#no it will not lead to election interference this year any more than it did last year

[todaysbat]

Round One - Dad Bat is the best

The Spectral Bat (Vampyrum spectrum) is the most dad of bats and the largest bat species in the Americas. It has soft reddish brown fur and a prominent nose leaf to match its size. This bat species is carnivorous, catching its food with the recurved grooved cat like claws on its thumbs. It roosts either individually or in small colonies of up to five—one such colony was found to consist of an adult male, an adult female, two juveniles (one six month old male and a younger female, both believed to be the offspring of the adults), and a nursing pup. The male spectral bat helps in raising pups, and is often found roosting with his wings wrapped around his mate and their offspring.

The Spix's Disk-Winged Bat (Thyroptera tricolor) is a reddish brown to black bat with a cream colored underside. It is one of six species of bat known to roost head upwards.

[mariacallous]

Having lived in Britain for 12 years, I returned to my native Moldova in 2022 because I was worried that Russia’s war in Ukraine would spill into my country. Thanks to the Ukrainian resistance, the skies are still clear in Moldova. But in the past weeks leading up to the presidential runoff between the pro-European incumbent Maia Sandu and the Russian-supported former prosecutor general Alexandr Stoianoglo, I felt as if I might lose my country once again.

The scale of interference in these Moldovan elections has been unprecedented. As reported by excellent independent journalists in the country, our law enforcement agencies alleged the existence of a large-scale, vote-buying scheme in the first round, run by Ilan Shor – a Russian-backed fugitive oligarch, who denies any wrongdoing.

Before the second round, journalists and others reportedly received death threats in broken Romanian, pretending to be on behalf of Sandu’s team. On election day, the most popular polling stations across Europe for overseas Moldovans had their vote disrupted by bomb threats. The servers of the Central Electoral Commission experienced a temporary cyberattack. The police said they had “reasonable evidence” of illegal organised voter transportation in Russia, Belarus, Azerbaijan and Turkey; people from Transnistria, the region to the east of the country, bordering Ukraine and controlled by Russia, admitted to being transported.

In addition to the alleged rigging, the internet, especially TikTok, was flooded with anti-Europe disinformation before the EU referendum on 20 October.

Despite all this, Sandu won. “They cannot steal as much as we can vote” was one of the informal slogans of this campaign. In the run-up to the second vote, the police updated the country daily about their arrests and seizures of cash related to the vote-buying scheme. This helped some people realise that receiving payment for votes was illegal and not just a way of getting free money. It also helped mobilise 380,000 people in the capital city Chișinău – more than in 2020 – and an unprecedented 330,000 Moldovans in the diaspora, who amounted to almost 20% of the total number of voters, to come out and vote. Both electorates largely voted for Sandu.

The pro-Russian Socialist party (PSRM), which supported Stoianoglo, said that it did not recognise the election results and that Sandu would only be the “president of the diaspora”. Yet 70% of the votes she received came from within the country.

While I lived in the UK, I queued for hours in order to vote in Moldovan elections at the various polling stations the state opened across London. In 2016, when Sandu first ran against PSRM leader Igor Dodon and lost to him, with thousands of other fellow citizens, I was not able to cast my vote because the polling station ran out of ballot papers. Some people had come from hundreds of miles away in order to vote.

Moldova’s diaspora is relatively new and porous. People first started leaving in large numbers in the 2000s, when President Vladimir Voronin ruled the country with many leading members of the PSRM. Their first destinations were Russia, Italy or Portugal, where they did difficult jobs in construction or care, in order to provide for their families. (My history teacher went to look after the dogs of an Italian star in order to pay for her son’s university fees.) Since then, as many people’s parents and grandparents had been born when Moldova was part of Romania, about a million Moldovans obtained Romanian citizenship – including the two presidential candidates, Sandu and Stoianoglo.

EU passports opened the way for Moldovans such as myself to benefit from better study and work opportunities across Europe, sending vital remittances back home. At the moment, about 1 million Moldovans live abroad and 2.8 million live in the country. Everyone has family members working abroad.

Like me, a number of people have also returned from the diaspora to open their own businesses or join existing private or non-governmental organisations, as well as state institutions. Sandu did this in 2012, leaving her much better paid position at the World Bank in order to become minister of education. Natalia Gavrilița, whom I first met in 2018 in a Moldovan activist group called FreeMoldova in London, left development work to become minister of finance and then prime minister. The list goes on.

Since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, many Moldovans from the diaspora in Russia have returned home. In the more Russian-speaking regions of Gagauzia and Transnistria, people have started emigrating to Poland and the Czech Republic. As I was travelling on the Chișinău-Prague bus to the small Romanian town of Sibiu last week, in front of me a man was listening to Russian propaganda. The second driver, meanwhile, put on a speech by Sandu while resting. Social media have polarised Moldovan society – just like the entire world. Russian propaganda is good at enhancing these cleavages.

Moldova has shown resilience in the recent EU referendum and this presidential vote. But given the country is a parliamentary republic, the great battle will be next year in parliamentary elections. Until then, law enforcement has to get on top of vote-buying schemes. There must be better regulation of social media. And pro-European Moldovans have to collaborate and communicate better than the Russian propagandists.

[bitchy-peachy]

Shitpublicans swear that democrats are the ones stealing elections without hilariously realizing how fucking unpopular they are.

They haven't won a popular vote in decades. Only the electoral shitass college is what helps them cos if we went by vote numbers, these pieces of dog shit wouldn't win any presidency.

They also like burning ballot boxes in democratic areas, they did voter intimidation by riding around with guns in poc neighborhoods last elections, they have tried to pass a bunch of laws to restrict voting including wanting to ban fucking water bottles from being given to voters in line

Currently they want to discount absentee voting which will not only affect civilians living overseas but the military.

People that are winning and super wanted wouldn't do shit like this. They'd be too confident to bother destroying votes.

Oh and them paying polls to only poll people in super conservative areas is sad. They can't poll in a politically diverse area only in the areas that Republicans lead in registered voters. That's why I say ignore the polls. (Also young people and millennials don't answer random ass numbers. I'm old af and I ignore unknown numbers too)

MAGAs are pussies. They even made accounts to pretend they're democrats to tell people "your vote doesn't matter" or "vote 3rd party and not Genocide Harris to 'save Palestine'."

A lot of people may be duped but these people are everything but Pro Palestine. Nobody that wants to help people would make the movement into a literal death cult. Telling people to die or sacrifice themselves is just an epic psy ops trolling and a bunch of gullible dumbasses.

People that want to help would get more people on their side without being assholes. Even I shut my asshole tendencies off to get people to donate to charity and even doing the free clicks if they don't have money (and I know a lot people want to help but don't have the funds. Those clicks mount up to tons of money but idk what will happen now after Netanyahu's fuckass stunt of blocking aid from passing through. Fucking shitty mf. Sorry I'm pissed. )

Some of these anti voting accounts are blatantly maga or just cheaply hired psy ops. Their wording, their racism, their ignorance about local politics, the fact that they've only become active close to elections...

I know some tankies are racist shits that talk over poc regularly when defending their fave dictators but the sheer magnitude I've seen just made me suspicious especially since they've been shitting on every minority that will be affected with Trump winning again.

There's been election interference for quite awhile. There's countless articles showing how these people get paid to pass fake articles and ai in multiple sites including telling people not to vote.

They're even doing digital poc face. I've had fake Latine people and fake Black people start arguments with me while they have obvious ai pictures of "themselves" as if we won't recognize the overused background scenery that comes with ai generated head shots, lol.

Last elections the pendejos were using stockphotos to pass off as poc on twatter and reddit.

They stole a friend's pictures from FB and pretended to be some "Cristina" chick on Twatter cos some white maga wanted to be a Latine black woman so bad to make maga look "accepting" of my community. That was years ago and they deleted their account as soon as my friend threatened to sue but point still stands...

These people will do anything to win.

They're the thieves, liars and destroyers and they love to project their sins on their opposition.

Remember that cos I have a feeling something worse than Jan 6th will happen when Harris wins. The only thing keeping stuff from going real bad will be that it's Biden that's in charge during these elections cos if it had been Trumpshit we would be so fucked when the maga cult snaps again.

And they're already unhinged as shit burning ballots and threatening people (a friend on here got threatened on the street cos she was encouraging people to vote in her area. She didnt even say political party but a maga threatened her cos apparently encouraging voting is a democrat-only thing 🙄.)

If they were winning they wouldn't be attacking our votes. They hate seeing us voting. Our voting counts and is important. Don't let them lie to you. Every single vote matters.

[thatstormygeek]

The future rights of transgender people depend on electing Harris, uplifting Walz’s leadership, and securing the justices their administration will appoint.

In some of my earliest reporting on anti-trans laws, many Republican elected officials were less fanatical than they are today. For instance, the first bill banning transgender healthcare in Arkansas was vetoed by Republican Governor Asa Hutchinson. In his veto statement, Gov. Hutchinson described the bill as “overbroad and extreme,” noting that it would “create new standards of legislative interference with physicians and parents.” In early 2022, Republican Gov. Spencer Cox vetoed a sports ban, making an impassioned plea: “I want them to live.” Many anti-trans bills failed early on, failing to gather enough Republican votes. Even Republican-nominated justices crossed party lines to side with Democratic-nominated justices, affirming that transgender individuals deserve protection under the constitution. But soon after, the party began waging a fear campaign, leaving countless people in my community harmed in the process. I watched as one Republican-controlled statehouse after another, spurred on by far-right Freedom Caucus members, voted to enact some of the most draconian laws targeting transgender individuals ever seen. I listened as members of my community were labeled “dangerous,” “an infection,” and even “demons.” Gov. Cox no longer “wanted us to live,” and instead quietly signed the first bathroom ban to cross his desk. I have seen transgender people forced to flee anti-trans states, seeking new lives in places where they are protected. Some of my earliest work involved families in Texas with transgender children who were targeted by Attorney General Ken Paxton, accused of child abuse simply for supporting their kids. Soon, other states followed with healthcare bans, bathroom bans, and more. I reported on these bills as families begged their state legislators for dignity, only to be ignored. I then helped these families raise funds, and I’m glad to report that many now lead fulfilling lives as valued members of their new communities.

In 2024, it’s clear that the Trump campaign intends to follow through. If you’ve watched any sporting event or turned on the TV in a battleground state, you’ve seen the culmination of this fear campaign against transgender people, now led by Trump himself. Nearly $100 million in anti-trans ads have blanketed the nation, with Trump spending more on these ads than on immigration, housing, and the economy combined. I have seen what other Republican leaders do when they center their focus on my community, and I know the end results are not pretty. When Kamala Harris was chosen as the Democratic nominee, I watched her closely. While the Biden administration was not flawless on transgender rights—and I often criticized it for these shortcomings—no federal anti-trans laws passed during his presidency. I reported on the defeat of 50 anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ+ policy riders as Republicans threatened to shut down the entire government over transgender issues, and Biden did not back down. His nominees have overturned anti-trans laws and policies. Thanks to Biden, I was able to change my passport, even though my home state of Louisiana doesn’t allow birth certificate changes. I wanted to see if Harris would continue that commitment. I’m convinced she will.

[newstfionline]

Thursday, October 12, 2023

Guns are seized in U.S. schools each day. The numbers are soaring. (Washington Post) Jaden Wood didn’t know about the gun brought to school on the fourth day of his junior year until he got home and the news spread on social media. An assistant principal at Rome High in northwest Georgia had gotten a tip and confronted a ninth-grader with a black 9mm handgun in his backpack, loaded with seven rounds. Jaden, then 16, felt more annoyed than frightened. “It’s not going to happen again,” he remembered thinking on that Wednesday evening in early August 2022. And then it did—on the fifth day of school. A 16-year-old was spotted on a security camera with a Glock sticking out of his jacket pocket, police said. It, too, was loaded. “School a war zone …” the teen wrote on Instagram. In the United States, where gun violence has soared since the pandemic began, Jaden’s experience is one shared by students of every age in every state throughout the school year—a bleak reflection of a society awash in firearms. Last school year, news reports identified more than 1,150 guns brought to K-12 campuses but seized before anyone fired them, according to an investigation by The Washington Post. That’s more than six guns each day, on average.

US to lift sanctions on Venezuela? (Bloomberg) The US and Venezuela are nearing an informal agreement for America to lift sanctions in exchange for Venezuela hosting more democratic elections. The US says it would be willing to lift some oil and banking sanctions once Caracas announces measures opening up elections, including removing a ban on all opposition candidates from running for office.

Argentina’s Currency Plummets Under Attack from Far-Right Candidate (NYT) Javier Milei is still just a candidate to be president of Argentina. But he is already single-handedly delivering one of Latin America’s biggest economies a financial shock. The value of Argentina’s currency is plummeting under criticism by Mr. Milei, a hard-right libertarian who has become the leading presidential candidate by promising to replace the Argentine peso with the U.S. dollar. On Monday, Mr. Milei continued his attacks on the peso by discouraging Argentines from holding any investments in the currency. “The peso is the currency issued by the Argentine politician and therefore is worth less than excrement,” he said on a popular radio show. “That trash is not even good as manure.” The peso’s unofficial rate, which reflects the market’s valuation of the currency and drives prices in Argentina, fell 7 percent on Monday and then another 10 percent by Tuesday afternoon. At that unofficial rate, $1 bought 1,035 pesos as of Tuesday afternoon, the first time the peso had crossed the 1,000 mark against the dollar.

Finland raises specter of sabotage of Baltic Sea gas pipeline (Washington Post) Damage to a natural gas pipeline and a communications cable in the Baltic Sea is raising alarm in Europe, with Finnish officials Tuesday suggesting sabotage as the most likely explanation, though they held back from identifying any potential culprits. The Balticconnector gas pipeline, which runs between Finland and Estonia and can send gas in either direction, was shut down early Sunday because of an unusual drop in pressure. Finnish officials said Tuesday that an initial assessment identified clear damage, most likely as the result of deliberate interference, and they would investigate it as a crime.

Refugee camp massacre (Foreign Policy) Myanmar’s junta launched an artillery strike against a displaced person’s camp on Tuesday, killing 29 people, including children. The Kachin Independence Organization, an ethnic insurgent group seeking self-rule, controls the area where the refugee camp is located. The strike was one of the deadliest attacks in Kachin state, where fighting over sovereignty has embroiled the region for 63 years. Myanmar’s ruling junta seized power in 2021 via a military coup and has increased airstrikes against opposition-controlled villages since.

Australian journalist, detained in China for three years, arrives home (Washington Post) Australian journalist Cheng Lei has returned home after three years of detention in China, the Australian government announced Wednesday. Cheng was detained in August 2020, the same year then-prime minister Scott Morrison repeatedly called for an international inquiry into the origins of the coronavirus. This drew Chinese retaliation in the form of steep tariffs on imports of Australian barley, beef, wine and other goods, and prompted suspicion that Cheng has been held as part of this diplomatic spat. Cheng was formally arrested six months after being detained, charged with “providing state secrets to foreign forces.” This came a day after Australia called for a United Nations investigation into allegations of widespread sexual abuse in Chinese detention centers in the Xinjiang region, angering Beijing. Albanese’s government, which took office last year, has tried to reset relations and there has been movement on trade issues in recent months, with China removing tariffs on barley and restrictions on coal and hay. Ministerial visits, which had ground to a halt a few years ago, have also resumed.

New Zealand immigration hits an all-time high (AP) New Zealand’s immigration numbers have hit an all-time high, enabling employers to fill jobs but also putting pressure on the housing market, according to economists. The net number of immigrants was 110,000 in the year ending August, beating the previous high of 103,000 set a month earlier, according to figures released Wednesday by Statistics New Zealand. The numbers represent a big turnaround after more people left New Zealand than arrived during much of the COVID-19 pandemic. “We are talking very, very big numbers for a small economy like ours,” said Jarrod Kerr, chief economist at Kiwibank. The figures show the greatest number of immigrants came from India, followed by Philippines and China. The total number of immigrants reached a record 225,000 during the year while the number of New Zealanders leaving also neared record levels, at 115,000.

Hamas’ unprecedented attack on Israel raises questions about the influence of its sponsor, Iran (AP) Hamas’ unprecedented attack on Israel and the war it launched has raised new questions about the influence of its main sponsor, Iran, and whether it had anything to do with the assault. From Tel Aviv to Washington, however, no one is willing to directly blame Iran as they say they lack direct evidence. Tensions between the Islamic Republic and the West remain high over its rapidly advancing nuclear program. In Tehran, even its supreme leader has denied the country being involved while praising what he described as the “capable, smart and courageous” militants who killed more than 1,000 Israelis and for the first time took over 100 civilians and soldiers as hostages. Yet the suspicion of Iranian involvement remains—and how it shakes out could threaten to morph what has been the most-shocking deadly attack on Israel in 50 years into a wider regional war that drags in the United States. Given the grief and outrage in Israel over Saturday’s attack, anything linking Iran to the assault would drastically increase pressure on long-embattled Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to retaliate against Tehran.

Mohammed Deif, the secretive Hamas commander behind the attack on Israel (Reuters) Israel calls last week's devastating attack by Hamas its 9/11 moment. The secretive mastermind behind the assault, Palestinian militant Mohammed Deif, calls it Al Aqsa Flood. The phrase Israel's most wanted man used in an audio tape broadcast as Hamas fired thousands of rockets out of the Gaza strip on Saturday signalled the attack was payback for Israeli raids at Jerusalem's Al Aqsa mosque. It was in May 2021, after a raid on Islam's third holiest site that enraged the Arab and Muslim world, when Deif began planning the operation that has killed 1,200 people in Israel and wounded more than 2,700, a source close to Hamas said. "It was triggered by scenes and footage of Israel storming Al Aqsa mosque during Ramadan, beating worshippers, attacking them, dragging elderly and young men out of the mosque," the source in Gaza said. A survivor of seven Israeli assassination attempts, the most recent in 2021, Deif rarely speaks and never appears in public. Hamas sources said he lost an eye and sustained serious injuries in one leg in one of Israel's assassination attempts. His wife, 7-month-old son, and 3-year-old daughter were killed by an Israeli air strike in 2014.

Threat of death (NYT) Shiri Bibas, a young mother, is holding her two redheaded sons—Ariel, who’s 4, and Kfir, 9 months — as armed militants surround them in an online video. In a separate video, Doron Asher Katz, who’s 34, is being blindfolded in the back of a pickup truck. Next to her are her mother Efrat Katz, 67, and her daughters, Raz, 5, and Aviv, 3. Twelve-year-old Erez Kalderon appears in yet another video, being pushed down a path by Palestinian militia members. Noam Elyakim, a father, can be seen limping while militants march him across the border into Gaza. When attackers entered his home on Saturday, they shot him in the leg and used his wife’s phone to livestream as they abducted the family, including his daughters Dafna, 15, and Ella, 8. There is no recent precedent for the scale of the hostage situation in the Gaza Strip. Hamas, the militant group that governs much of Gaza, abducted about 150 people during its weekend invasion of southern Israel. Most of the hostages are civilians. Hamas has threatened to execute them one by one and videotape the killings each time an Israeli airstrike hits Gazans in their homes. No modern government—not even the world’s most brutal, like those in Russia or North Korea—has used hostages in this way: as human shields, under threat of public execution.

Scene of Massacre Becomes Staging Ground for Israel’s Invasion of Gaza (WSJ) KFAR AZA, Israel—This small farming community near the Gaza Strip was the scene of one of Saturday’s deadliest attacks by Hamas militants who killed more than 1,200 people across Israel. Now it is a staging ground for Israel’s counterstrike. Hundreds of Israeli soldiers were assembling near bloodstained homes, abandoned Hamas pickup trucks and the bodies of residents and militants in the fields to prepare for what the military is calling a paradigm-changing offensive against Hamas’s Gaza stronghold. Across southern Israel, Israeli soldiers said they were ready, even impatient, to fight. “I’ll give it to you straight,” said a soldier who declined to give his name. “I am looking for revenge. We are all out for revenge.”

Unprecedented Israeli bombardment lays waste to upscale Rimal, the beating heart of Gaza City (AP) Collapsed buildings, mangled infrastructure, streets turned into fields of rubble. Scenes of violence and destruction in the long-blockaded Gaza Strip have filled the world’s airwaves throughout four wars and countless rounds of hostilities between Israel and Hamas militants. But this conflict, Palestinians say, is different. On Tuesday, following a night of intense bombardment, residents were struggling to grasp the sheer scale of damage inflicted on Gaza City’s upscale Rimal neighborhood, with its shopping malls, restaurants, residential buildings and offices belonging to aid groups and international media far from the territory’s hard-hit border towns and impoverished refugee camps. Israeli bombs blew out walls and ripped off roofs of upper-class apartment towers. They toppled trees that had lined the sidewalks. They uprooted streets that had teemed with businessmen hustling to work and vendors hawking roasted nuts. They leveled mosques and university buildings and wrecked high-rise offices of companies and organizations like Gaza’s main telecommunications company and Bar Association. “Israel has destroyed the center of everything,” said Palestinian businessman Ali al-Hiyak from his home near Rimal. “They are breaking us,” he added.

A.I. Could Soon Need as Much Electricity as an Entire Country (NYT) OpenAI’s ChatGPT exploded onto the scene nearly a year ago, reaching an estimated 100 million users in two months and setting off an A.I. boom. Behind the scenes, the technology relies on thousands of specialized computer chips. And in the coming years, they could consume immense amounts of electricity. A peer-reviewed analysis published Tuesday lays out some early estimates. In a middle-ground scenario, by 2027 A.I. servers could use between 85 to 134 terawatt hours (Twh) annually. That’s similar to what Argentina, the Netherlands and Sweden each use in a year, and is about 0.5 percent of the world’s current electricity use. “We don’t have to completely blow this out of proportion,” said Alex de Vries, the data scientist who did the analysis. “But at the same time, the numbers that I write down—they are not small.” In 2022, data centers that power all computers, including Amazon’s cloud and Google’s search engine, used about 1 to 1.3 percent of the world’s electricity. That excludes cryptocurrency mining, which used another 0.4 percent, though some of those resources are now being redeployed to run A.I.

[kuronekonerochan]

To be fair and getting all into Portuguese politics about this, it won't happen bc Montenegro is a chump and never commits to anything unless his ass is dragged there.

Historically, the Palestinian cause has never been forgotten by the left since I remember (at least since the 90s). There were always motions presented in support of palestine and the left parties were vocal about the Israeli attacks over the years and in organising monetary aid towards the gaza strip. During the government of Durão Barroso, former right-center prime minister, also a turncoat sell out who used to be a leftist in the post Portuguese democratic revolution (evil shit piss may he rot in hell) was when it began being less talked about, understandably since that scum of a rat was all smiles while he promoted the post 9/11 war on Afghanistan and later when he was the European Commissioner played a key part in the Iraq War and if there was justice in this world, should have been trialed in the Hague, but alas he got his american blood paycheck and went from that job to working for Goldman Sacks. I'm sorry for digressing here but the shame and utter rage and disgust I feel for that man, a Portuguese who has so much blood on his hands and came out winning, will never die. (For context there have been a lot of Portuguese war criminals in the era of colonialism and during the dictatorship, but this is the first one since we became a democracy). Anyways the context is right wing government, american ass kissing and "war on terror" era islamophobia that I think contributed to the Portuguese ignoring what was happening in gaza (tho the left still made motion and fundraised). Of course Portuguese right wing politicians would never criticise or defend anything their former leader did when he was the European "head" so they never comment on anything middle east related.

The following government fell shortly after amidst a political crisis and the centre "left" one that followed was 100% centrist and zero leftist (socialist in name only). Then an economic crisis, that government fell (and today there's multiple ppl from it including the PM standing trial for multiple counts of corruption), right in power again with FMI overlooking the country's finances, and during that period in 2014 the parliament voted in majority with center right and right wing parties uniting to urge the government to recognise Palestine, but the text implied they were to wait for europe to formalize it (even before that Palestine was allowed to have an embassy in Portugal). The left parties didn't vote favourably on this because they wanted Portugal to independently recognize Palestine regardless of the EU. Note that the recently elected Carlos Abreu Amorim (Sec. de Estado Adjunto e dos Assuntos Parlamentares), who is part of the current government voted against his own party on this (just to point out who the people in power now are)... Anyways that was a standby because 10 years later still waiting on the EU. After that, the government shifted to center left but all the international focus was on ukraine...and internally more corruption investigations that lead to that gov falling (still ongoing but the PM was innocent, it was a shady interference between law and politics convenient to the president, he himself trying to take attention away from his own scandal).

That leads us to right now, where a right wing PM with a precarious government elected with just about 10.000 votes more than the centre left, who never made strong statements on any idea while he was in the opposition prior to the recent elections is most likely going to wait to see how the situation goes over in the ICJ, the UN and in France and Germany, before declaring anything either way. The only thing he says is reiterate the Portuguese position (the same since Arafat lol) that we support peace and a two state solution. He recently said on a trip to Spain that he will not recognise Palestine as a state at this time.

And here is where I venture into suppositions over my personal opinion. If it were the centre left current opposition leader in power right now I think from a purely political standpoint (morality or "doing what's right for humanity" are concepts alien to the ruling class globally) he would recognize Palestine bc he is of the same party of Sec. general Guterre and some ppl in his own party would pressure him into doing it to support Guterres's work since the acknowledgement would pave the way to future peace talks between two UN nations, as is the large international opinion on the matter. He would also look at the same wing government in Spain who is moving together with Ireland to recognise Palestine, the position of the countries in the Portuguese speaking community such as Brazil, Mozambique and Angola (all of which have recognised Palestine and spoken for the palestinian cause in the UN)...and the piling up of undeniable evidence of genocide, look at France, Germany and Britain becoming isolated here in Europe over their support of Israel, even though Van der Leyen (worthy shit piece sucessor of Barroso in the american ass kissing in the detriment of european interest and also war criminal over her handling both the Ukraine and Gaza conflicts, who most certainly already has a cozy job in an American investment firm waiting for her when her term ends) is unfortunately still "speaking for europe" and I believe this would all make him finally do it. Personality wise he is also more decisive and stubborn than the PM so if he wanted to do it he would see it done regardless of backlash.

Still, since he is the opposition and has plenty of internal matters to talk about he won't do any unnecessary "damage" to himself by taking a stand and possibly lose support of the segment of the population that watches the VERY biased news and geopolitical commentary that looks like american propaganda with the choice of words framed so unfairly biased when speaking of the Israeli actions against Palestinian or more recently Iranian actions. I say this bc we get international channels on cable and the Spanish media aren't as biased and don't shy away from going more in depth covering the atrocities happening in Gaza and the West Bank. Which also talks to the biased ineptitude of the Portuguese media that with an ongoing genocide don't go directly pressing and questioning each party's leader on their stance regarding Gaza, instead preferring to let them duel only in safer internal matters.

So the Portuguese aren't being vocal about Gaza, unfortunately not caring enough about a genocide and that situation is largely due to the media treating it as a faraway war without caring for the war crimes they show the least amount possible of, and like all western media hushing down coverage of protests that ARE happening yet they get a passing mention, no one actually interviewed the people at the protests (I should know since I've been to one and only one news station was there, only taking footage of left politicians in it, to then share with the other news channels a segment of 30 secs with 10 sec of those politicians speaking). Add to that the far right was the third political party elected and their fascist voters are pro Israel (i.e. any excuse to be islamophobic and hating on Muslims), a politically shaky right wing prime minister who is still trying to take back some of the voters from the far right, personality wise is not one for voicing any sort of concrete idea or decision, and like Barroso from the same party, does a lot of obligatory american and germany ass kissing, besides he himself already being in internal controversy by the way of lying regarding the main talkpoint of his campaign and not actually fulfilling what he promised....all together that means the coward will wait to see what happens in the next months, the ICJ ruling, the UN, Van der Leyen stance and finally the outcome of Spain and Ireland's actions and wether more european countries follow it, before there is hope for Portugal to recognize Palestine as a sovereign state. Even with all that and with the tides changing pro Palestine, he might wait out and choose a moment politically convenient for himself to divert attentions, for example around the nacional budget approval that is bound to be messy bc he can't pass it alone and will have to chose to negotiate with the opposition whether with the historical rival center left in an almost unique agreement in Portuguese democracy, or negotiate with the far right and in the eventuality that neither work out, the government will fall so he might as well pass on the Palestinian hot potato to the next government, and this sets a possible (depends on who wins) discussion of Palestinian statehood to a whole year from now at best.

In conclusion,

- I don't think Portugal will acknowledge Palestine as a sovereign nation any time soon and yes I am deeply saddened and ashamed of my country, my politicians, the local media and also the fascist citizens over it.

- Fuck Durão Barroso war criminal and a disgrace to Portugal and the world. I wish upon him every misfortune and pain both in this life and the afterlife. On that note fuck Van der Leyen too.

- Free Palestine and I wish with all my soul that I live to see Netanyahu and his minions condemned at the Hague.

i once read somewhere that one of the reasons why portugal won't recognize palestine is because of the "catholic guilt" regarding the way jews were treated in portugal. do you think this is true?

Possibly. I genuinely don't know. I think the average portuguese person doesn't even know enough history of jewish ppl in this country to even understand why there's a level of guilt to begin with (just today I saw a video of a lady from Morocco and a portuguese lady comparing words thay sounded identical and the comments were portuguese assholes saying because we kind of were in Morocco they stole the words from us, like the al-Andalus was a fever dream I guess).

I genuinely also believe there is political interest behind, although I also don't know enough about it to discuss it, which ties perfectly into Portuguese people's general inability to see the gray area of any topic whatsoever.

But I don't think the majority of Portuguese people are against Palestine. Lisbon is loaded with free palestine messages and I don't know a single person who is pro israel. I know of guides in finicky situations bc the clients were israeli and tried to start shit bc of something they saw written on the walls. Most of us just try to avoid the conversation cause well we gotta do our jobs

On a governmental level however is a different conversation.

I just find it so hard to simply accept it's "catholic guilt" when this country is made of people who genuinely want to claim Cristopher Columbus for ourselves but you never know

[qqueenofhades]

Do you really hate this county? Or were you just ranting?

Sigh. I debated whether or not to answer this, since I usually keep the real-life/politics/depressing current events to a relative minimum on this blog, except when I really can't avoid ranting about it. But I have some things to get off my chest, it seems, and you did ask. So.

The thing is, any American with a single modicum of genuine historical consciousness knows that despite all the triumphalist mythology about Pulling Up By Our Bootstraps and the American Dream and etc, this country was founded and built on the massive and systematic exploitation and extermination of Black and Indigenous people. And now, when we are barely (400 years later!!!) getting to a point of acknowledging that in a widespread way, oh my god the screaming. I'm so sick of the American right wing I could spit for so many reasons, not least of which is the increasingly reductive and reactive attempts to put the genie back in the bottle and set up hysterical boogeymen about how Teaching Your Children Critical Race Theory is the end of all things. They have forfeited all pretense of being a real governing party; remember how their only platform at the 2020 RNC was "support whatever Trump says?" They have devolved to the point where the cruelty IS the point, to everyone who doesn't fit the nakedly white supremacist mold. They don't have anything to do aside from attempt to usher in actual, literal, dictionary-definition-of-fascism and sponsor armed revolts against the peaceful transfer of power.

That is fucking exhausting to be aware of all the time, especially with the knowledge that if we miss a single election cycle -- which is exceptionally easy to do with the way the Democratic electorate needs to be wooed and courted and herded like cats every single time, rather than just getting their asses to the polls and voting to keep Nazis out of office -- they will be right back in power again. If Manchin and Sinema don't get over their poseur pearl-clutching and either nuke the filibuster or carve out an exception for voting rights, the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is never going to get passed, no matter how many boilerplate appeals the Democratic leadership makes on Twitter. In which case, the 2022 midterms are going to give us Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House (I threw up in my mouth a little typing that) and right back to the Mitch McConnell Obstruction Power Hour in the Senate. The Online Left (TM) will then blame the Democrats for not doing more to stop them. These are, of course, the same people who refused to vote for Hillary Clinton out of precious moral purity reasons in 2016, handed the election to Trump, and now like to complain when the Trump-stacked Supreme Court reliably churns out terrible decisions. Gee, it's almost like elections have consequences!!

Aside from my exasperation with the death-cult right-wing fascists and the Online Left (TM), I am sick and tired of how forty years of "trickle-down" Reaganomics has created a world where billionaires can just fly to space for the fun of it, while the rest of America (and the world) is even more sick, poor, overheated, economically deprived, and unable to survive the biggest public health crisis in a century, even if half the elected leadership wasn't actively trying to sabotage it. Did you know that half of American workers can't even afford a one-bedroom apartment? Plus the obvious scandal that is race relations, health care, paid leave, the education system (or lack thereof), etc etc. I'm so tired of this America Is The Greatest Country in the World mindless jingoistic catchphrasing. We are an empire in the late stages of collapse and it's not going to be pretty for anyone. We have been poisoned on sociopathic-libertarian-selfishness-disguised-as-Freedom ideology for so long that that's all there is left. We have become a country of idiots who believe everything their idiot friends post on social media, but in a very real sense, it's not directly those individuals' fault. How could they, when they have been very deliberately cultivated into that mindset and stripped of critical thinking skills, to serve a noxious combination of money, power, and ideology?

I am tired of the fact that I have become so drained of empathy that when I see news about more people who refused to get the vaccine predictably dying of COVID, my reaction is "eh, whatever, they kind of deserved it." I KNOW that is not a good mindset to have, and I am doing my best to maintain my personal attempts to be kind to those I meet and to do my small part to make the world better. I know these are human beings who believed what they were told by people that they (for whatever reason) thought knew better than them, and that they are part of someone's family, they had loved ones, etc. But I just can't summon up the will to give a single damn about them (I'm keeping a bingo card of right-wing anti-vax radio hosts who die of COVID and every time it's like, "Alexa, play Another One Bites The Dust.") The course that the pandemic took in 21st-century America was not preordained or inevitable. It was (and continues to be) drastically mismanaged for cynical political reasons, and the legacy of the Former Guy continues to poison any attempts to bring it under control or convince people to get a goddamn vaccine. We now have over 100,000 patients hospitalized with COVID across the country -- more than last summer, when the vaccines weren't available.

I have been open about my fury about the devaluation of the humanities and other critical thinking skills, about the fact that as an academic in this field, my chances of getting a full-time job for which I have trained extensively and acquired a specialist PhD are... very low. I am tired of the fact that Americans have been encouraged to believe whatever bullshit they fucking please, regardless of whether it is remotely true, and told that any attempt to correct them is "anti-freedom." I am tired of how little the education system functions in a useful way at all -- not necessarily due to the fault of teachers, who have to work with what they're given, and who are basically heroes struggling stubbornly along in a profession that actively hates them, but because of relentless under-funding, political interference, and furious attempts, as discussed above, to keep white America safely in the dark about its actual history. I am tired of the fact that grade school education basically relies on passing the right standardized tests, the end. I am tired of the implication that the truth is too scary or "un-American" to handle. I am tired. Tired.

I know as well that "America" is not synonymous in all cases with "capitalist imperialist white-supremacist corporate death cult." This is still the most diverse country in the world. "America" is not just rich white middle-aged Republicans. "America" involves a ton of people of color, women, LGBTQ people, Muslims, Jews, Christians of good will (I have a whole other rant on how American Christianity as a whole has yielded all pretense of being any sort of a principled moral opposition), white allies, etc etc. all trying to make a better world. The blue, highly vaccinated, Biden-winning states and counties are leading the economic recovery and enacting all kinds of progressive-wishlist dream policies. We DID get rid of the Orange One via the electoral process and avert fascism at the ballot box, which is almost unheard-of, historically speaking. But because, as also discussed above, certain elements of the Democratic electorate need to fall in love with a candidate every single time or threaten to withhold their vote to punish the rest of the country for not being Progressive Enough, these gains are constantly fragile and at risk of being undone in the next electoral cycle. Yes, the existing system is a crock of shit. But it's what we've got right now, and the other alternative is open fascism, which we all got a terrifying taste of over the last four years. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to go back.

So... I don't know. I don't know if that stacks up to hate. I do hate almost everything about what this country currently is, structurally speaking, but I recognize that is not identical with the many people who still live here and are trying to do their best, including my friends, family, and myself. I am exhausted by the fact that as an older millennial, I am expected to survive multiple cataclysmic economic crashes, a planet that is literally boiling alive, a barely functional political system run on black cash, lies, and xenophobia, a total lack of critical thinking skills, renewed assaults on women/queer people/POC/etc, and somehow feel like I'm confident or prepared for the future. Not all these problems are only America's fault alone. The West as a whole bears huge responsibility for the current clusterfuck that the world is in, for many reasons, and so do some non-Western countries. But there is no denying that many of these problems have ultimate American roots. See how the ongoing fad for right-wing authoritarian strongmen around the world has them modeling themselves openly on Trump (like Brazil's lunatic president, Jair Bolsonaro, who talks all the time about how Trump is his political role model). See what's going on in Afghanistan right now. Etc. etc.

Anyway. I am very, very tired. There you have it.

[warsofasoiaf]

”The Molotov-Ribbentrop pact happened because Stalin was forced to by the allies. They rebuked any attempts at an alliance with the soviets. Stalin simply made the pact because he needed time to prepare for the german invasion!”. This view is often parroted by socialists and their ilk. Is this accurate?

As a point of order, I must note that this line is also fiercely promoted by Putin's Russia along with other Soviet Union myths regarding the Second World War, so this is a multi-partisan historical lie. Anyway, this is false for a number of reasons.

First, and simplest, Stalin wasn't forced to do anything. He could have prepared, raised defensive readiness, and manned the Stalin Line. He could have moved troops from the south. He could have cancelled his proposed invasion of Finland to focus on a defensive posture. He elected to carry out the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, and the Secret Pact shows that it was far from a defensive move meant to preserve the Soviet Union, but a means by which to expand it.

Second, Stalin himself explicitly did not see the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact as a means to buy time. Stalin had hoped that Nazi Germany would wage war on the French and British over Poland and explicitly weaken them. Two weeks after the signing of the Pact, Stalin remarked: "A war is on between two groups of capitalist countries. We see nothing wrong in their having a good hard fight and weakening each other.” Stalin had hoped with Nazi Germany focused on a war against Western Europe and Poland, that he would have a free hand to handle his own planned war with Finland. This double dealing was incredibly common regarding foreign policy in the interwar years. Stalin facilitated German rearmament in the hopes that he would wage war against the Anglo-French alliance, and France and England ignored much about German rearmament out of the hope that Hitler's fervent anti-communism would lead him into a war with the Soviet Union that would break both powers. Stalin continually purchased war goods and shipped raw materials to Germany, and allows the Trans-Siberian Railway to ship Japanese goods to Germany; which to me sounds far more like helping to support Germany's war against France and Britain and hoping to profit in the meantime than a means to buy time.

Third, while the Soviet Union did offer an alliance, it was an ultimatum - an alliance or nothing. Per the Canadian Journal of History: "Initially, the British Cabinet resisted this proposal, as the negotiations would likely entail considerable delay; ministers preferred instead a quick declaration of Soviet support to deter possible German aggression in the short term. When it became apparent that the Soviet position meant an alliance or nothing, the Cabinet overwhelmingly opted to pursue an alliance. Despite British determination to reach an agreement, the negotiations proved futile. Soviet demands to provide guarantees to Finland, the Baltic States, Poland, and Rumania against indirect German aggression prompted fears that the Soviets sought the right to interfere in the internal affairs of their neighbours." So far from "rebuking any attempt at an alliance," the negotiations simply failed. The Soviet Union pressed high demands, ones that were undoubtedly unpopular at home due to the domestic peace and pacifism movements (while we criticize the Munich Agreement, it's worth noting at the time that it was immensely popular in Britain and France). Only after the annexation of the rest of Czechoslovakia and establishment of the puppet states of Moravia and Bohemia did Britain begin rearming. British legislators believed that the Franco-Soviet Mutual Assistance Treaty led directly to German rearmament, so they likely saw an alliance as a direct war against Nazi Germany, which they didn't want and felt they were unprepared for.

Fourth, Stalin didn't prepare for a German invasion. Stalin was hilariously unprepared for Operation Barbarossa despite frequent warnings from both his own intelligence and that of Great Britain and the United States. Taking eastern Poland meant abandoning the Stalin Line, but Stalin was unhurried in the construction of the new Molotov Line and abandoned any notion of defense-in-depth, meaning much of the fortifications between Leningrad and Berlin were either not built, in disrepair, or abandoned. Stalin began to repair the damage to the Red Army not due to the time bought by the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, but the disastrous performance of the Red Army during the Winter War.

This thesis is largely bunk, meant to prop up the also-false tribal interpretation of the interwar years that communism was uniquely and consistently anti-fascist, but that's a story for another time.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[blessednereid]

LFLLLL Prologue: Project Partners

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 5k

Taglist: @rogershoe

~

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

      You

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

While you were in the car, all you could think about was what got you in the position that you were in. With Lydia, with Isaac, caught in the middle of a murder investigation because of your brother and his friend.

Everything that used to make sense to you was crumbling. Your guards and your walls were dissipating with every waking moment. 

It all started in September, and along the twenty-minute drive, you were determined to figure out how you got to your position. Even if it meant going through every single event that has happened since you met Isaac Lahey.

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Project Announcement

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You were in your World History class. The unit you were currently learning about was The Industrial Revolution. Though, you weren't paying attention to the warm-up on the board. Instead, you were listening to Lydia recall the events that lead to her latest hookup before class started.

"So basically after we left the club, he told me that he wanted to show me something at his house. Obviously, I was feeling-"

"Alright, class. Settle down." Your teacher, Mrs. Goldblatt, had started speaking, and Lydia quickly stopped talking. The last time Lydia was caught talking over Mrs. GB was the previous year, and she had detention for half a month and missed practice.

"Today, I'm assigning you a project. Yes, you will be working in pairs. No, you won't get to choose your partners."

She turned to the board and wrote the words 'European Industrialization'. 

"You will make a presentation about a country, as well as the ways they used industrialization. And you will add how it relates to modern industrialization today."

You groaned, but the rest of the class stayed silent. Your teacher didn't seem to notice as she continued speaking. 

"You will write on a slip of paper the names of a maximum of two students who you cannot get along with and give it to me in five minutes. I don't want any arguments in my class."

You took a slip of paper from your bag and wrote the names: Christina Goldblatt, your teachers' daughter, who was a stuck-up brat, and Isaac Lahey. You had heard from former partners of his that he was quiet and hard to read. Seeing as how you had to communicate actively with a partner, you felt like you couldn't work with him. 

"Also, seeing as how there is one extra student in this class, my daughter Christina has elected to work by herself."

The five-minute timer soon went off, and everyone walked to the front to give their teacher a white sheet of paper with their name and one or two more on it.

Once she had the slips of paper, she began working on partner assignments. She told the rest of the students to work on their nearly due classwork and then finish missing work.

You had decided to ignore her and work on your one missing assignment. You felt like you would be able to focus more without the worry of finishing it later. 

Within twenty minutes, she had finished the pairings and called out names. Apparently, these would also determine your seating positions for the rest of the project duration, which would last three weeks.

She called out the names starting in alphabetical order, skipping names she had already called with their partner. You only paid attention to the pairings of your friends.

"Mahealani, Danny, and Martin, Lydia." Lydia tried to argue her way into working with you, which only prompted your teacher to threaten her with another detention.

"McCall, Scott, and Stilinski, Stiles," she said, which was confusing seeing the chaos they caused when together.

She went through all the names, even down to the Z's skipping your name. Lastly, there were four people left. 

"Zabka, Madeline, and Zabka, Madison," she finished.

Finally, there were just two people left: You and Isaac Lahey. You knew this was why she skipped you. She had heard your protests when she started every lesson. You assumed she ignored it because she favored you for some reason. When in reality, she was pairing you up with the one person whose personality most clashed with yours. 

"But, Mrs. Goldblatt, why can't I work with Lydia? Lydia and I do projects well together, and we have a good partnership."

"Ms. Stilinski, I already told you that you can't pick your partner. Have a seat!"

You smiled bitterly, and though you gracefully walked to your assigned seat, on the inside, you wanted to storm out of the classroom and sulk in the library. 

Spurs of conversation spun about in front of you, and the lack of communication between you and your partner made you feel like you were stuck in the worst corner of hell. It made you feel lonely when you weren't alone.

You glanced at your partner, who was beside you. His head was down, and his eyes refused to look anywhere but his paper. He didn't look like he was focused, more like he was trying to look anywhere that wasn't you. 

"So, it looks like we're partners…" you said wistfully. 

He looked at you and shrugged before his eyes darted back to his desk, and he found the wood chippings on the side more enticing than before.

"You do know you have to talk to me if we're going to do this project. You have to talk to me."

He glanced your way, and you now held his attention, but his silence was unwavering. 

"Say something, please?" He remained silent. 

You groaned and banged your head on the desk.

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Mall (One Week Later)

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"Lydia, I just can't do it," you said before sipping your strawberry lemonade cooler. You were on your lunch break at your job, and Lydia had come to visit you. 

"He's so hard to work with. We've had three meetings, and he hasn't said a single word to me. The most he's said is correcting me on a grammar error through a piece of paper."

You popped another pretzel nugget into your mouth. 

"I just don't know, Lyds."

"Well, hun." She sighed. "Maybe try getting to know him."  

"Lydia," you uttered stolidly. "He won't talk to me. How will I get to know him."

"Take him out to a park. Spin him around on those merry go round until he pukes. Then he'll be forced to talk."

"Lydia, I don't want him to hate me.

"I don't know. I just wish that GB gave me detention instead of partnering me with him."

Lydia sighed. "Y/n, go do something fun with him in an environment that doesn't make you wanna pull your pretty gorgeous hair out."

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Carnival

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When Isaac came over to your house the next day, you already had your jacket on and convinced Stiles to let you take the car. 

You led him out to the Jeep, and both hopped inside. When you started driving, Isaac was confused, but he still didn't say anything. 

"Isaac."

He turned his head and hummed. 

"I could be kidnapping you, and you still won't talk to me…" you remarked.

He turned his attention back to the window without saying another word. 

You parked a decent distance away from your destination, wanting to see Isaac's reaction when he saw the carnival.

You began walking in silence, but somehow today, it was a peaceful silence. You thought that maybe it was the anticipation of the festivities or the notion you had that today would be the day he said something to you.

You paused for a moment, which prompted him to do the same. He turned to you, and you stepped forward and grabbed both his hands. His four fingers rested between your thumbs and the side of your pointer fingers calmly, and his thumb caressed your wrist absentmindedly.

"I don't know…" you tapped your foot while speaking. "I don't know why you don't like me. And I'll admit, maybe trying to get rid of you as a partner was a surefire way to get started off on the wrong foot." 

Isaac's brows remained furrowed, and his gaze was fixed on you. 

"But I want to change that… If you'll let me. Because you seem like a really cool person, and I want to get to know you."

Isaac pulled his hands out of yours and started walking in the direction that you lead him. You sighed at the action before he turned around.

"Where are we going?" he said blankly, but his voice made you smile. You started running ahead of him.

"Follow me!" 

You both broke off into a run and only slowed down when you neared the entrance of the fairgrounds. You purchased two tickets for both of you before dragging Isaac inside the black metal gates.

"Ah, so this is where you're kidnapping me… Alright, where do I go to be tied up, Ms. Stilinski? And would this interfere with your dads' job perchance?"

His voice made you smile and laugh, and then he began to laugh as well. 

"I'm sorry, that was a bad joke," he said, still laughing. 

"No! It was a great joke."

You grabbed his hand and pulled him to the line for the carousel. 

"You know, I've never actually been to a fair," you muttered. 

"Me either. My mom used to tell me she would take me on my birthdays, but something always came up, so she would find creative things to do in the house."

"You make it sound like she can't take you anymore?" you frowned. 

"She can't. She's dead." He said the words so calmly, but it made your heart immediately break into a million pieces.

"How'd she die?" 

"Car crash."

You faltered. "I'm assuming you don't want a hug?"

"Why would you assume that?"

"When my mom died, people always gave me hugs as if that would bring her back, and I hated it."

"How did your mom die?"

"Frontotemporal dementia," you said. "Incurable."

"Damn," he deadpanned. 

Soon you had reached the front of the line and boarded the carousel. You opted to take the pegasus with wings which were next to the black horse Isaac sat on. 

The horses began spinning, and you noticed Isaac didn't look like he was having much fun.

"You alright?"

"These don't go fast, do they?"

"No, they don't. These rides are meant for kids, Lahey."

"Kids or not, this is way too slow."

When you got off the carousel, you didn't tell Isaac what ride you were going to next. 

"Cover your eyes," you said blankly. 

"There are hundreds of people here, Y/n. I'm not trying to actually get kidnapped."

You chuckled. "Ha-ha, Don't worry, I won't let the monsters get you."

He allowed you to step behind him and cover his eyes, but you were only able to walk a few steps before his height made your arms ache from stretching. 

"Okay, I can't do this. It's whatever."

You laughed. "Just follow me, okay." 

He grabbed onto your arms, and you chose to believe that he had his eyes closed.

You dragged Isaac through the fairgrounds once more before finding your spot in line. You spun him around, facing the opposite way so he couldn't see the ride.

"Do I really have to face the other way?" he said.

"Yes, you do!" you smirked triumphantly.

"Is it just so you can trick me into going back on the carousel?" 

"Maybe…" He chuckled darkly at your comment. 

"You know, I really like hearing your voice," you said calmly.

"Oh yeah? Well, I mean, I do have a pretty good voice."

You chuckled this time, his cockiness ignited something in you, and you felt alive for the first time since you two had started working together. 

"You do… You should let more people hear it."

Every step you advanced in the line caused you to pull Isaac forward, but his mysterious demeanor pulled you to him. 

"Alright, you can turn around now."

When he spun around, he cursed aloud. "Holy shit!"

In front of him stood one of the tallest drop towers he had ever seen.

When you reached the front of the line, you got onto the seats in the tower. Your stomach gurgled angrily in anticipation. 

"You ready?" Isaac asked you. He had a wide grin plastered on his face, and he looked like a kid in a candy store. 

Before you could answer, the tower rocked as it started to move up. 

"Guess it doesn't matter now!"

You both looked out the windows beside your heads. 

It was filled with colors, and everything looked minuscule. 

You were slightly scared of the drop, but you found comfort in Isaac's smile. He never smiled, so for him to smile so brightly, it made you proud that you could draw that emotion from him.

The ride stopped for one minute. Then two. Suddenly it was 5 minutes. 

Everyone began to wonder what had happened to the ride until the sudden drop. 

The ride was filmed with shrilly screams. The sight in front of you blurred with the speed of the drop. Your ears popped from the sudden drop in altitude. Your heart stopped for moments, and you thought for a minute instead of falling back to the ground, you were going to meet your maker. 

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" Your screams resonated fear, but Isaac's eyes told you he only felt excitement.

You couldn't feel your hair on your shoulders, and you knew the speed and force were probably holding it in the air. 

The ride had stopped. Your eyes were still bulging out of your head, and you felt sick in your stomach. 

Isaac was still chuckling and didn't look the least bit shaken or stirred.

"HOW CAN YOU BE ALRIGHT AFTER THAT?"

"I don't know, I just felt… Free!"

"C'mon, let's go, weirdo."

Isaac stopped you once you exited the ride and pulled away from the line. 

"Let me pick the next ride, yeah?" Isaac asked you.

"Sure."

He put his hands over your eyes and began pushing you towards your next destination. When he removed his hands, you were at the front of the line to get on the twisting roller coaster.

"We're going on that thing?"

"Yep!"

You blanched. "Isaac, I'll fall out the first time it goes bump."

He pulled you onto the ride anyways and buckled you in so that you couldn't go anywhere. 

"Don' worry, you'll have fun."

"Oh, I know I'll have fun. I'm almost certain I'll die while having fun."

He chuckled and grabbed your hand from your bar that was in front of you. 

"Better?"

You smiled, turned to the front, and waited for the ride to start. 

When the carts began moving, it started at a tortuously slow speed, and you were actually feeling good; you knew that Isaac was probably bored.

"Aw, you picked a slow ride just for me?" you teased.

He simply chuckled before turning his head to the front, and your brows knitted in a frown. 

You gave your attention to where his eyes were, but you didn't see anything that could cause the gleam of deviltry in his eyes. 

He kept checking his watch, but when he did look up from it, he gave you a subtle wink and let go of your hand. 

"AHHHHH!" You shrieked at the top of your lungs when the cart dipped down at the highest speed you thought imaginable.

The blue sky streaked past your view. If you were to imagine how you looked to others, you imagined the flesh around your mouth blowing in the wind cartoonishly and your hair visibly disheveled. You gripped harshly onto the metal rail in front of you, and the bars were so cold from being outside, you thought they would crack had you applied any more force. 

The ride went like this often, going from slow and steady, allowing you to catch your breath, to energetically and rapidly fast, knocking the wind out of you completely. 

"Having fun?" Isaac shouted in your ear, but you could barely hear past the whipping of the wind. 

"NO!" 

Whoops, and cheers could be heard from beside you as Isaac was screaming into the void, and you felt there wasn't enough hot coffee or burning fireplaces that could warm you up after this. 

When the ride had reached its end, you had to blink slowly multiple times to recover from the wind that glazed them with cold air. 

"You!" Isaac chuckled at your tone. "You did this to me! I feel like an ice block!" You shouted sarcastically. 

"Aw, well, let's go warm you up then." 

You growled at him as you got off the cart, but he held you in his arms to warm you up until you were able to get inside the safety of an insulated building. 

"So, you got what you wanted," Isaac said slyly. 

"To have my heart jumping in my body from my shoulders, knees, and toes?"

He chuckled. "No, I mean for me to talk."

"I guess I did."

"Why?"

"I like talking to people, I guess."

He smiled at you, and you reciprocated his grin. 

"So, are we ever going to finish that assignment?" 

"We can go right now and finish it if you want, but we still have two weeks to do it." 

His forehead puckered in thought. "You're right. Let's finish the day here."

╔═════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════╗

  Research and Reports(One Week Later)

╚═════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════╝

"Okay, now that we're done with info collection, we have to pick a theme…" you trailed off when you noticed Isaac wasn't paying attention.

"Isaac," you said while snapping your fingers in front of his face.

"You like ABBA?"

"Who doesn't like ABBA? Enough of that, we have to finish working. We only have a week left."

Isaac shot up from his chair and began to inspect the numerous posters on your walls with album covers of your favorite artists, movie premiere covers, pictures of you and your friends throughout the years. 

"This is really cool!"

You sighed heavily. "I know it's cool, but I want to finish this project. I'm on a productive streak."

"We just started school like, two weeks ago. Why do we have a project?" 

"Isaac!"

He raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, fine."

You groaned. "This is pointless. Education is pointless. I'm gonna become a stripper anyway."

Isaac's face heated up. "No, you won't. Your dad would kill you."

"I was actually looking up some themes last night. Put these in your search engine."

"Okay, but wait." You now held his attention. "Who calls it a search engine?" 

You began laughing maniacally, and he grinned. "No, but I'm serious. Who has time to say all of that?"

You did what he told you and put different words related to the industrial period and the words "free theme" in your browser. 

He had found almost five different themes for you to choose one from that would fit your project.

"Just didn't want to do extra work by making our own theme," he said modestly.

Suddenly, he noticed that your phone had a paper towel sticking out of the case and wrapping around the camera.

"Y/n… why is there toilet paper covering your camera?"

"Oh, that. It's so if people try to video-call me, I can lie and say my camera is broken."

"But why?" he asked, concerned.

You sighed. "I just don't wanna show my face to people today." 

"But I can see your face clearly," he squinted while pushing a lock of hair out of your eyesight.

"You're an exception."

"But not the only exception?"

"No, it's you, Stiles, my dad, and Lydia."

He chuckled.

"Let's do this one," you said when you finished analyzing how each theme looked and the possibilities they had. 

You and Isaac began typing on your laptop. You would take turns rotating between typing and reciting in thirty-minute increments. 

By six p.m. that Sunday night, you had practically worked yourself to death and finished the assignment.

When you finished the credits slide, you frowned absentmindedly, but Isaac noticed. 

"What's wrong, you don't like it?"

"No, I like it, it's just that…" you sighed. "We present it, and then what happens?"

"We get a good grade?" Isaac was genuinely confused and didn't know you were talking about what would happen with the two of you and your friendship. 

"Would you say that you only started talking to me because of the project?"

His brows furrowed. "Yes, but wha-"

"And would you say that once the project ends… we would stop talking?"

Isaac sighed once he realized what you meant. "No, Y/n. I genuinely like talking to you." 

Your face heated up at his words, and you felt yourself become at ease. 

"Whew, okay. Nap or TV?" 

Isaac felt himself right back to square one, confusion. "What?"

"Since we're done with the project, do you want to take a nap, or do you want to watch TV?"

"Are you sure your dad doesn't mind?"

"I don't know, but I don't think he would. Stiles always has Scott over. This should be fine. I do it with all my friends."

"O-okay," he murmured. 

You jumped softly onto your bed and shuffled to find the remote, turning on the TV and patting down on the spot beside you. 

"What do you want to watch?"

He told you that anything was fine, so you opted to watch My Babysitters a Vampire. 

He stared at you incredulously. 

You chirped at him. "What is it?"

"No, nothing."

"It has to be something? You don't wanna watch this."

"Alright, fine. It looks like a show for kids!" 

You laughed. "That's because it is a show for kids! But it's interesting, so we're watching it unless you have something better."

When the episode started, you began chanting along with the theme song, and Isaac stared at you with doe-eyes.

When it was finished, you gave his glance your attention. 

"What?" He simply shook his head in response and paid attention to the television.

By the time the next episode started, Isaac's head was on a pillow in your lap. Your legs were crossed, and your fingers threaded their way through his very silky tresses. 

There was a suspenseful moment, and Isaac gripped onto your wrist, making you chuckle in your mind. 

"Oh my gosh, did it just get hot in here?" You were feeling a flash of heat surge through your body and didn't know where it came from.

"Uh, I don't think so? Want me to get you some water?"

"Uh, no, it's fine! I'll just go get us some fruit bars. Do you want Mango or Strawberry?"

After he told you, you went to get a mango pop for yourself and a strawberry one for him. When you reached the kitchen, you splashed water onto your face to cool off. 

You jogged back up the stairs and into your room. "Your strawberry freezy pop is coming right up!"

He giggled at your antics and allowed you to settle back into your position on the bed. 

"Sorry, I watched without you."

"Oh, it's fine. I've seen the entire thing like 3 times."

That night when he left, you had a warm feeling in your heart, but you couldn't place what it felt like exactly.

Before you went to sleep, you made sure that the assignment was saved onto your flash drive and went to bed.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

  Presentations(One Week Later)

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

A week later, and it was the first day of presentations. Surprisingly, Isaac volunteered for the pair of you to present first. The nerves in your stomach were fumbling around and curling against each other so roughly you could barely speak. 

Routinely, you and Lydia would go last. Silently comparing your projects with others and finding things your class liked about other presentations that you also did coincidentally. You did this to calm your nerves. But as you were going first, your routine wasn't doable.  

Isaac had finished the slides that he was supposed to say, and then it was your turn. 

You gulped and tried to muster the courage to start saying your lines. You felt sick in your stomach for a while. You felt the room freeze around you as if you were out in the snow with no jacket. You only started feeling more at ease when you felt Isaac's thumb rubbing against the back of your hand soothingly, along with Lydia and Stiles' encouraging smiles in the crowd. You were still nervous, but they were the eyes of your storm.

"Our modern technology today relates to the industrial period because…"

When your presentation was over, you let the applause fill your ears, but that wasn't what made the nerves go away. What made it go away was Isaac's proud gaze beading into your soul, and it made the world fade away. 

Mrs. Goldblatt shooed you both away from the screen and back to your seats but gave you a piece of paper that you assumed was your score sheet. 

You had gotten a 93%, but there was a pink note card that told you to meet her after class along with Isaac.

You sighed heavily and finished the walk back to your seat.

You and Isaac were in the back of the class and were okay to talk without a worry.

"What was that about, Y/n?"

"What do you mean?"

He sighed thoughtfully. "You just froze. I didn't think you froze."

You gulped, wondering whether or not you should share your fear with your new friend.

"I have stage fright..."

"What do you mean? You're a cheerleader. I've seen you perform."

"That's an ensemble act. When I'm by myself like that, I just tense up, and normally I say the wrong things. That's why I always go last."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You dropped your head. "I didn't know you were going to volunteer to go first."

"I always do, to get it out the way." His eyes were soft and caring. 

"It's not your fault Isaac. Besides, I didn't mess up that badly anyway. We're okay."

"But I still wouldn't have done that had I known."

"I appreciate your sympathy, but really, It's okay!" You reassured him softly, and you truly meant it. He had made you get over it, so it felt wrong for you to make him feel bad for something he wasn't aware of. 

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════╗

  Student-Teacher Conference

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════╝

"Yes, Mrs. Goldblatt?" You spoke nervously while shifting around in the seat in front of her desk. 

"What is it?" she was still facing down to her laptop.

Isaac spoke up. "You wanted to see us?"

She raised her head. "Oh, yes!

"I wanted to tell you why I partnered you both together. In-person that is."

"Y/n, you must be thinking that I did it to punish you."

Isaac interjected. "What do you mean punishment?"

"Ms. Stilinski had put your name down for students she wouldn't work well with."

"But besides that. I didn't do it to punish you. I did it because I wanted you to reach out of your comfort zone. Both of you. Ms. Stilinski, you typically work with people who are very talkative in class. Namely, Lydia. 

"Isaac, I've heard from your partners that you are not as talkative. I put you two together because I knew this assignment would be easy to understand for you both. However, I assume the communication was not as simple?" 

You both shook your heads. 

"No, but you managed through it, and now you both will be able to socialize with people who have more or less social skills than you do."

You glanced guiltily at Isaac, who was avoiding your gaze. You hadn't told him that you put his name down, and while your reasoning may not have been resembling hatred, you thought it would still sting.

"You both may go. Have a good day."

When you walked out of the room, Isaac took off ahead of you. 

"Isaac!" You yelled as you ran to catch up with him through the bustling crowd trying to get to their next class. 

"Isaac, I swear, I only wrote your name down because I wanted a partner that was more… communicative."

"You could've told me," he stated simply, still not looking at you. 

You pulled his arm back to stop him from walking before extending your arm to grab his chin and force him to face you. 

"I'm sorry. It didn't seem important then, but I see how it could look bad now. You're a really great partner, Isaac. And I've said it before, and I'll repeat it, I'd love nothing more than to be your friend."

He exhaled through his nose. "You know, for some stupid reason, I just can't stay mad at you."

You smiled at his words. "I've been told that I have that effect on people."

"See you tomorrow?"

You pushed your eyebrows downwards. "What do you mean? It's a Saturday?"

"For MBAV," he said simply.

"Ohhhh. Gotcha!"

"See you then, Isaac." 

You turned the other way to go to your next class when your cheek was met with a brief peck. 

"See you," he whispered in your ear, but a ghost when you turned around. The action made your heart speed up, and his touch left much to be desired.

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 4: The Interviews

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 8.1K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Very little was said throughout the rest of hearing the other tribute’s scores, and as soon as that was finished you were hurried into a car to the studio to begin getting ready. You were pleased to discover that each tribute was granted their own dressing room and you didn’t have to share with your district mate. You wondered if this theatre was uniquely built for The Hunger Games given the twenty-four individual dressing rooms. As you were ushered into the make up chair and had a black cape draped around your neck, you thought about all the other female tributes from district four that could have been seated in this very room before you. You wondered how many of them had lived beyond the next week.

Before you could fall into a depressive spiral you were yanked back into reality by the team as they began to work on styling your hair with an array of wands, brushes and sprays. From the corner of your eye you could spot a rack of dresses two of the stylists were arguing over, but you couldn’t turn your head to properly look at the options with the way your hair was being pulled.

Unlike the chariot ride, where your hair had been pulled into a partial up-do and styled with various decorative clips, extensions, and a tiara, your stylists were discussing with each other how best to show off your “natural beauty”. Their reasoning seemed to be that in the arena you would not be wearing make up, so they wanted to create a look that could somehow capture your beauty and still transition from the stage into the games.

They had chosen to leave your hair down and loose, the treatment from a few days ago still feeling soft and looking healthy. They had elected to tame your natural wave into a smoother style, running a straightener through your hair before going back over it once more to apply a very soft curl towards the ends. With the hair finished the team quickly moved on to make up as the two stylists, who had previously been arguing by the clothes rack hurried over with the dress they had decided on.

“Isn’t it perfect!” Garnet sighed, holding up the white gown that seemed more fitting of a bride than a teenager, but you couldn’t help admitting that the dress was indeed very beautiful. Made of lace with a pattern of flowers and vines crawling across the fabric, the dress was adorned with shimmering crystals that resembled snowflakes throughout the fabric. Although you didn’t understand how it was supposed to fit a “natural beauty” aesthetic. You didn’t bother questioning it, the logic from Capitol people was something you had far given up on trying to understand.

Ruby and Quartz chimed their agreement as the rest of the team all chorused their approval whilst hurrying to start picking out matching accessories and select coordinating colors for your makeup. The fact no one had bothered to ask for your opinion wasn’t lost on you, but it’s not like you could see anything else on that clothing rack, or anywhere else around the room, worth arguing to wear instead. You were forced to shut your eyes so the artist could begin applying your eye shadow and in the resulting darkness you imagined yourself walking out on to the stage in the casual attire you were still dressed in, no make up, and damp hair still not properly dried from your earlier shower. You smiled to yourself at the imagined scandalized reaction from the audience, pretend Caesar sputtering as he somehow tried to carry on with his interview, and imaginary Finnick watching backstage with his head in his hands. If only you were allowed not to care about all of the showmanship of these stupid games. You dress up, smile and wave, and still get slaughtered anyway, so what good did playing along with their little show do?

'Sponsors!' Imaginary Finnick answered your own thoughts, although this time his voice in your head was an echo of a real memory.

From what time you had spent strategizing with him, the most important thing he had reiterated was always the importance of sponsorships, and the repetition of how he acquired his stupid trident. Easy for him to say when he had his carved face and had nearly been six foot back when he was fourteen. But Finnick had also been quick to rebut your snark with his reports and clips on how well received your chariot appearance had been in the Capitol. With training and the nightmare of dealing with Hoseok keeping you otherwise occupied, you hadn’t had any time to monitor the reactions of the people who were supposedly going to be betting on you. According to Finnick over the last few days, you were by far the most popular female tribute. As he walked you to the dressing room before, he told you that your surprisingly high Tribute score had done even more wonders for your odds, and all you really had to do now was show up on stage and look pretty. If everything worked out, you may actually have a shot of surviving this thing.

Was it fair that your only chance of survival in these games depended on outside interference?

No.

Did you care when a fair game would mean a guaranteed death?

Also no.

So you passively sat in the chair and allowed the team to work, until they told you it was time to stand up and change into the dress. You were lead to a privacy screen in the back corner of the room, and told to put the dress on as far as you could before you required help. You wondered how hard putting on a dress could be, but as you stepped into the lace and put your arms into the sleeves you realized the garment had a corset in the bodice, and you would need someone to pull the threads. You took a moment to enjoy the last few easy inhales and exhales you would enjoy for the next hour before calling on someone to assist. One of the triplets – you weren’t capable of telling them apart on their own – had you brace yourself against the wall as they set to work tightening the ribbons around your torso.

When she was done you fidgeted, trying to adjust to your newly restricted range of motion. Thankfully the corset was only under the bust so it wasn’t pressing upon your chest as badly as you were expecting. You uncomfortably stepped out from the privacy screen and ignored the staff reaction to your dress. You had already seen them fawn over you before, during the chariot parade, and you couldn’t care less how pretty they thought you were. Instead you looked around before spotting the pair of shoes that went with the dress; glittery silver pumps, with a modest heel so you could easily walk on stage. They were next to a full length mirror, so you walked over and slipped them on, before taking a step back to assess your appearance.

Oh.

The dress had appeared as merely a nice piece of fabric on the hanger, but actually being worn, it truly was stunning. The garment looked like a whimsical winter garden, the various jewels glimmering like snowflakes on the lace patterned white leaves and flowers that crawled across the fabric. The bottom part of the gown was long and flowed to the floor, with extra fabric underneath to create more volume. The corset cinched your waistline in tightly before ending just below your bust, pushing your breasts up, in the sweetheart-neckline bodice. The dress had below-the-shoulder sleeves that were sheer, with snow embellishments ending at your wrists. Your makeup was flattering; a neutral lip with a little gloss, and a focus on the eyes. Shimmery pearls and purples were used to create a smoky eye and crystal gems had been placed on the outer corners. You looked like an ice princess.

A knock at the door broke up your self assessment, before Finnick walked into the room.

“Show’s starting now, District 1 will be on in five, you’ll be up in about another fifteen minutes.”

Finnick stopped to take in your appearance, nodding his approval to the team, before coming over to stand before you.

“You look wonderful,” he spoke softly, reaching to pick up one of your hands and hold it both of his. He gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, with a mild squeeze back.

“The Capitol already adores you after your chariot ride, so tonight just seeing you again, looking this beautiful will be all they need. You’ve done the hardest part with your tribute score, so just try to relax as much as possible.”

“Easier said that done,” you replied with a shaky laugh.

“I know that all too well,” Finnick conceded with a lop sided smile.

You envied him and his natural charm. But you supposed you had to have some of your own to have caught the Capitol’s attention, not to mention Hoseok’s too. You hadn’t been trying for either of those, so perhaps that was your best tactic to use with Caesar.

“How’s Namjoon?” You asked, your district-mate hadn’t said a word to you since the scores were read back in the living quarters.

“Calm.” Finnick replied honestly.

“Can’t even tell you what his plans are ‘cause he barely even tells me anything. Makes it hard to try and strategize, but if he doesn’t want the free help then I’m not going to force it.”

“But I thought you guys spent heaps of time together?” you frowned. If Finnick wasn’t helping you much, and Namjoon didn’t want his help, then what had he been doing? You guessed he had work to do with trying to gather sponsorships or trying to extract information out of the other mentors.

“Hardly. What little time you may have felt that we spent together is more than twice the time I’ve spent with him.” Finnick dismissed with a shrug.

“For the record, you’re my favorite between you, and I’m not just saying that based on your scores tonight. You’re humble and you listen. Arrogance doesn’t go far in games like these.”

“It did for you.”

Finnick huffed out a laugh.

“Keep that wit with you on stage and you’ll be swimming in sponsors. But to be clear, my arrogance was tactical, and I took outside help when it was offered.”

You nodded, not really knowing what more to say.

Finnick stepped past you to turn on a TV in the top corner of your dressing room. Krystal appeared on the screen, wearing a silk red dress and matching lipstick, laughing at something Caesar had just said. From the looks of it, her interview was nearly finished.

“Interviews are usually three minutes each, so not that long. There’s twenty-four of you and they have to keep the show under two hours,” Finnick explained as Caesar bid Krystal farewell.

Yoongi was quickly announced and stepped up on to the stage, to a round of applause from the audience.

“It’s worth paying attention because Caesar can be very tricky. He’s a showman and he needs to extract interesting information and reactions for ratings. Sometimes a tribute will accidentally let too much of their game-plan slip, and you can take advantage of that in the arena. Some of them crumble and you can pick out the easy targets, others become too hot headed so keep an eye open on people to avoid too.”

Finnick explained, as you simultaneously listened to Yoongi explaining how he volunteered upon hearing his sister’s name being drawn. Much like you had already suspected, his goal was to ensure that Krystal is the one to survive. You wondered how Hoseok, Athena, and Namjoon felt.

Once your supposed final six broke down there would already be a team of two. Knowing Hoseok he’d have to have some plan in place, especially given he was goading Yoongi over Krystal earlier. You didn’t like how his plan had involved you in it, immediately making you a threat to the alliance the same way Yoongi and Krystal were. But at least you had a friendship with Krystal. Maybe that’s what Hoseok was banking on. A team up of the two teams, to take out the outliers of Namjoon and Athena, then a fight between the duos. Hoseok could easily take Yoongi, but if this was his plan, he was giving you far too much credit against Krystal, who had kicked your ass most of the time in spar training. But he had been watching you and had to have known that too. Maybe he was planning to take her out another way? Maybe Krystal’s entire reason for being kind to you was to bring you into a team of three with her brother for their added protection, which also gave you a better shot of surviving against the likes of Hoseok and Namjoon in a final showdown. Or perhaps you would all be taken out by some rogue from an outsider district. You had seen a couple of pretty respectable scores of 7s and 8s.

“I’m going to go make sure Namjoon is ready, I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded in recognition at Finnicks words, whilst keeping your glazed over eyes in the direction of the TV. You weren’t actually paying attention to Caesar starting to wrap up Yoongi’s interview, too busy lost in your thoughts of how impossible this whole game was. Having strategies for the arena almost felt entirely pointless given how many things had to go right in order for them to work out vs the millions of ways something could go wrong. Alliances stab each other in the back, other districts are underestimated, the Capitol always throws out insane and deadly traps. Hoseok had to be insane to think he could somehow plan for all of these factors. But perhaps insanity would be the biggest advantage in the arena.

Finnick’s knuckles wrapping against the door broke your reverie and you turned to face the sight of him and Namjoon in your doorway.

“Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, walking out to join them and following along as Finnick started on a path through the corridors.

“That’s the spirit,” Namjoon sarcastically cheered at your monotone, clapping his hand over your shoulder to give it a shake.

You immediately swatted his hand away with an annoyed twitch of your nose. Finnick sighed, not even turning around as he continued to lead you, but you could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He didn’t have time to stop and scold, as you could see you were approaching the backstage area. Several Capitol workers were busily rushing around each other, clasping clip boards, coffees, headsets, camera equipment, and a range of other items. A woman dressed in black impatiently waved her hand in Finnick’s direction with a frown. You weren’t sure if he was late or if she just hated her job.

You quickly found it was a combination of the two when she immediately scolded Finnick for showing up ‘one minute’ late as per the official schedule, before launching into snapped instructions on where you and Namjoon were to stand, how you would be called on stage, and where to go after. You didn’t say anything, and neither did Namjoon, just nodding docilely as additional staff hovered around you both; clipping on a tiny microphone, putting a small listening piece into your ear and applying last second touch ups to your hair and makeup. From here you were then escorted into a waiting section, at a wing on the side of the stage.

You swallowed a lump in your throat at the feeling of claustrophobia that the wing created. You were surrounded by large black curtains that hid you from sight and created a backdrop behind the constructed stage pieces. At the very end you could faintly see a tiny part of the stage, and a crop of short blonde hair you recognized as belonging to Athena. A few feet in front of you, behind a section marked off with red tape on floor, were the tributes from District 3 and their mentor, and at the corner of the curtain waiting with his own mentor and a stagehand, was Hoseok.

You vaguely recognized his mentor from a Hunger Games a few years ago. You didn’t recall her name, but from the sharp teeth you could see, you remembered her as the victor who had literally ripped a tribute’s throat out. You swallowed thickly thinking about Hoseok’s earlier bloodthirsty threats against your own alliance.

He was peering out from behind the curtain, watching his district mate with a bored expression, the angle giving you a view of his sharp side profile. He was dressed in a suit; fitted black pants, a white shirt with a thin black tie, topped off with a black jacket that was covered in black sequins. His outfit was completed by a pair of bronze boots, which complimented the shade of his russet hair that was styled in loose curls that framed his forehead.

His head turned at the sound of your heels on the floor, piercing brown eyes making contact with your own. You instantly froze, as if his eyes somehow were capable of inducing paralysis. He was eerily stunning, handsome beyond belief, but there was something more about him that sent shivers of fear down your spine. Memories from merely a few hours ago of him trapping you in the hallway, isolating you from the others, and forcing you into a kiss came to mind. You hated yourself for how weak you had felt, not even capable of pushing him away, again you still weren’t even sure that you wanted it to stop. Even now you could still feel the lingering tingle upon your lips, like a remaining taste of electricity that he had sparked. That same electricity was hovering in the air as the two of you stared at one another. But did you actually want him? Were you actually attracted to him, or was your fear of the games causing you to project these feelings?

“Two! You’re on!”

The stagehand’s instructions caused Hoseok to break the eye contact, nodding to the staff before turning to walk out. But not before he could look back at you once more, leaving you with a final wink. You shuddered uncomfortably, suddenly feeling cold and raising your arms to cross over your chest. You glanced up between Finnick and Namjoon, the latter watching you with a look of amusement whilst Finnick was staring out at the stage with a concerned frown. You knew he didn’t like Hoseok from the details you had already told him, so you could assume that little display didn’t help with his impression.

It was clear very early that the Capitol had taken a liking to the District 2 male. Hoseok walked out to loud applause, cheers, and a few whistles. He took it all in his stride, waving to the people, and smiling in a way that flashed his dimples and almost made his mouth look like it was in the shape of a heart. He charmed Caesar and answered his questions about his home life in two confidently (“We work hard to provide The Capitol with the finest weapons and masonry we can provide, in return the Capitol provides us with everything we need”), along with providing some details of his family life (“what can I say, I’m a momma’s boy at heart”). His mentor watched on stoically by the wings, the barest hint of a nod every now and then being her only reaction. You could tell Finnick was trying to get a read off of her, but she wasn’t giving anything away. Meanwhile the mentor for Three was doing all they could to try and reassure their tributes they weren’t going to die on stage.

“What are your expectations?”

Caesar’s question brings your focus back to their interview and you pay extra attention for this answer, given Hoseok has always been extremely vague with his actual game plan besides ‘kill everyone except you’.

“You know, it’s funny Caesar, the thing about these games is you can never truly expect anything. I spent eighteen years of my life training myself for this moment to come. I’ve studied all the arenas, prepared as much as I could for wherever we may end up, but nothing could prepare me for who was going into that arena with me. I showed up to the chariot ride and training, expecting to meet people who I would just see as targets to kill. Instead I’m now going into the arena with the love of my life.”

Oh no.

You feel your stomach drop as you instantly realize Hoseok is about to talk about you.

“Three days is an awfully short time period to fall in love with someone, don’t you think?”

“It took much less time than three days, Caesar. I was in love the second I saw her.”

Shit.

“So what was it about these games that made you realize your dormant feelings for Athena?”

Hoseok balks at Caesar’s assumption, his eyebrows raising, before he quickly moves to smooth his expression over with a laugh

“No, my feelings are for YN.”

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

“Mother fucker,” Finnick curses beside you. N

amjoon merely looks amused, whilst you also notice Hoseok’s mentor has now turned her attention from the stage to you. You feel even further unnerved from the fact she doesn’t seem remotely surprised by his words. She is far from an expressive woman, but you somehow get the feeling from her as she assesses your appearance, that it’s out of interest to know who her tribute has been talking about the last few days.

Meanwhile you wish that the floor would somehow open up and swallow you whole. Away from Hoseok’s advances, all the unwanted attention it resulted in and away an imminent painful death.

“But this is The Hunger Games, surely you know only one of you will come out alive?”

“I’m faced with an impossible task, but I’ve never felt more certain of anything in my life. Maybe we will both die in that arena, and that will be our way to live together in eternity in the next life. However, I do have one idea, and it’s a crazy long shot, but for her I have to to try.”

“Well I am just dying to know what that one idea is, but I have a feeling if I asked you wouldn’t tell me anyway!” Caesar exclaims with his trademark uproarious laugh at the end.

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok shrugs and shoots him a grin.

Caesar’s laugh continues and the audience joins in before the host bids him farewell and Hoseok leaves the stage.

You’re still lost in your desire to no longer even exist anymore that you barely register anything that has happened. You vaguely hear Hoseok’s concept of a long shot plan but it seems so unrealistic that it’s not even worth considering what it might even be. It’s not like you were planning on going along with it anyway, especially not after how he had just thrown you to the wolves in his interview.

You realize that Finnick is talking to you again, he’s trying to process Hoseok’s interview just as much as you are and has quickly taken to offering advice now. “This may not actually be too bad, maybe we can work this to our advantage. Hoseok is the top betting favorite, so potentially this can boost your odds too” … “Caesar loves gossip so the more time he spends talking about Hoseok in your interview, the less time he’s trying to extract things that could make you slip up” … “talk about your loved ones back in four” You’re not sure if you’re capable of processing his advice but you nod along anyway.

Namjoon continues to say nothing, but you don’t like the expression on his face. He has a smug air about him, similar to the one back in the apartment when his scores were read. You have an eerie feeling from him and you don’t like it.

The time district three takes for their interviews passes in what feels like seconds. Before you know it you have the stage hand waving you on stage and Finnick whispering a rushed “good luck” as you’re ushered out.

The first thing you realize is that you can barely see the audience, the bright lights being directed upon the stage are nearly blinding and you can’t see much from behind them besides a warped blur. The next thing you realize is that although you cannot see the audience, you can definitely hear them. You are met with a loud reception of applause and cheers as you make your way over to the directed couch. You attempt to take it in your stride, smiling and waving before you dip to a curtsy as you take your seat.

“Isn’t she lovely folks!”

You turn your painted on smile to Caesar, who is even more green in person. His hair is shockingly vibrant, his emerald suit reflective in the stage lights and you can see the sparkling details of his matching contacts.

“Now YN,” Caesar immediately launches into business and you mentally begin a countdown clock of the 180 seconds that you will be forced to remain in his presence. “I simply must say that you are gorgeous on camera, but even more stunning in person! I almost can’t even believe you’re a real person and not some divine creature!”

You respond with an awkward shrug and humbly averting your eyes to the floor, your hair flows down over your shoulder at the movement. The audience cheers again and whistles their approval at Caesar’s assessment of your appearance.

‘Shallow cunts.’ You remember Finnick’s words from the train, and you huff a small laugh to yourself in agreement. You allow this to bring a more natural smile to your face as you raise your eyes to meet Caesar’s once more.

“Oh Caesar, you really are too much. I assure you that much of this is the work of my talented stylists and make up artists.”

“Now, now don’t be so modest. Surely your beauty must still exist without these glamorous outfits for you to have District 2 so enamored with you!”

You have to mentally restrain yourself from scowling at the mention of Hoseok and his interview. Instead you settle for attempting to coolly rebuff him.

“I’m flattered, but really I don’t even know him.”

Caesar isn’t deterred and continues with his angle.

“But yet Hoseok still fell in love with you. And who could blame him folks I mean look at her everybody isn’t she gorgeous!”

At this the crowd launches into another round of applause. You attempt to appear bashful, yet flattered. You pretend to hide behind one hand whilst waving to the audience with the other.

“Now come on YN, tell us what you really think of Hoseok,” Caesar begins to press and you find yourself becoming increasingly frustrated with how he’s making your interview about another competitor. As if you are only in these games to exist as a romantic interest for a man.

“I don’t.” You reply bluntly, and if you weren’t in a fight for your life that relied upon being likeable you would have folded your arms and left it at exactly that. But instead your force yourself to continue on.

“At least not in an emotional sense. These games are so intense, from the parade, to the three days of training, the assessment, and now this interview, and that’s before we even step inside the arena. I barely have time to breathe, let alone develop a romantic connection.”

You hope this is enough to get him off your back.

“She’s really not going to give us anything!”

You’re confused for a moment before you realize that Caesar thinks you’re lying.

“I swear, it’s the truth,” you try to implore, looking at Caesar in the eyes before trying to see into the audience as if begging them all to believe you.

“The only man I love is back home in four, my father. I can’t allow myself to get distracted by anyone when I need to win to see him again. My mother died a few years ago and I’m an only child. All we have left in this world is each other.”

You have to stop and take a deep breath as by the end your throat is starting to choke up. You’ve barely allowed any thoughts of home to enter your mind, as you know it will only lead to you becoming upset and you have to remain focused for any chance of survival.

Sensing your distress Caesar finally starts to change the topic.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry about your mother,” he coos and you hear similar hushed “awes” from the crowd.

You refrain from snapping that they’re clearly not sorry about the loss of life to prevent the annual slaughter of twenty teenagers. Instead you settle for a demure “thank you”.

The remainder of your interview is spent talking about your parents, your home, your work on the boat and ends on a final note of your skills with a knife. By the end you are exhausted; emotionally spent from the topic of your parents and feeling like Caesar had somehow drained the energy out of you through his exuberant and overbearing presence.

After your final courtesy to Caesar and the audience, you are directed to an exit on the opposite end of the stage from which you came. You don’t stick around to watch Namjoon from the side, all you want is to be by yourself and you figure that your dressing room is probably the best place for that. Following signs that are up on the walls of the hallway, you easily navigate yourself back to your room. Though you pass some of the other tributes who are approaching the stage for their interviews, you are relieved you don’t see anyone you really recognize.

Entering your room, you head straight for the chair you had been sitting in before, noticing that the TV had been left on from before. The camera was focused on Namjoon who sat comfortably on the lounge, and gave the impression that he was totally at ease.

“…doesn’t know what he’s talking about when it comes to Y/N.” you catch him mention your name and frown.

“He thinks he’s fallen in love with her at first sight just because she’s beautiful, which of course she is, I mean come on Caesar we all have eyes.”

He pauses to look to the audience with his arms outstretched, as if he’s stating the obvious, and they respond with a laugh. Caesar cackles along, clearly please to have a guest that is hamming it up for the cameras.

“But she’s my teammate. We’ll work together in the career pack as long as we can but when that inevitably reaches the end I’ll be the one protecting her, not him. He’s known her for less than a week, we grew up together.”

What?

“Why Namjoon, is there a bit of a love triangle going on here!”

“There just might be”

Whatever relief you were hoping to find upon your interview being over and finally having some time alone was absolute gone. For the second time in less than half an hour, you feel as if your stomach is made of lead and plummeting to the floor.

“Tell us more! You simply have to tell us more! When did you first realize your true feelings for our darling YN?”

He doesn’t!

“There was no moment, no instant spark, because that’s not how love really works. Love is the familiar, the regular presence and comfort she brings just from knowing she’s in my life. Her name was never meant to have been called at the reaping and I wish when I volunteered it could have been in her pla-”

“What a load of bullshit!” Your cry at the television, cutting off the sound of Namjoon’s lies, as you threw the remote at the screen.

Perhaps the Capitol had experienced tribute outbreaks in the past because it merely bounced off the surface, however it thankfully turned off the stream. You bunched the skirt of your dress in your hands, preparing to storm out onto the stage and call out Namjoon’s bluff yourself. You turned towards the exit of the room, only to swirl into a hard surface. You grunted at the impact of hitting a muscular body, the toned figure made you think it was a Capitol security guard coming to investigate your TV tantrum, but a familiar drawl suddenly caused your blood to run cold.

“What’s the rush, darling?”

Even in all his terror, Jung Hoseok truly was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. The television cameras failed to do him justice. They didn’t capture the warmth to his skin, the softness of his hair, nor the addictive scent you were being forced to inhale from his sudden presence.

“What are you doing here?”

Your voice was unintentionally soft as a whisper, almost as if you were praying he wasn’t really in the room. But your hands on his chest from where you had collided reminded you he very much was real, as you tried to push yourself away. He only hummed in contentment upon feeling your touch on his body, locking his hands upon your wrists to keep them there. Hoseok’s long fingers were like iron chains, grasping so tightly you couldn’t even think to try and push past him.

“Get out, or I’ll scream,” you hiss, trying to sound threatening, but the instinctual fear that Hoseok’s presence set off only caused your breath to shake and your words to sound pleading.

The corner of Hoseok’s lip raised upwards into a cruel curl as he stepped forward, you instantly took a matching step back. But this only continued until your back collided with the wall, his body pushed against yours and your wrists held tightly in his clutches.

“I thought you were going to scream?” he taunts, cocking his head to the side, his eyes seeming to sparkle with glee as he mocked you. You were trembling, you had wanted to scream, but the second he started to advance upon you all of your thoughts had instantly turned into flight mode, foolishly backing away until there was no space left to go. Oh god, you truly were dead once you stepped into that arena tomorrow. Over his shoulder you could see the door shut on the other end of the room, with no way for anyone to see him inside of your room. How had he even managed to get inside without being noticed?

“HEL-”

Before you could even get a word out, his forearm was pressed against your windpipe, cutting off your cry. Your already panicked eyes blew wide open in fear, unable to move or breathe.

“Shhhh,” he coos, leaning in so his lips were ever so slightly hovering over yours as you tried to push him off – your lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen.

“You know I promised not to hurt you love, but if you’re going to be that fucking stupid then you leave me no choice.”

Restricted between his body and the wall, it was all you could do to vainly scratch your nails against his grip on your wrists, desperately trying to get him to release his hold. But all Hoseok did in return was gently brush his lips to yours, in a move that contradicted his violent chokehold, before pulling back to watch you struggle.

“C-a-nt … br-eee…” with no air, you barely made a sound, eyes watering in pain. You try to kick, but Hoseok’s body is too close, his hips and thighs pressing against yours making it impossible to move.

Finally, his pressure relaxes, although his arm still remains resting upon your throat.

You inhale a choked gasp before letting out a broken cough. You weren’t sure how long he had cut off your airway, every second burning in agony had felt like a minute, and the impact left you struggling to regain your breath even after he had backed off. Meanwhile Hoseok released his hold on your hands to snake his arm behind your waist and pat against your back, as you continued to splutter trying to suck in air with tears streaking down your face.

“You’re insane,” you wheeze, voice raspy and barely audible, but Hoseok’s quirked lip breaking into a wicked smile showed you that he had heard.

“Only because you drive me crazy,” he grins, moving his arm away from your throat to catch a tear rolling down your cheek with his thumb.

Your head was spinning and your vision was filled the kind of black spots you would get if you stood up too fast. Your throat was sore and your lungs still burned as you tried to regain your breathing. Too weak to fight back, it was all you could do to try and lean as far away from him as you could, turning your face to the side. But Hoseok wasn’t having any of that, tightening his hold on your waist.

A choked whimper escaped from your lips, the sound similar to that of an injured animal. You were frightened by the ease he had overpowered you, contrasted by his sickening affection. With his arm holding you around the waist, he gently rubbed his palm up and down against your back. His other hand came to rest on the side of your head, tenderly running his fingers through your hair, as if soothing a child woken up by a nightmare.

“I hate you.”

Your voice was a strained whisper, as your eyes deliberately focused on the ground to avoid his burning stare.

Hoseok merely hums in recognition, content to remain in this position for as long as possible – trying to ingrain everything into his memory. The softness of your hair was like liquid silk passing though his fingertips. Despite the thickness of the bodice, he could still feel the warmth of your body beneath his palm through your dress. As he looked down, he had a direct view of your exposed cleavage pressing against his chest, watching the swell of your breasts heave with every breath.

‘Soft, soft, soft’ his mind repeats over every little detail. From your hair, to your skin, to your breasts and your scent, everything about you was so delicate and enticing. He almost felt bad for how roughly he had handled you, except that doing so had resulted in you becoming so pliant in his arms. ‘a necessary evil’

“Good,” was his eventual reply.

“I hate you,” You repeat again, raising your chin to glare at him for dismissing your anger so flippantly.

He only smiled at you fondly in return.

“I love you.”

It was somehow like he had knocked the winds from your lungs all over again. In his interview it was possibly an insane strategy, but seeing the burning intensity in his eyes as he stared at you like you were the only thing in the universe, made you truly realize that this was what he actually believed.

“That’s impossible, we’ve known each other for three days,” you hiss back. “And you don’t hurt someone you love!” 

Hoseok closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slowly.

“Oh but darling, you hurt the ones you love the most”

As if to emphasize his words, his hands in your hair tighten into a painful grasp, causing you to whimper. You reach both of your hands up to hold onto his grip, trying to get him to release. In turn, he does, but only ever so slightly, just so he can enjoy the feeling of your hands touching him.

He leans further in to press his lips to the shell of your ear, the tickling feeling of his breath causing you to shiver.

“I love you so much it causes me far more pain than whatever you’re feeling now. I looked at you for one moment and you were like an insidious vine that crawled inside of my veins to wrap around my heart. So now it belongs to you, beats for you, burns for you and craves only you.”

“Please, I didn’t do anythi-”

You tried to beg, but he immediately cut you off.

“That doesn’t matter.” He snaps and you flinch.

“The instant I saw you it was like every tie that once bound me to this earth was cut, and then every thread was tied to you. In just a second you become my oxygen, my gravity, my entire reason for being.

Every night since the moment I saw you, I have dreamed of you. I dreamed of kissing you senseless at the chariots, like how I wanted to do the moment we met. I dreamed of you during training, that it was my bed you came back to at night. When I saw you in this dress I instantly knew that tonight I will dream of making you my wife. And I have a plan that will make that dream a reality.”

Finally, he released his hold on your body, stepping back to watch as you slump against the wall and slowly fall to sit upon the ground in a combination of exhaustion and horror. Your eyes were wide in a shell shocked daze.

Slowly, he steps backwards towards the door, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. But you don’t even notice. You’re no longer even looking at him anymore, just staring emptily at the room, but not seeing anything inside

“If you try to run from me tomorrow, I will find you. I will hunt you down and drag you back to me, where you belong.”

For a brief moment you regain a sense of clarity to ask him the question that has been burning in your mind ever since he started his insane proclamations.

“What happens when we’re the last two? Who dies?”

Stepping out of the room, his answer offers you no sense of closure before he shuts the door behind him…

“You leave that for me to deal with. All you need to know is that you will leave these games by my side, or not at all.”

 ***

 After Hoseok had left you in your dressing room, you had immediately scrambled to your feet to lock the door behind him. From there you rushed to strip out of your dress and back into your lounge clothes. Grabbing wipes from the counter, you angrily scrubbed off all the make up from your face. You weren’t sure if you had to go back out on stage at the end with all the other tributes, frankly you didn’t care.

“Hello?”

You’re startled by a knock at the door.

“It’s Finnick, can I come in for a moment?”

You suppose he’s only asking to be polite, given he very likely has access to any room you’re in as a mentor. With a huff you storm over to the door, unlocking it and wrenching it open.

“Did you tell him to say that about me?” You snap, referring to Namjoon and his earlier interview. Finnick hurriedly enters the room and pulls the door shut behind him.

“Is this part of your little fucked up plan for the tribute with the better prospects to actually win, by using me to try and humanize that bastard?” You continue to yell.

“No!” Finnick replies, vigorously shaking his head.

“Then what the fuck was that?” Your pent up frustration and anger comes out in a harsh shove, causing Finnick to stumble backwards, though he quickly regains his balance.

“I only told him to show that he cared about you as a teammate” Finnick sighs, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture, whilst emphasizing the word ‘teammate’ slowly. “I swear I never told him anything about acting like he had romantic feelings.”

You immediately feel bad for pushing him.

“Whatever rage you feel at me, and especially at him, save it. Save it and use it tomorrow the first thing you wake up because that is what you’re going to need to become a killer.”

“Can I kill him tomorrow?”

The question slips out before you can think it might be a bad idea to confess to your mutual mentor that wish to kill your district partner.

“If you think you can, that is the game after all,” Finnick shrugs with a lopsided grin.

You’re too stressed to properly laugh, but you let out an amused hum at his quip. You’re grateful for Finnick’s good nature towards you.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” you apologize.

“It’s fine,” Finnick quickly shrugs it off.

His relaxed demeanor quickly tenses though, before he turns back to the door to make sure it’s locked behind him. You mentally kick yourself for not doing that earlier.

“Listen, I’m here because I wanted to tell you that it appears the president has taken a liking to you.”

You blanch.

From all the ridiculous shit you have heard today, the president joining your little fan club is the least thing you expected.

“President Snow? But why?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain, but if you remember when we first met on the train I told you that the Capitol loves beautiful things. I wanted to at least warn you.”

You nod to show you remember the conversation, but you’re still confused as to how this involves the president.

“But isn’t this a good thing? Maybe I might even be able to survive if the president wants me to. All those ‘natural disasters’ that game makers can cause and all”

“Yes, it’s very likely you won’t be impacted by that in the game. I especially wanted to tell you that alone, because I feel Namjoon would be too short sighted and threatened by any idea of favoritism, to see the long term benefits of keeping a protected tribute in his alliance.”

You nod again.

“Is that all?”

“No.”

Finnick pauses.

His intended break slowly extends into an uncomfortable silence. You want to ask him what he’s trying to say but you can tell he’s struggling to find the words, so you remain quiet and let him think.

“If you win, you don’t just survive the games and retire in peace in the victor’s village.” He eventually begins. “You have to keep coming back; for the victor’s parade, as a mentor, for visits to the Capitol for all your adoring fans”

“I… I could do that,” you respond, but the pained look in Finnick’s eyes tells you that there is more.

“But you don’t deserve to have to.”

It’s a strange moment to watch your mentor, the person you trust to be strong, the survivor of these games, appearing vulnerable before your eyes. The six foot one man in front of you is suddenly just another teenager, around the same age as you.

“As a tribute, what I wish more than anything my mentor had warned me about, wasn’t what was inside of the arena, but what awaited outside. I can forgive you for being preoccupied and not noticing but I haven’t been spending any of these nights in my own bed since we’ve been here and that’s not by my own choice”

“Why?” you whisper, although a sickening sensation in your gut tells you, you can imagine the reason why.

“The Capitol loves beautiful things.”

You don’t know what to say. There’s nothing you ever could say to express your sympathy for his situation. You’re torn between wishing to offer comfort that you cannot, and a newly awakened fear that this could be what awaits you should you somehow make it out alive.

“I wish I could say that you are too young to hear this, but I needed to hear it at fourteen, and I have spent every day since winning those games regretting the fact that I did. There are fates in life that are much worse than death. By all means fight to protect yourself in that arena, no child or barely legal adult deserves a painful death, but if an opportunity presents itself to go in peace, seize it, or else you will spend every waking moment of your life outside in regret.”

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Does anyone think the United States will exist as it does today in 2026?

That's the semiquincentennial, our 250th anniversary, and I honestly do not know if the country will make it there in one piece. 2024 is going to be a DISASTROUS presidential election, with multiple state governments already promising to interfere with any results they don't like, and I just KNOW the military is gonna tie itself up in some new overseas bullshit we don't belong in because America doesn't "do" the whole peacetime thing. Our economy is built on war, half the population base their entire political identity on war, so the absence of war will leave those nutjobs itching for a fix, like addicts in withdrawal. Things have only gotten worse in the last year, when everyone was expecting it to magically get better once Trump was gone, and no matter how dee we plunge I just don't see rock bottom coming anytime soon.

The judiciary has shown itself to no longer be independent and impartial. We knew this was coming, but the fact that the Republican Party now openly runs on a platform of packing the courts to het favorable rulings is despicable. And they PROJECT, every single horrible thing they do or plan on doing, they project it onto their opponents. They will admonish the Democrats for something they don't plan on doing, then turn around and do exactly that thing; they call all their shots, they're an open book, they have no poker face and yet we're powerless to stop them. It's an ego thing, they get off on being cruel and rubbing our noses in it. I WISH the Democrats were as radical as the Republicans claim they are. If the Democrats did half the things they were accused of, the Republicans would never win another election.

I'm surprised there haven't been more assassination attempts from either side. Tensions are so high, politicians are so divisive, our culture is so polarized, I'm amazed we don't hear of crazed gunmen going after senators and judges every day. It's a powder keg waiting to go off; once one gets taken out, all hell will break loose as both sides race to take out the other before the powers that be can step in to stop it. If someone killed a right wing politician, do you honestly believe there would be no retaliation? I could see a left winger getting shot and no one giving a shit, but a right winger getting shot would lead to all out war, I'm sure of it. Double standard. Establishment Democrats would trust the justice system to work it out through long protracted legal channels, while Republicans would take matters into their own hands and start picking off opponents one at a time. Tit for tat.

I wouldn't doubt it if 2026 saw a rise in right wing extremism. All the nationalists would be empowered by the anniversary, especially if they took back power in 2024 and appointed a couple extra Supreme Court justices (let's be honest; Breyer is gonna end up being Ginsburg 2.0, retiring or dying with a Republican in office. Thomas claims to be in for life, he's got a good 15 or 20 more years left in him, but I have a feeling he'll retire like Kennedy once the Republicans get back in power, replaced by some rising Nazi starlet who is even more conservative and less impartial than he is).

We need judicial term limits. Not mandatory retirement ages, actual set term limits, because if you require justices to retire at age 70, all you're gonna end up doing is incentivize the parties to start nominating younger and younger justices. If they HAVE to retire at 70, why would you ever nominate someone over the age of 60? We'd start seeing justices in their 40s, maybe even their 30s, newly barred lawyers who've never heard a case but promise to vote however the party wants them to for help rest of their lives. No, what we need is to stagger the seats so that one retires every two or three years, ensuring that there's always fresh blood being injected into the justice system, new voices who know they can't just sit pretty forever.

We need Congressional term limits too; maybe 2 or 3 for senators, and like 5 or 6 for the house.

We need a whole slew of new amendments. Hell, at this point I'd say we need a Constitutional Convention to rewrite the whole document from the ground up. Fresh start. The old way isn't working. Other countries change their constitutions all the time, so why do Americans fetishize theirs as though it's somehow special? It's built on the will of the people, and people's wills change over the centuries. 27 updates in 250 years is far too few.

[youreacowgirllikeme]

After Class

note: so, I wasn’t really able to get that image of Jake as a college/university professor out of my head and this kind of happened, idk if it qualifies as an AU but anyway, here is Professor!Jake for you

(sorry for the grammar, non-native speaker here)

warnings: professor-student relationship, swearing, smut (fingering, oral), nsfw

“Shit, shit , shit.”

You ran through the empty hallways towards the lecture hall, the old clock on the wall telling you what you already knew: you were late, almost 20 minutes. And just because you overslept after working on that essay for your political history class till 4 am last night.

Professor Tapper would be so mad, he absolutely hated unpunctuality. Just the thought of him being angry or disappointed with you made you quicken your step even more, because Jacob Tapper was the very man you desperately tried to impress more than anyone else.

He usually worked as the lead political correspondent for CNN down in Washington DC, but, as he stated at the start of his first lecture, decided to take a sabbatical after the 2020 election, using the time to teach at his alma mater as a guest Professor.

He was brilliant, a walking history encyclopedia and was considered to be one of the sharpest political minds of the generation. His lectures were the perfect mix of both of those subjects, and he was throwing in a lot of his journalistic expertise as well. You admired him and truly enjoyed having him as your Professor. And you would’ve loved nothing more than to take in every single brilliant thing he said. But there was one tiny problem.

Because above all, he was hot. Like, please-bend-me-over-your-desk-after-class-hot. That very fact was often making it incredibly hard for you to pay attention to what he was saying, so you spent your lessons staring at his back, his hands, his face from the last row, letting his deep, smooth voice wash over you.

Even if he was more than 20 years older than you, you really had it bad for him, which was one of the reasons you lost sleep every night. That, and his very demanding curriculum.

Out of breath, you finally arrived at the doors of the lecture hall, opening them as quietly as possible, trying to sneak into the room without anyone taking notice of you.

“How nice of you to finally join us, Ms. Y/L/N“

Shit. He had noticed you.

And as you looked to where he was standing in front of the class you could see a deep frown on his handsome face.

He was, as usually, impeccably dressed, wearing a dark blue suit and his glasses, which were a personal weakness of yours.

It took a small cough from one of your classmates for you to stop staring at Professor Tapper and actually addressing him instead of undressing him with your eyes.

“I am so sorry for being late, Sir, it certainly won’t happen again.“ you stammered, feeling like you might faint from the embarrassment of the situation.

"I will certainly hold you to that. Still, come and see me after class to discuss this, please.“ he said, his stern voice and intense stare making your heart almost burst out of your chest.

He turned to the blackboard again, continuing to talk about McCarthyism, his deep voice carrying effortlessly through the lecture hall.

You were still beyond embarrassed that he called you out like that, and even more so because it was very likely that he caught you staring at him. You hastily made your way to the nearest free seat, fortunately this was a Dartmouth senior class and not Highschool, so there were no snickers or silly comments, you didn’t draw much attention.

You spent the remainder of the lesson trying to focus on the actual topic instead of how broad your professors shoulders looked in that tailored suit jacket, or how perfectly styled his grey hair was. Unsurprisingly, you had no success as your mind wandered even further down the dangerous path of attraction you had for Professor Tapper, thinking about the things those long, elegant fingers holding the chalk could do to you or what dirty words he could whisper against your skin with this sinful voice of his.

You were so caught up in your inappropriate daydreaming that you totally missed your Professor ending the lecture and dismissing your classmates.

You heard your name being called, and looked up, startled. Professor Tapper was standing right in front of your desk, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

“We definetly need to talk about your attitude regarding this class, Ms. Y/L/N. Not only have you been late for the fourth time this month, your participation is severely lacking, to put it mildly. I...I don’t get it.” He said, his voice staring to get louder. He ran his hand through his hair, looking exasperated.

“Your submitted papers are extraordinarily good, your analysis is always spot on, and you find a way of comprehending the topics that no one of your classmates seem to grasp. And yet you spend each one of my lessons not paying attention, you’re not able to awnser any questions and you never partake in discussions. What is the matter? Am I boring you?“

He grew more agitated with each sentence, now leaning onto your desk with both arms and staring directly at you. If he only knew how far from bored you were in his class.

You felt like you were frozen, held in place by the way his eyes were looking straight into yours. His fingers were gripping the edge of your desk now, it took everything in you not to stare at the veins on the back of his hand. And, worst of all, you felt a blush starting to creep up your neck. You couldn’t get a single word out.

“I asked you a question, Ms. Y/L/N.” there was sincere anger evident in his voice now.

„I’m...I’m so sorry, Professor Tapper. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It doesn’t come from a place of disrespect, because I have nothing but admiration for you...” you stopped yourself before saying something you might regret. You could feel your blush intensifying.

A look of realization flashed over your Professors face.

“Oh, so thats what this is all about, I see.” he murmured, and turned around, walking towards his own desk in the front of the classroom.

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements to get you transferred to Professor Coopers class. This situation is highly inappropriate and it can’t interfere with your academial career, I won’t allow it.”

You were shocked.

Quitting Professor Tappers class? Never having another lecture with him again seemed like an impossible thing to even imagine. Before you could stop yourself, you began to speak again.

“No, Sir, please don’t do this. I’ll get a grip on it, I promise. It’s a silly crush, I won’t act on it, ever. I’ll never be late again, and I’ll participate, I’ll respond to every single question you give me, just please don’t make me quit your class.” you pleaded.

Your professor didn’t answer, so you got up from your chair and made your way over to him, coming to a halt in front of his desk. He was looking at you, eyes dark, an almost pained expression on his face. You took the paper you spent all night finishing out of your bag, putting it on his desk.

“This is my latest assignment, please read it before you make your decision. I am really putting so much effort into my work for this class, and I can’t imagine going to another professor with my questions. Please don’t send me away.” You were almost begging now, desperation evident in your voice.

Professor Tapper sighed and took of his glasses, the motion making your heart go fast you felt arousal starting to burn in your lower stomach. He was too attractive for his own good. You realized, too late, that you said the last part out loud.

“Sorry.” you whispered, not daring to meet his eye.

“Ms...Y/N” he said, addressing you by your first name for the first time ever.

You looked up to him.

“What you don’t understand is that I can’t allow myself to teach you anymore, considering this new...development. I just can’t do it.”

He took another deep breath, looking as if he was under an immense amount of stress. His shoulders were tense, and the crease between his eyebrows was more prominent then ever.

“But why?” you cried, “we can act like this whole conversation never happened. Nothing has to change, I’ll do better, I promise!”

He slammed his palm onto the table, the loud noise echoing through the empty lecture hall.

“Because it takes every damn ounce of my self control not to throw you over this desk right now and have my way with you, so how the hell am I supposed to teach you every day knowing that this is exactly what you want me to do? Staring at me like you’re doing it right now? I can’t do it!”

he was almost shouting now, breathing heavily. He was leaning over his desk so that his face was just inches apart from yours, close enough for you to see the small wrinkles around his eyes and how his lips were slightly parted.

And then you just leaned over and kissed him. His lips were soft but unmoving under yours. He was absolutely rigid for a second. Then he groaned against your mouth, and one of his hands reached out to cup your jaw and pull you closer, deepening the kiss.

A moan escaped your lips, and he broke free, taking several steps back from you. He was breathing hard and you could see a bulge beginning to form in his suit pants.

“Y/N, you have to leave. Now. We can’t do this.”

But there was no chance you were throwing away this opportunity. You’ve wanted this man for months, and this was your shot. So you slowly circled the desk and stopped right in front of Professor Tapper.

Gathering all your courage, you put one of your hands on his arm...and let the other one brush against his tight, close to his crotch. He let out a hiss, but didn’t make an attempt to remove your hands. His body was tense, but his eyes were dark and full of desire. He clearly wanted this as much as you did.

“No one needs to know. “ you whispered. “We obviously both want this, we’re both adults and you’re not even responsible for my final exam. You’re a guest professor, plus my graduation is only two months away anyway. I’ve wanted this, you, since I first stepped into your class.”

This broke his last resolve, he surged forward and started kissing you again, harder this time, his hands roaming your back, going downwards and squeezing your ass through your skirt as he pressed you against the hardening bulge in his trousers. "Fuck...are you sure you want to do this?“ he groaned into your ear. You just managed a breathy „Oh my god, yes.“

He instantly grabbed your hair to tilt your head back and cover your exposed neck with kisses and nibbles, making your skin break out in goosebumps and heat coiling in your lower stomach. You could feel yourself starting to get wet, and grinded your core against his erection again, your hands fisted into the lapels of his suit jacket. You moved against him, causing him to groan again, the deep, rumbling sound only fueling your arousal.

Your hands were shaking as you started working on his fly, opening the zipper and palming his cock through his boxer briefs.

While he continued to kiss your neck, his hands found their way under your skirt and he quickly pulled your panties down. As soon as your hot center was exposed, one of his long fingers parted your folds, gathering wetness.

Two of his digits entered you in a swift motion and the feeling of his fingers stretching you was like heaven. He was stroking that special spot deep inside you with every move as he plunged in and out of your wet pussy.

You buried you head in Jacobs (yes, you started thinking of him as Jacob, which was fair enough considering he had his fingers buried inside you) shoulder, muffling your increasing moans as you felt your orgasm approaching. The familiar tingling started low in your belly and slowly spread into every part of your body as Jake continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you faster and faster, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit in the most delicious way.

"I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, feel you come apart under me. Come on, darling, come on my fingers.“ he growled into your ear and bit your earlobe. That was the last straw and you came with a cry, your walls clenching around his fingers as pleasure surged through you.

Your knees were weak as you slowly removed your head from his shoulder to look him in the eyes. His blown pupils and heavy breathing were making it obvious that this was affecting him just as much as you, which was also evident from the very prominent erection that was tenting his boxer briefs through the open fly. He carefully withdrew his fingers and quickly wiped them on his pants.

"Wow“ you said, still trying to find your breath. "That was...amazing“

Your head was still spinning a bit from the intensity of your orgasm, but you were already thinking about how to repay him for making you feel so good.

You reached out your hand to palm his erection again, making him utter a low groan. Leaning forward, you whispered into his ear.

"Let me reciprocate, please.”

"You don’t have to-"

You broke him off with a small smirk.

"Please, I insist.”

Without hesitation, you dropped to your knees in front of him. He watched you intensely, sucking in a sharp breath as you looked up to him from under your lashes while you slowly pulled down his briefs along with his trousers. His erection sprung free, and you wasted no time, putting your hand around the base and slowly started taking the head into your mouth. You could feel his cock heavy on your tongue as you slowly sucked him deeper. One of his hands fisted into your hair and he started thrusting in and out of your mouth.

You put your hands onto his thighs for leverage, softly scraping you nails across his skin, which only seemed to spur him on, his thrusts starting to become deeper.

“God, Y/N, your mouth feels absolutely fantastic. You look so beautiful on your knees, sucking me off, taking my cock between your pretty lips.”

You almost couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of your usually so eloquent Professors mouth. Who would’ve known he could talk so dirty.

It turned you on, immensely, and you increased your efforts, taking him even deeper into your mouth. You could feel his thrusts starting to quicken, and even if it was getting harder for you not to gag, you were enjoying this slightly rough treatment.

"Shit, I’m- I’m going to come, Y/N.” he gasped, locking eyes with you.

You nodded your head as far as it was possible, signaling him to not stop. Instead, you wrapped your hands around his legs and swallowed his cock deeper until it was hitting the back of your throat. He let out a deep, guttural moan and tightened his grip on your hair almost painfully as he came inside your mouth.

You released him, wiping the spit from your lips and looked up at your Professor. He was a sight to behold, dark eyes, tousled hair, leaning against his desk as he was slowly coming down from his high. You spoke first, getting up from the floor.

“I...liked that.” you said, unsure of what to say exactly.

He took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his face.

“It was absolutely amazing. But we shouldn’t have done it. The very last thing I want is to take advantage of you. You deserve to be treated right.” he said in a low voice as he was readjusting his clothing. Hearing him say those things made a warm, happy feeling spread inside your chest. He cared. This hasn’t been just some quick way to blow off steam.

“You treated me exactly right, please dont worry...Jacob” you said, testing out the unfamiliar first name. He just nodded, and then his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight hug as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

“Thank you so much. But if you want this to continue, I must insist that you transfer into Professor Coopers class. Please, Y/N.”

his voice was heavy with emotion and he released you from the embrace to look directly at you.

“I agree. And I very much want this to continue, so I’m gonna transfer. It’s only for a few more weeks anyway. But, and this is my condition, you have to take me out for dinner this weekend.”

“Fair enough. I’d love to take you out properly. And please, call me Jake.”

[mariacallous]

Three women failed to get selected for top public broadcaster jobs despite being rated best in recruitment processes – raising concerns about equal opportunities in the organisation.

When the Kosovo Assembly, dominated by the ruling Vetëvendosje party, elected the board of Radio Television of Kosovo, RTK, in July 2021, it promised that the public broadcaster would undergo profound reform, leading to its complete reorganization.

A BIRN investigation shows that this reorganization was accompanied by controversial appointment processes that prevented three women from getting the top management positions that they had been selected for.

Longtime RTK workers Ilire Zajmi, Flora Durmishi and Mihrije Bejiqi, two journalists and a lawyer, scored best in three different recruitment processes for leading positions – but the posts were instead taken by men who’d received lower scores in the evaluations of the recruiting commissions.

Men currently occupy the top positions in RTK, including board chairman, general director, director of television, director of radio and administrative director.

The broadcaster denies allegations of gender discrimination, stating that meritocracy prevails and that professional women are continuously supported.

Job contest deemed ‘tainted’ after she came first

This was not the first time Ilire Zajmi encountered recruitment problems.

At the end of 2022, after 15 years running the Center for Professional Development at RTK, Zajmi applied for the position of Deputy General Director, the second most important position in the RTK management hierarchy.

She says she was excited by the news that she was rated the best candidate in the recruitment process.

“It was the first time I was applying for a top managerial position, and when I heard the results, I felt that, finally, someone was acknowledging my work,” Zajmi said.

“On December 20, one day after I was placed first in the job interview, Besnik Boletini [chairman of the RTK Board], invited me to a meeting and told me: ‘This job contest was tainted and there were rules violations,’” Zajmi explained.

Arta Avdiu, the chairperson of the panel, told BIRN that she had ranked Zajmi first on the list “based on her experience at RTK and taking into account her proficiency in foreign languages”. Zajmi speaks English, Italian, Turkish, French and Serbian in addition to Albanian.

Zajmi said she insisted on knowing what these so-called violations were, but Boletini did not provide any details.

The meeting took place in the most prominent building in Prishtina, the Radio Kosovo triangle block, whose tall antenna overlooks the capital.

Following that meeting, the interview results were annulled and the process was rerun. Interviews were organised for the second time, by the same commission, because the candidate who came third, Rilind Gërvalla, had filed a complaint.

Boletini, who told BIRN that he does not interfere in RTK competitions and recruitment, does not deny meeting Zajmi, but claims it was a chance meeting.

On the other hand, Zajmi provided BIRN with correspondence showing Boletini had asked for the meeting.

Boletini, however, said that “the recruitment process for these positions is not handled by us on the board”.

“The entire procedure is managed by the management, where selection committees are formed. What we are trying to create, and what I consider progress, is a meritocracy where the most meritorious are chosen,” Boletini added.

When it was made impossible for her to run for RTK’s Deputy General Director, Zajmi turned her attention to Head of Online Media, a position she held as acting director for more than a year.

When the recruitment panel opted for another woman, Zajmi took the case to Labour Inspectorate, which ruled in her favour and fined RTK 1,500 euros, citing several violations during the process.

Zajmi said she is convinced that “women at RTK are not encouraged to be promoted in their careers.

“The opposite happens. Women with professional backgrounds, dignity, work experience and ego are discriminated against and fought against,” Zajmi told BIRN on August 21.

Sidelined by male journalist who used homophobic language

Flora Durmishi, who has worked as a radio journalist for more than four decades, says that she was also “stepped over” for the position of Director of Radio at RTK.

She said that right at the start of her application process she received a problematic message that she did not believe initially, but turned out to be accurate. She said that Shkumbin Ahmetxhekaj, the Director General of RTK, had told her: “Flora, the Board doesn’t want you.”

She nevertheless applied for the Director of Radio post that opened at the end of 2022.

Ahmetxhekaj confirmed that a conversation with Durmishi took place but says it was a friendly conversation, “referring to the fact that the board had rejected another of my colleagues whom I considered important for my team”.

Despite coming first in the recruitment process, five out of the 11 board members voted against her.

When the job contest for Director of Radio reopened a few months later, the board chose Arsim Halili, a journalist who had been reprimanded for using homophobic language in 2016 by the Kosovo Press Council, KPC, – comments for which he later apologized.

“After I came first in the contest, I was surprised and disappointed that not only the men [Boletini and Driton Hetemi] but also three women on the RTK Board [Arta Berisha, Deputy Chair of the RTK Board, Albulena Mehmeti, and Fatime Lumi] decided without any justification not to support me,” Durmishi said.

When Kurti’s Vetevendosje won a majority in parliament in February 2021, Doarsa Kica Xhelili, a former MP for the party, was appointed to the panel for selecting RTK board members.

She wanted to impose a 50/50 gender quota during the selection process. One year later, Kica Xhelili switched her political allegiance to the opposition Democratic League of Kosovo, LDK.

Speaking on the latest setbacks to women in RTK, Kica Xhelkili said: “It is unfortunate that RTK Board is not respecting the gender quota by which they were elected themselves.”

“We have not fought that battle for the Board to forget the basic principles on which they were elected, which were meritocracy, complete avoidance of political interference and gender equality,” she told BIRN.

The Pristina-based womens’ rights organization, Kosovo Womens Network, KWN, also criticized RTK.

“As the only public broadcaster, RTK has also an emancipating responsibility to be an example of the respect of law and promotion of gender equality in Kosovo society,” KWN said on September 1, the day BIRN Kosovo published its findings.

Disappointment came fast also for Mihrije Beiqi, a longtime RTK staffer who applied for the post of Head of Common Services, which oversees all administration and is the fourth most important position at RTK.

She was the most-voted candidate in the recruitment process. But when her name was sent to Board for the final vote, its members did not support her candidacy.

Following this rejection, Beiqi filed a complaint at the Pristina Basic Court and is now awaiting the court process.

“They [the Board] deliberately discriminated against me in favour of a man with lower managerial experience, but who came from the government to be employed in the media,” Beiqi said.

Beiqi was referring to Alban Fetahu, who was working in the Ministry of Finance and was later chosen to be head of administration in RTK.

BIRN filed a Freedom of Information request for Fetahu’s CV to confirm his managerial experience but neither RTK, nor Fetahu, responded by time of publication.

RTK General Director Skkumbin Ahmetxhekaj on August 21 denied allegations of gender discrimination during recruitment processes in RTK.

“This year, in five internal job contests for leadership positions, four of them were won by women, all of whom have been part of RTK: Heads of the Legal Office, Marketing, Online Media, and International Relations,” Ahmetxhekaj said.

Arta Avdiu, who was appointed as Acting Director of TV at RTK from September 2022 until March this year, before a man was selected for the position – Rilind Gërvalla – told BIRN that RTK does not encourage women to advance.

“At the last management meeting, around May, when I was present, I made a comment in front of everyone, saying that what we have is ‘macho management’.

“At the start of my tenure as director, General Director Ahmetxhekaj had declared that during his stewardship at the RTK, there would be more women in management. Unfortunately, that did not happen,” Avdiu said.

[castielpit]

The Nightmares Don’t Stop- 7

Warnings: weapons including firearms,

Chapter List

Steve glances at Natasha as if waiting for an answer. She complies.

“Just catching up with my old friend here,” she grins. Steve looks at Peter.

“Hello again there Peter,” Steve nods to Peter who blushes profusely. Natasha sighs in exasperation. You get the feeling Peter might be more familiar with the Avengers than he lets on. “Not Peter, Steve. Y/n here. I met her at a bar the other day. I was observing her as one of the members of my group.” Natasha replies to Steve. You look at her confused, as does Steve.

“We weren’t supposed to interact with our recruits outside of observing them from a respective distance, Nat.” Steve states with an authoritative tone.

“I didn’t realize you would be ‘observing’ us at all prior to today,” you frown at the ground, feeling a bit violated.

“Yeah, me neither,” Peter interjects softly.

“It was in the contracts you both signed. We needed to see what the recruits were like in real life to make sure they weren't possible threats to the team,” Natasha shrugs. “I wasn’t going to interfere but I also didn’t want to see you get hurt or worse,” she says to you. Memories of the sleazebag at the bar come back to you and you nod at her appreciatively. Steve seems to understand as well. The two superheroes walk off in the direction the others went, but not before Steve throws a small smile your way, the sight of which sent butterflies to your stomach. He seemed like such a genuine guy, someone you could see yourself crushing on before your life went to shit. A security guard clears his throat behind you and Peter, causing you to jump a little bit. It wasn’t typical for someone to be able to surprise you but Steve’s smile had caught you off-guard. The man opens the door and gestures through it.

“FRIDAY please guide these two back to the dining area,” the guard states monotonously. You and Peter take a hint and step through the doors, following FRIDAY’s instructions to the dining hall in silence. You both step inside to see people sitting at various tables labeled “Group 1” “Group 2” and “Group 3” while munching on various breakfast foods. You nod politely at Peter. “Guess this is where we go our separate ways,” you say to him. “I hope to see you in the finals if our paths don’t cross before then.” You smile at him slightly, hoping to give the nervous-looking boy some comfort. He grins back at you.

“Come on, you and I quoted Vine to each other. We’re practically best friends now. We should maybe- if you want to, I mean- exchange numbers, unless you don’t want to, of course...” Peter sheepishly holds out his unlocked phone to you which you then grab and text your own number as you two chatter about random things. Both of you are electing to ignore the weird confrontation with three Avengers from before. You barely have time to hand back his phone when the man named Happy appears and unceremoniously holds out a uniform to each of you. He leaves after you both accept the offered articles of clothing.

“Should we go change? I don’t even know where the bathrooms are,” you half-ask Peter, looking at the ugly uniform.

“I can show you,” Peter offers before quickly jerking his head up. “I mean I can ask FRIDAY for us. For you. Since we would change separately, obviously.” He smiles at you as you raise your eyebrows. Clearly Peter knows more about the Avengers and the compound than he’s openly willing to let on, but you choose not to push him. You chuckle to ease his nerves.

“Alright weirdo, sounds like a plan,” you say to him teasingly. He beams as the two of you walk into the hallway and do exactly as Peter said. You return to the dining area dressed for the Hunger Games, not seeing Peter and wonder where to sit. Suddenly, FRIDAY announces to the room.

“Attention recruits. I have been told to instruct your respective groups on the next are your presences will be required within the next five minutes. Team Winners will follow the yellow lights to Mr. Stark’s lab, Team Spandex will follow the red lights to the shooting range, and Team Old Man will follow the blue lights to the indoor gym. Please be prompt,” FRIDAY announces, repeating herself once more before going silent.

Lights appear in two of the hallways. Red and blue lights leading in one direction with yellow lights leading in another. You do as told and follow the red lights. Eventually the blue lights diverge on another path and you are left with some other recruits who you guess will be your new “friends” for the rest of the month. Eventually the hallway leads you into a shooting range. Various stalls are open, each with multiple weapons laying on their tables. You don’t have long to take it in before a familiar voice brings your attention to the far end of the stalls.

“Hello. Let’s cut straight to the chase here. For the rest of the week you will all be trained and judged on your abilities that I specialize in. This includes proficiency in various weapons, though Bucky will go over some of that with you all a bit more in-depth later on. We will start here and move on to mental strength and skills later in the week. For now, me and Clint here will be your instructors. A man jumps down from the shadows. You recognize him as Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye.

“Hey there runts! Don’t let Miss Professionalism here throw you off, she has a heart under that icy exterior,” Clint teases, Natasha glaring at him teasingly. “I think..” He rubs the back of his neck and you chuckle along with the recruits. “Today is mostly just us testing the waters but once we see what you’re all capable of, we can play to your strengths! If everyone could step up to a stall please…” He gestures to the stalls. You end up near the side closest to the far wall where Natasha stands. The rest of the stalls had been taken pretty quickly, likely because everyone was too intimidated to stand near the Black Widow. She throws you a quick reassuring smile. You nod back, still a little embarrassed about having her drag your drunkass back to your apartment the other night.

You look at the weapons in front of you. There is a compound bow, a crossbow, various arrows, handguns, and a few different rifles. You had never shot a gun before, but you figured your minor in physics must be good for something here. It’s not like anything could go wrong, giving a bunch of over-eager 20-something year olds access to firearms. Perfectly safe! A look of incredulity must have crossed over your face because when you look up, Natasha glances over at you in amusement. The two Avengers walked out between the stalls and the targets so that they were visible to everyone. Behind them leaned against the wall are weapons that appear to be the same as the ones laid out in front of you. They are standing so that your line of sight is perpendicular to theirs. At the far end of the stalls is a wall with a couple body targets on it. “Clint and I will demonstrate a weapon out here and then we will return behind the stalls with you to help your form and observe. This will continue until we have gone through all of the weapons once. Any questions?” Natasha asks as Clint picks up a crossbow and sheathes an arrow. He shouts various tips and instructions before finally executing them in one swift action, loading the arrow into the head of one of the dummy targets. He and Natasha step back behind the stalls to join the recruits once again. Arrows begin to bombard the line of targets. You take a few shots, feeling eyes on your back every once in a while. You expect Natasha or Clint to step in and correct your form at some point as you had heard them do with others, but the corrections never come. Looking at your target, you realize you have sunken all five of your arrows into the human-shaped target. Two in the torso, one in the knee, and two in the head.

“Alright everybody stop and please unload your crossbows and set them down in front of you,” Natasha’s voice rings out. Everyone does as they are told and the two Avengers appear in front of the stalls once again. This time, Clint holds a compound bow with a look of excitement on his face. He glances at all of the targets, taking note of yours in particular as he tilts his head at you with an eyebrow raised. The moment passes and the weapon walkthrough picks up once again. This continues until the last weapons demonstration with one of the rifles. You have done decently so far. Natasha had been the one to demonstrate all of the firearms, making sure everyone put their headphones on correctly before any shots were made. You had done pretty well for having as little experience as you did. All of your shots hit the body target, but it’s not like you were the only one. You were, however, aware that you were the only one who had not been corrected on their form up to this point.

Everyone placed their headphones on for the final demonstration and then readied their weapons and began shooting. This rifle had a bit more kickback than any of the other weapons so far and it startled you. You feel eyes on you after your second shot and suddenly a hand reaches up and gently grabs your wrist.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 12, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

As expected, this morning the House Republicans removed Wyoming Representative Liz Cheney from her position as conference chair after she refused to stop speaking out against the former president for instigating the January 6 attack on our Capitol and the counting of electoral votes for President Joe Biden. The Republicans ousted her by voice vote, which meant that no one had to go on the record for or against Cheney, and the Republicans kept the split in the party from being measurable. It also ensured that she would lose; she has survived a secret ballot vote before.

Before the vote, Cheney allegedly told her Republican colleagues: “If you want leaders who will enable and spread his destructive lies, I’m not your person; you have plenty of others to choose from.” After the vote, she went in front of the cameras to say that she would lead the fight to reclaim the party from Trump, and said: “I will do everything I can to ensure that the former president never again goes anywhere near the Oval Office.”

After her ouster, Trump Republican Representative Madison Cawthorn (NC) tweeted ““Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey, goodbye Liz Cheney.” The former president echoed Cawthorn: “Liz Cheney is a bitter, horrible human being. I watched her yesterday and realized how bad she is for the Republican Party. She has no personality or anything good having to do with politics or our Country.”

After convincing his caucus to dump Cheney and embrace Trump, House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) told reporters: “I don’t think anybody is questioning the legitimacy of the presidential election. I think that is all over with.”

This was a breathtaking statement. McCarthy himself challenged the certification of Biden’s win, and just last week, Trump made a big announcement in which he called the election of 2020 “fraudulent.” The Big Lie animating the Republicans today is that Trump, not Biden, really won the 2020 election.

But McCarthy is not alone in his gaslighting. Yesterday, in the Senate Rules Committee markup of S1, the For the People Act protecting the vote, ending gerrymandering, and pushing big money out of our elections, Senator Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) said: “I don’t think anyone on our side has been arguing that [voter fraud] has been pervasive all over the country.”

The false claim of widespread voter fraud is, of course, exactly what Trump Republicans have stood on since the 2020 election. It is the justification for their voter suppression measures in Republican states, including Texas, Iowa, Georgia, Florida, and, as of yesterday afternoon, Arizona.

In today’s House Oversight Committee hearing on the January 6 insurrection, Republican lawmakers in general tried to gaslight Americans, as they tried to paint that unprecedented attack on our democracy as nothing terribly important. Although 140 law enforcement officers were injured, five people were killed, more than 400 people have been charged with crimes, and rioters did more than $30 million worth of damage, Republican representatives downplayed the events of the day, insisting that they were not really out of the ordinary. Representative Andrew Clyde (R-GA) said that calling the attack on the Capitol an insurrection is a “bald-faced lie” and that “if you didn't know the TV footage was a video from January the 6th, you would actually think it was a normal tourist visit…."

CNN later called Clyde’s remarks “absolute nonsense.” Even the definition of insurrection Clyde quoted—“an organized attempt by a group of people to defeat their government and take control of their country usually by violence”—showed the attack of January 6 to be an insurrection. And, as lawyer and CNN analyst Asha Rangappa noted tonight on Twitter, at his second impeachment trial even Trump’s own lawyers did not dispute that the events of January 6 were a violent insurrection. The record is clear.

Republican lawmakers like Clyde did, though, echo the former president’s interview on the Fox News Channel in March when he said that when his supporters went into the Capitol they posed “zero threat” and were “hugging and kissing the police and the guards…. A lot of the people were waved in, and then they walked in and they walked out.”

The former president appears to be continuing to exercise control over his underlings. Former Acting Attorney General Jeffrey Rosen and former Acting Defense Secretary Christopher Miller provided testimony at the House Oversight Committee hearing, and what they would not say was revealing. Rosen refused to answer questions about whether Trump asked him to try to overturn the 2020 election. Miller’s prepared remarks had included a sentence that said “I stand by my prior observation that I personally believe his comments encouraged the protesters that day.” In his testimony, he omitted that line, and later tried to walk it back, trying to draw a line between people who marched on the Capitol and those who broke into it.

But with Cheney and her supporters now in open revolt, and with news about the Capitol attack dropping, and even with more information coming about the ties between the former president and Russia, will Republican Party leaders manage to sweep everything under the rug?

Today, at a hearing on domestic extremism today before the Senate Appropriations Committee, Attorney General Merrick Garland and Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas both testified that the most serious domestic national security threat in the U.S. right now is that of white supremacist gangs. “I think it's fair to say that in my career as a judge, and in law enforcement, I have not seen a more dangerous threat to democracy than the invasion of the Capitol,” Garland said. “There was an attempt to interfere with the fundamental passing of an element of our democracy, the peaceful transfer of power. And if there has to be a hierarchy of things that we prioritize, this would be the one we'd prioritize. It is the most dangerous threat to our democracy. That does not mean that we don't focus on other threats.”

For his part, President Biden is refusing to get sucked into the Republican drama, instead focusing on the country. Today an advisory panel for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention endorsed the Pfizer vaccine for children as young as 12, and the CDC signed off on the recommendation, making it easier to reopen schools in the fall.

Today Biden met at the White House with Republicans McCarthy and McConnell, as well as House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) and Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY), to try to hash out an infrastructure plan, although the Republicans have said they will absolutely not consider raising the corporate tax rates from where Trump’s 2017 tax cut dropped them. It was the first time McCarthy and McConnell had visited the West Wing since Biden was elected.

It was in the context of visiting the president that McCarthy tried to say that there was no Republican questioning the legitimacy of the 2020 election (although, of course, more than two thirds of Republicans currently believe in the Big Lie). “We’re sitting here with the president today,” he told reporters.

Will today’s gesture be enough to make swing voters forget the party’s wholehearted embrace of the former president? Shortly after House Republicans removed Cheney from her leadership position, nine out of 14 voters in an Axios focus group said they would be willing to vote for a Republican in next year’s congressional races. But of those, 8 said they would not back any Republican who supports Trump’s lie that he won the 2020 election.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 01 [PREVIEW]

Note: Please view on the main blog page for an optimal reading experience. :D Chapter One is about 95% revised to my liking. Here is a somewhat lengthier preview whilst work begins on 02 & 03.

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease—as this did not necessarily mean they weren’t carrying others. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a sign of impatience at the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their project coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack, starting to seem like more of a possibility. Criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged during their meetings with the project coordinator. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Karner; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times at the behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and private. Whenever they had a break, he would often disappear frequently on calls. He’d been coming back tenser as of late and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the project coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“Well, it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Karner chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” Francis didn’t answer immediately. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

“Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded. Francis paused. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she particularly wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Francis seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Karner shook his head. In a few minutes the break subsided and they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own grave without further interference.

The next few days blurred together in her recollection. Karner made no attempt to converse with her. Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from insurrection.

It was just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind refused to settle in either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Karner. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the project coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the project coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of the FSP the losses were minimal. Several doctors, including Herrmann, had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. A few others, including Dr Karner, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack to the government, but as an interception of an attack by local terrorists.

 “Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent and complexion would presume a Czech or Russian background but he could have come from a variety of surrounding countries. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, she had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Karner?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

 “That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the project coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to him. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She had not locked it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Karner?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“You were asked to monitor Dr Karner. Why?”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Karner was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Karner and the project coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the project coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her was razor-sharp, unwavering. She’d said too much. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Karner exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. And I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept the apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Karner’s lifestyle outside MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his duties. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor privately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “The project coordinator is waiting for you downstairs. Thank you for your time.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Team was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint, slowly overtaken by daybreak.

When she’d first arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you. No one else of importance will come for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around, she was safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.