home to keep up. And a single parent has an enormous mountain to climb.

As I’m writing this blog, Diane Sawyer is doing a 20/20 program on ABC entitled “My Reality: A Hidden America.” The focus of the program is about the decline of the middle-class. ABC said that Diane’s story took a year to film and goes across America. I only watched a few minutes of the program.

If you try to learn the exact definition of “middle-class”, you will find a lot of different answers. The two major factors used by most for criteria are education and income.

If you read long enough, you will most likely come to a conclusion similar to mine. Middle-class has less to do with education and more to do with income. There are a lot of technical trade jobs that pay very well. Income seems to be $50,000 to $150,000 on average to fit the stereotypical middle-class definition.

Let’s don’t get bogged down or distracted by that over-simplified definition of middle-class though. If you live long enough, you will witness a drastic shift because things are changing at a very rapid pace. For example, my water bill at home this past summer was more than my first house payment.

In my 2015 article I asked the question …

“What is the biggest personal expense you will incur in your lifetime?”

In the article I stated that most people answered with “my home.” I further said that, “It is true that your personal residence is most likely the single largest purchase you will make in your lifetime, but it is not the biggest expense you will incur in your lifetime.”

I’ve seen different reports that show the average percent of monthly income devoted to mortgage payments now ranges from 6.5% in Detroit to 29.5% in San Jose, (U.S. Average, 12.6%).

As I’m writing this in 2017, our federal tax brackets range from 10% to 39.6%. Add Social Security Tax, Medicare Tax and State Income Tax and you quickly realize that a full third to one-half of your income goes to taxes! This ignores sales tax, personal property tax, real estate tax, telephone tax and many other taxes.

You can’t make this up! Taxes are higher than mortgages.

In fact, taxes in our United States are higher than any other thing you will pay. The harder you work and the more money you make, the more you will pay, not just in sum total which might be fair, but as a percentage of your income.

That last statement may make me sound like a republican to my democrat friends. Forgive me, but if you want to label me, you will have to use something like my three-year old granddaughter would come up with, DEMO-REPUBA-CRAT-FROZEN.

Taxes are the price we pay to live in a civilized society, that I admit. However, we must control and reel in that price.

Another client that lives in Columbia, Tennessee shared a local newspaper story with me that showed that the Maury County Sheriff  has “a $5 million annual budget for the Maury County Jail and a $6 million budget for the sheriff’s department, Rowland currently oversees more than $11 million.” That is a lot of taxpayer money folks. Especially for the good people of Maury County Tennessee.

And they don’t even have a State Income Tax in Tennessee! Yet.