#postcards to swing states

[the-forest-library]

Help Get the Vote Out - US

Sending postcards to encourage registered voters to vote in the upcoming election is an easy way you can help get the vote out from home. I’ve done this through two different organizations: Postcards to Voters and Postcards to Swing States.

With this group, you:

Purchase your own postcards.

Purchase stamps.

Can choose the to send smaller amounts of postcards (e.g, 10).

With this group, you:

Will receive free postcards from the organization.

Purchase stamps.

Send larger amounts of postcards (from what I’ve seen, the minimum is 200, but you can write them over time or get some folks to help you).

Stamps

Buy postcard stamps, not first class stamps - they’re cheaper!

[jomiddlemarch]

US Tumblrians, this is our time to shine! Break out your fine-tip markers and your favorite playlists and beverage of choice and get ready to save democracy-- from your home! If you are under 18, you can still participate!

These postcards have been found to increase voter turnout by about 1.3% which is actually A Big F-ing Deal when you consider the margin of victory in swing states.

States getting postcards (drum roll...): Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Michigan, Montana, North Carolina, Nevada, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Texas, Wisconsin!

In many of these states, there are bills to protect access to reproductive health AS WELL AS the presidential and Senate elections.

You are sent a list of addresses and three templated messages to choose from. You order as few as 200 postcards and the mail date is in October. They also send you the state themed postcards and there are always a few extras for mistakes and keepsakes. I keep a card from every campaign I write for (assuming I have one) in the same album I keep all my holiday photo cards.

Save democracy! Use your voice! You can include children in this and if you have issues with handwriting and the financial leeway, you can simply donate to the organization. If all you can do is reblog this post, that counts too (and if you're not from the US but you still want to reblog this, thanks!)

I'd love to see this post go big, so am tagging some good friends because that's the way we make a difference-- TOGETHER!

Tagging @tessa-quayle @fericita-s @mercurygray @tortoisesshells @asteraceae-blue @amarguerite @aquitainequeen @oldshrewsburyian @artielu @iamstartraveller776 @theburnbarreljester @orlissa and anyone else who is willing!

[feedists4walz]

hey did you know that you can get strega nona stamps? and you can put them on postcards to swing state voters via activate america??

[3months2mordor]

Mod Rosie has spent the morning filling out reminders to vote for swing staters and listening to the Hobbit audiobook.

Did you know that the Hobbits dutifully elect a Mayor of Hobbiton? Be like Hobbits!

If you need a reminder or any other information about voting in your state visit this website!

[library-graffiti]

Save Democracy: Write Postcards

Just got an email letting me know Postcards to Swing States is caught up and once again open to sign ups! They send you the postcards, you provide the stamps and the writing. Be proactive about the election!

[qqueenofhades]

do you have any suggestions for organizations or groups or something that are doing any kind of voting campaign/vote dem campaign? i remember in 2020 there was a huge push to do phone banking in swing states, but im seeing almost none of that now, and its making me a bit nervous about the outcome of the election

Sure! Here are some ideas:

Find your state Democratic party for specific networking/volunteering/connecting opportunities in your city or region:

Or volunteer for the national party:

Volunteer for the Biden-Harris campaign! Apparently, regardless of whatever media bullshit it set off, the debate DID result in a huge surge of campaign volunteers in swing states especially, so this is a great time to sign up:

Write postcards for Democratic voters!

Or postcards especially for Democratic voters in swing states:

Have the spoons to make phone calls for Democrats? Do it here:

Read Hopium Chronicles: it is a much-needed antidote to media doomerism and it gives lots of daily volunteering/donating/action tips to Do More, Worry Less:

Give money to Joe Biden and Kamala Harris:

Give to 12 Democrats running in highly flippable House races:

Give or volunteer for a Democratic Senate (ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT if we're going to flip SCOTUS and the map is very hairy this year):

Doing even a bit of this will help you feel better than sitting and worrying. Good luck and go get 'em!

[coralreeferband]

Order more Postcards to Swing States

Get yours here:

[batboyblog]

Thanks so much for deciding to continue your "Democratic accomplishments of the week" posts -- they have been super educational and have often inspired me to go out and do things when I've felt down or defeatist.

you're welcome and I'm glad they help.

I hope one of the things it has inspired you (not just you this for everyone reading this, hello, hi) to do is sign up to Volunteer, in the first day of her campaign Kamala Harris netted a very impressive $81 million from 880,000 grassroots Americans many giving for the first time, but to me WAY more important is the campaign has seen a surge in people signing up to volunteer in the swing states, so I hope everyone takes time today to make a plan to volunteer in some way before November.

The Harris Campaign

Look for Events and volunteer near you

Find a local Young Progressive running for office near you

if you don't live in a swing state there are lots of options to call or write postcards/letters to people who live in key battle grounds, if you live near a swing state there are always groups organizing to go volunteer in the nearest swing state, and where ever you live there are always important key races, be it for the US Senate (Montana, Ohio, Maryland) for the US House (New York) or state or even local level elections, all across the country radical anti-LGBT anti-black activists have run for school boards trying to push Queer people and diversity out of schools, in your community there could be someone running to stop that and your hard work could make all the difference

No Matter any one's age or location we all have the ability to make a big big difference this year, and I say this ALL the time, nothing help the stress and anxiety of current events more than going out and doing something, so often the world and its events are so upsetting because it feels so out of your control, when you go out and knock doors, make calls, whatever, you feel like you're making a difference and it helps so so much.

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 1 - Home is where I want to be

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings for: death of a loved one, grief, angst (it gonna be angsty!), Bucky not always being a good guy.

You sighed heavily as you pulled up to the house in your beaten-up Mustang. Hard to believe you were back, but life certainly has a sense of humour.

You parked up and leaned against the driver’s door, looking up at your new home.

Well, old home.

Granny’s place.

Once the centre of your world – a place of home baked cookies and tyre swings, of blanket forts and climbed trees. Of carefully tended to scraped knees and long hugs on the couch in front of Granny’s favourite shows. Sitcom reruns and Murder She Wrote, more lemonade than you could ever feasibly drink.

You came to visit every summer and they were the best summers of your life. But of course, you got older. As you grew, you wanted to spend your summers with friends, to kiss boys and go to the diner with Stacey and Monique. Granny’s place would always hold a large piece of your heart, but you grew up. You looked back now with a sense of sadness, wishing you’d gone for one more summer. Maybe two.

Granny understood. She was always telling you to spread your wings and live. ‘Don’t tread water, Cub’, she’d tell you. ‘Go out there and enjoy yourself’.

And you did. Maybe a little too hard.

You stayed close with Granny despite the physical distance between you as you moved across the state for school. Plenty of phone calls and letters were shared, and she’d send you novelty postcards she found at gas stations and thought you’d find funny. You still had a pile stored in a shoebox, now shoved into your car’s trunk with all your other worldly possessions.

You still visited occasionally, always telling yourself you needed to come more – she needed someone to clear out the attic, to sort out her paperwork, fix the old fence. You should sort that. The town was nice enough, but the biker gang that owned the local dive bar and auto shop gave you a bad feeling. You’d hear the roar of their motorcycles late at night, feeling grateful that was Granny was safe on the outskirts of town.

A few months ago, just as you were looking at your calendar to arrange your next visit, she suffered a sudden, huge heart attack. The hospital staff told you on the phone that it was quick, mercifully. She was in front of the TV, sipping a cup of tea. It would’ve been exactly how she wanted to go, quick and comfortable in her castle. No long, drawn-out illness. No forgetting her own name or wasting away in a bed. She often told you her worst nightmare was to become a burden and forget the life she’d lived.

But you couldn’t shed the guilt that she died alone. If you’d been there…

Your parents meant well but weren’t particularly distraught. You and Granny were closer than anyone else in the family. Still, ever the pragmatists, they arranged the funeral and filed the paperwork while you pulled yourself together. Granny was organised enough to have a will, and even had a document in her bureau with details of her finances and who to contact for every possible loose end that might need tying up in the event of her death.

Despite your closeness, it was still a huge shock when you found out she’d left the house solely to you, and nobody else in the family. Her few savings were divided between her children and other grandchildren. But you got the house.

‘Cub’, read the note in the will. ‘You loved this place, so it’s yours. I don’t care what you do with it. You can sell up and use the proceeds to take a vacation for all I care. Buy a fancy car or a designer bag or even invest in something dumb. You can stay here and lay down roots. Whatever you want. It’s all yours. Just fix that damn fence before you do anything’.

Nobody in the family quibbled it. The property wasn’t worth much, and nobody wanted to sort through Granny’s things, so here you were. Still mourning, but trying to move forward.

You didn’t really have a plan. You weren’t exactly set up in life, even flailing, some might say. Flitting between bullshit jobs and bullshittier boyfriends. No real roots or ambitions. You decided to move in for a while and sort the house out. Maybe get a temp part time job in town to keep you afloat. At least you didn’t have to pay rent. Then you’d sort Granny’s things, give the place a lick of paint, fix the aforementioned damn fence, then you’d decide. But you’d probably sell up. I mean, what would keep you here?

*

You spent a few hours getting your own stuff moved in and sizing up the task ahead. Granny’s place was clean, spotless in fact, but she was a bit of a hoarder. There were endless Rubbermaid tubs of clothes and blankets, spices in the pantry older than you were, and cardboard boxes of seemingly every birthday and Christmas card she’d ever received.

You also weren’t prepared for the emotional impact. Every corner held a childhood memory, you could practically hear the radio she used to play as she cooked, smell whatever mouthwatering dish she’d be whipping up that day.

You channelled your energy into the work and made some calls. There was a Goodwill store in town and a women’s refuge a few miles away, and they were very keen to take some of Granny’s things off your hands. You made plans to do some drop-offs over the coming weeks. You arranged to have wifi installed and took some time getting utility bills moved into your name.

You sat at the dining room table with a glass of water, exhausted, when your phone buzzed with a text notification.

“Hey! Are you here? How about we catch up with drinks tonight?”

Wanda. The one person you knew in this town apart from Granny. You’d played together as kids and hung out every summer. As you got older, you stayed in touch on social media and would go for coffee when you visited Granny. You liked her a lot. She had reached out to you when Granny died (as apparently everyone knows everyone here) and you’d thanked her. You kept her updated with your plans with the move. She’d always stayed here in this town, getting serious with her boyfriend Vis and settling down.

Part of you wanted to keep your head down, but you knew you’d benefit from some company, especially Wanda’s. You didn’t want to be the weird recluse living in her dead grandmother’s house who only ventured outside to buy groceries. Besides, it would be nice to reconnect with her.

“Hey!”, you replied. “Sure am. Just getting comfortable. Okay, sure. I could use a drink. Where we going?”

She responded seconds later. “The Snake Pit. Yeah, I know it sounds scary but it’s okay, really! The Howling Commandos own it, but they’re cool when you get to know them. Vis and I will pick you up at 8?”

You sighed. Great. Drinking in some biker gang’s sleazy dive bar. This was your life now. Well, you’d had worse Saturday nights.

“Alright. See you then” you fired back before you could talk yourself out of it.

*

Wanda was right. The Snake Pit was okay. A little dark and dingy inside, but a more varied clientele than you’d expected. There was everyone from excitable college girls to the old geezers nursing a single bottle of Bud for over an hour. You had worked in bars; you knew the types well. It wasn’t the rowdy biker gang hangout you expected, but you guessed options are limited for drinkers when there’s only one drinking hole in town.

The bartender was a little all over the place, messing up a few orders and rushing to get everything done. He seemed to be serving people haphazardly with little regard for who was there first. Fine. Whatever.

Splayed across barstools and were the Howling Commandos themselves. All clad in heavy leather and denim, they joked and drank beer with each other while keeping a close eye on the customers. You got the impression they weren’t necessarily looking for trouble but wouldn’t hesitate to deal with it should some occur. A broad blonde with a thick beard seemed to be in charge, you could see in the way the others hovered around him that he held some sort of authority. They were quite intimidating in their matching kuttes and big boots, but you supposed that was the point.

The blonde man locked eyes with you and watched you, a mix of curiosity and wariness on his face. His eyes were blue and strong, the intensity of his glare causing you to turn away as you went back to nodding at the story Wanda was telling. You had a strange feeling of dread in your stomach, but maybe that was just the anxiety of being somewhere new.

“You wanna play pool?” she asked, nodding towards the corner.

There were a couple of pool tables and the back of the room, with a dartboard nailed to the wall not far from them.

“Sure,” you smiled as you stood up and grabbed your drink, “I’m a little rusty…it’s been a while”.

“Modesty I’m sure,” Vis grinned as they followed you over. “I bet you’re secretly a dark horse”.

You winked jokingly as the three of you laughed and moved towards the table. It was nice to catch up with them, you settled in so comfortably together that it was as if you did this every week.

As you set up the balls and chalked your cue, you felt the presence of a group moving behind you. The Commandos group had moved from the bar and headed to the dart board, jeering and laughing as they lined up to take their turn. A striking redhead, the sole woman in the group, was busting their balls about their darts ability (or lack thereof).

“Hey” you heard Wanda say softly as you moved around the table, and a few of them murmured greetings back at her.

They were being loud and obnoxious as they ragged on each other for their poor aim, and you suppressed an eyeroll as you leaned over the table to take your shot.

The laughter got louder as you pulled your cue back and aimed, they were practically shouting, you pushed your cue forward through your fingers and moved to the ball and-

Pain.

PAIN.

You flinched and your legs buckled as the cue clipped the ball and sent it flying in the wrong direction. You felt a pressure and a sting as your brain tried to catch up with what had happened. You could hear Wanda gasping and Vis talking to you calmly as another voice interrupted.

“Ohmygod…Ohmygodsorry…I didn’t…oh my god, FUCK” they said, the panic evident.

You turned and looked, to your horror, to discover one of the darts embedded in one of your ass cheeks. This surely couldn’t be happening??

As you turned back towards the panicking voice in front of you, it became immediately evident who was the perpetrator.

He was young, chocolate brown hair slicked back to reveal a baby face. Wide, horrified chestnut eyes stared at you. Despite the kutte and motorcycle boots, he looked like a scared little boy. Behind him stood members of the gang, some smirking, some rolling their eyes and nudging each other. They didn’t intervene, just enjoyed the show. You felt your face flush with mortification.

“What…what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spat, furious as well as in pain. You noticed the entire bar had stopped to watch. You gripped the dart but couldn’t quite build up the courage to pull it out.

“Are you stupid...?” you continued as he just stared at you, his mouth flapping like a fish as he tried and failed to explain himself.

Wanda said your name in a wary tone and Vis told you it was okay. Even through your angry haze you could tell they were nervous about where this was going.

“Hey…come on now,” said someone else. “You all shut up”.

The group quickly parted and quietened as the blonde man from earlier appeared in front of you. “Parker…” he sighed under his breath.

“Look…it was an accident, okay?” he told you sternly. “I’m sorry…look, I’m Steve, I’m the co-owner and-”

“I don’t care!” you hissed. “What the fuck kinda place are you running here?”

You knew you sounded shrill, but you were upset and embarrassed. And it hurt! You were half aware of the group suddenly tensing up, the atmosphere in the air shifting to something a bit darker.

The man raised a brow in annoyance and went to speak again when you suddenly yelped, feeling a hard sting in your bottom half and then an immediate loss of pressure.

Someone had yanked the dart out.

You turned, aghast, to a man who had suddenly appeared behind you.

“What the fu-,” you exclaimed as you looked at him.

Your words died on your tongue as you were greeted by the face of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Long, coffee-coloured waves of hair sat at his well-chiselled jawline. Big, broad shoulders stretched out a clinging white t-shirt beneath his kutte. He had a metal arm that moved robotically, but mostly you were caught in the depths of the cerulean pools of his eyes. The others all seemed to straighten up and go quiet in a way they hadn’t even done with Steve. This must be the other owner, then.

He smirked and waved the dart in front of you. “Fixed it”.

You furrowed your brows. “Ow…” you said monotonously.

“You want some ice for that or…?” he smiled a wide bright smile, and you did your best to ignore something igniting deep within you.

“It’s funny, is it?” you scowled. “I could sue for this…”

Could you? You didn’t know if you could. But you were too mad to stop.

The man sighed.

“Look…we’re sorry. Parker’s sorry. Steve’s sorry, and I, Bucky, am sorry,” he told you, his voice softening. “Parker can’t play darts for shit but he’s never been a safety hazard until now. It was bad luck. He sure as hell won’t be playing again. Now, how about we get you and your friends a round of drinks on the house to apologise? And if you still wanna stay after that, you can get as much beer and pool as you want – no charge.”

You looked at Parker who was still visibly panicking but not quite as much, then Steve who watched you curiously. Wanda and Vis were nodding effusively as if encouraging you to accept his offer. You were still angry but didn’t really want to piss off the local motorcycle gang on your first night here. You were grateful for this de-escalation, even if you were still mad. You could practically see the room start to relax again.

“Fine” you sighed with defeat, rubbing the sore spot on your backside. “But a warning you were about to do that would’ve been nice”.

He laughed, “Yeah…but I didn’t want you to freak out”.

Ugh. His laugh. His perfect laugh.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that he was right, you would’ve freaked out if you’d known. You felt yourself mellowing, then became irritated at yourself for folding so easily for a handsome man. Habit of a lifetime, huh?

“Maybe you should still ask before getting that close to someone” you muttered.

“Point taken”.

He smiled with amusement and gestured you towards the bar and you followed, nodding to Wanda and Vis that you’d be right back. The rest of the bar’s patrons went back to their drinks and conversations as if nothing had happened. The darts game continued, with Parker noticeably sitting down away from anything sharp and pointy.

“He means well…he’s new at all this,” Bucky explained as he watched your eyes follow Parker. “He gets ahead of himself when they rile him up”.

“Well, your friends thought it was hilarious”.

“Trust me, they were laughing at him. Not at you. But yeah, it was kinda funny”.

You huffed and leaned on the bar, giving him a side eye and only replying with your drink order. Bucky signalled to the bartender who nodded and looked flustered as tried to speed up serving his customer.

“Your bartender sucks” you muttered.

“I mean he’s a little slow but-,”

“No. He sucks. Why is he doing a Guinness now? You pour a Guinness first and let it settle, do the rest of the drinks, then come back and top it off,” you explained as you pointed to the sloppily poured lager he’d put on the bar. “And does your customer want any beer with that foam?”

Bucky laughed again. “Well, okay. Point taken, Sugar. Are you saying you could do better?”

“Sure. A monkey could do better…”

He laughed again, turning to look at you as he smiled and watched you with curious eyes. “What did you say your name was again…?”

*

[neoneun-au]

ARRIVAL; C.SC

―PAIRING: choi seungcheol x reader ―GENRE: angst, romance, floaty in between sort of fic, lite!farmer au ―WORD COUNT: 2.3k ―WARNINGS: rewritten from my old blog for svt.

The old house comes into view over the horizon. The weathered white boards of the house’s exterior are bathed in the soft pink-gold of dusk as it sits as a proud sentinel on the hill overlooking the expansive fields and orchards before it. Gnarled apple trees, trunks twisted with time, heaving their bounties towards the home; sun dappled honey wheat fields rippling with the wind but always sighing towards the white watchman above. And you, similarly facing, steady gaze directed like a ship to a lighthouse.

It looked the same as it did the day you left, all those years ago. Watching it fade into the quiet mist of the morning as you left it behind to walk forward into the unknown. And now it sits still, unchanged, if a little more weatherbeaten, watching as you walk back into view–travel-worn suitcase clutched tightly in your grip. 

Gravel crunches underfoot as you make your way down the path towards the house–nervous anticipation fluttering in your chest with each step. Hope and fear intermingle in the hollow of your stomach–dancing together like two birds. 

You hadn’t planned your return. Not really. 

When you set out to find yourself in the world beyond the village, you left without a plan in mind. Simply answering a call to your soul. You couldn’t say how long you would be gone or even what it was you were setting out in search of,  but somewhere inside you knew the day would come–whether it be the next day, year, or decade–when you would hear a similar call to return. Back to the fields, back to the house, back to the boy you left behind. 

The splintered boards of the veranda creak under your weight as you walk to the front door–an audible sign of your approach. For a brief moment you pause, hand poised over the doorknob, and inhale deeply. The air smells as crisp with the scent of the morning air and the apple orchard nearby as you remember it. The faint scent of spring lilac and inherited dust. 

Suddenly you feel out of place. An intruder at the threshold of someone else's home. Someone else's life. It was easy to convince yourself as you explored the world that everything would be the same when you eventually made your return. That the house, and Seungcheol himself would still  be there, frozen in time, waiting as he had said he would. But now you were not so certain. The walls of time collapse around you, and you run your hands along the length of them. Feeling the passage of it. How long it has been. 

With a shaking breath you pull yourself back to the present and retract your hand from the knob, opting instead to rap your knuckles against the door. 

You sent no word ahead about your return. No letters or postcards. Just hopped on a train and then all of a sudden, here you were. So you weren’t sure what the welcome would be like. Whether or not you would even be welcome. Was he even home? 

Footfalls on the staircase inside answer your question as your hand falls back against your side and you wait–body coiled in a tight rope of tension, ready to snap at any moment. You take a small step backwards as the door swings open to reveal Seungcheol–sleep still crowding at the corners of his eyes as he blinks you into focus. 

“You’re back,” he states–voice a half-whisper–eyes widening with the surprise of your presence before him. Standing on the porch, coated in the soft morning glow of the sunrise. 

“I am,” you nod slowly, adjusting the suitcase in your grip. Time stretches between you for a moment–thousands of unspoken words flitting in and out with the speckles of dust in the air–and you stand across from each other in silence; the closest you have been in years, but still miles apart. 

Seungcheol clears his throat and steps aside, gesturing for you to enter the house and you let out a shaky exhale before stepping across the threshold. 

The interior of the old farmhouse, much like the exterior, is virtually unaltered from your memories. The same generations of Choi family portraits hang along the staircase, the same light blue eggshell paint adorns the crown molding, and the same floral wallpaper covers the bare boards of the walls. You take a cursory glance around, heart beating with the pulse of a thousand memories, and breathe in the past. 

Seungcheol takes your suitcase from you as you look around and hauls it upstairs without a word. In his absence you take a moment to walk around the ground floor of the house, running your finger along furniture and tabletops. Curious as to how he has filled his time and his home while you’ve been away. The vase of fresh flowers you always insisted he kept in the kitchen window are still there–slightly withered and in need of replacement soon. A small stack of books you had left unread on the side table still sits stacked in the same order you left them–carefully dusted, but unchanged. You briefly wonder if he had picked them up at some point–seeking some answers, some connection to your thoughts in the wake of your departure. 

“Have you eaten?” he asks as he steps into the kitchen behind you, hand ghosting over your back as he slides past you towards the fridge.

“No,” you shake your head, slipping your coat off and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair before taking a seat. With a soft smile you watch as he busies himself gathering a last minute breakfast of assorted fruits and breads. His back is turned to you but you can see the change in him even through the fabric of his sweater. His muscles are more hewn with seasons of work–formed in careful dedication over time. The Seungcheol of your memory is fresh faced with the kiss of youth. Rounded and soft. But the Seungcheol before you now has grown into himself; his jaw has sharpened slightly, his mouth is set in a straighter line. Seriousness creases itself around the skin of his eyes. You try to adjust your image of him to match the current reality but the boy you remember stealing kisses from in the orchards outside remains. 

“If I had known you were coming, I would have gotten some more groceries,” he says by way of apology as he sets the platter of food down in the center of the old kitchen table. 

You shake your head in dismissal and reach for a slice of green apple. Crisp and fresh–no doubt plucked from one of the trees just outside the windows of the house. “It’s fine. This is perfect.” 

You make no move to speak further and he follows suit. Instead you settle into a rhythm of eating in silence. Allowing yourself to slip back into space together–atom by atom getting used to the proximity once more. Birds chirp outside the window, passing the time in chatter and short flights to and from their nests as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. 

Seungcheol heads into the fields after breakfast. 

You watch as he disappears over the horizon, tools slung over his shoulder, and gets to work tending the crops and plants. There isn’t much to be done this time of you, you recall. Just simple trimming and harvesting a few ripened fruits before they fall to the earth and belong to the insects and critters below. But even what little there is to do takes time, so you take the opportunity to head upstairs and finish recollecting your memories of the old house. 

He had set your suitcase down in the guest room immediately at the top of the stairs. The blankets were pulled taut over the mattress–clean with lack of use–and your favourite pair of slippers were placed on the floor next to the nightstand. You drift out of the guest room and venture further down the hallway, sparing a passing glance into the reading room and the bathroom as you make your way to the bedroom at the end of the stretch. 

A similar feeling of not belonging settles back over you as you lift a hand to push open the door but you brush it aside–curiosity overwhelming any desire to tread lightly. 

The whole house feels like a time capsule. You felt it earlier as you stepped cautiously through each room–your presence a traveler through the ages, unbidden and disruptive to the daily minutiae. As if all of those years you spent chasing some unknown aspect of yourself across the other side of the world ceased to exist the moment you crossed the threshold into this old wood-framed home. No where is that feeling more potent than inside the master bedroom. 

You feel twenty again. Standing on the precipice of your new life. Kissing your first love goodbye and making promises that you didn’t know you if you would even be able to keep. The comforter on the bed, slightly messed still from sleep, is the same as all those years ago when you tangled yourself up in them with Seungcheol–skin against skin. The only indication of time that makes itself known in the room is the collection of postcards on the nightstand. 

Dozens of them. More from the first few years of your journeys, when you still dotted your ‘i’s with hearts and ended each letter with ‘xoxo’. 

With a swelling heart and shaking hands you pick up the stack of letters, flipping through each one and noting the smudges of ink and indentations of fingerprints on each of them. Some are more worn than others; all clearly read over a hundred times. 

You absorb yourself in the postcards–trying to place yourself in Seungcheol’s shoes when he had received them. Monthly at first, as consistent as you could be considering the complications that invariably accompany a life of travel. Then every few months, every six months, and finally almost no word for a year and a half until you arrived at his front door out of the blue. 

He could be difficult to read when he wanted to be. When his thoughts and feelings felt like heavy burdens to bear and  were thus kept close to his chest, unvocalized until they had to be. Simmering under the surface of steadiness that he presented on the outside. Aside from the small alarm bell you saw ringing behind his eyes this morning, you weren’t sure where you stood with him currently. Whether he felt you as much of an intruder in his space now as you did. 

You lose yourself in reminiscence and don’t notice Seungcheol’s arrival in the room behind you until his arm snakes around and plucks the stack of postcards from your grasp. “I wasn’t sure if you would come back,” he says, dropping the cards into the nightstand drawer. 

“I said I would,” you respond softly, voice on the edge of cracking. “I didn’t think you would still be waiting.”

“I said I would,” he says before slipping past you and heading back down the hall, leaving you with your swirling thoughts.

The day dissolves into night. The thread of the unknown is pulled taut between you as the hours drag onwards and you get ready for bed down the hallway from Seungcheol. Owls hoot in the distance–the only sound breaking up the running of water from the shower in the master bathroom. 

You slip under the covers, curling up on your side, and close your eyes. It had been years since you had been somewhere so quiet. It was almost disconcerting. No sirens, no people, no traffic. Only an owl and the quiet footsteps of one man as he slips into bed two rooms away from you. You lay awake for what feels like hours–blinking into the darkness of the guest room. The silence, unlike the idyllic calm of the daytime, was almost suffocating. It had been so natural when you were younger. Darkness descended and along with it, the world went to sleep. Sound disappeared. But now, after so many years of noise and colour, it was difficult to readjust. It felt like at any moment the long arms of darkness would reach out and grab hold of you where you lay. 

You sigh and before you can rethink the impulse, you push yourself out from under the covers, slip your bare feet into the prepared slippers, and pad down the hallway towards Seungcheol’s room. The door creaks slightly on its hinges as you push it open–a hallmark of its age–and you wince, but Seungcheol makes no indication of waking as you step further into the room. 

Seungcheol lets out a soft sigh as you climb into his bed next to him–eschewing all thoughts of propriety and hesitation that flood your brain as you do. “Is this okay?” you ask, and as soon as he hums his approval you sink into the mattress. Tucking your body into the familiar curve of his side. 

“Where have you been?” he asks, voice quiet–reverent. He shifts his body next to you, adjusting so that your head falls onto his shoulder and his arm is tucked up underneath you, hand coming around to rest against your back. Finally, you think.

“All over,” you answer, afraid that if you give too many details you might break the spell of the moment and remind him of the distance.

“Well,” he sighs, shifting once more. His breath fans out of the skin of your cheek as he leans in to press a soft kiss against it, “welcome home.” 

“Happy to be back,” you smile, feeling the warmth of tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you do so. The final remnants of the lingering energy of intrusion melt away in his arms. You do feel at home–finally after so many years of trying to find it elsewhere. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks, words broken halfway by a yawn. 

“Yeah,” you nod, sinking further into him as he drifts off to sleep, “I think I did.”

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

if you read and enjoyed this, please consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought ! its really the only reason i keep writing anything

[meeedeee]

Postcards to Swing States has resumed sign ups. Write 200 postcards to voters to encourage them to vote. It's an ideal group activity for family & friends. You will be sent the postcards and a script, you provide the stamps. Cards are mailed on Oct 24th

Don't have local family and friends who are interested in joining? Get together with online family or friends on Discord or Zoom every week to write postcards together while you catch up

https://secure.everyaction.com/xBntChpfDUK3GTMhkutwsA2

[runawaymarbles]

Trying to break my habit of reading fanfic at work by doing postcards to swing states at work.

[jomiddlemarch]

I ordered 1000 postcards via Postcards to Swing States. I have been messaging people I know, mostly via Facebook, mostly since Monday's SCOTUS decision travesty, to invite/encourage/tempt/cajole them into writing postcards to voter.

As of today, I have given away 850 postcards. One guy who was initially refusing because of his concerns about Gaza was amenable to writing postcards with NE AZ Native Dems, who work to register Native voters on reservations.

It's an all-hands-on-deck time. And it turns out, there are a lot of people who are willing to offer a hand, if you JUST ASK. (And sometimes if you can drop the postcards off at their place!)

[feedists4walz]

WHY US? WHY NOW?

Politicians are not perfect people. Voting, especially in the US, is not a perfect system. It's not the be-all end-all of political action and it certainly does not fix everything wrong with our nation and political system. It certainly does not fix the United States' complicity in the Palestinian genocide or its other atrocities overseas.

BUT.

The Harris campaign, by virtue of choosing Tim Walz over any of the other options, more has already demonstrated its willingness to listen to its would-be constituents over voices and donors from within the Democratic party urging them to choose a running mate who caters to the moderate center. In this choice, Harris has already demonstrated that she is flexible: she is not immune to pressure from the people she hopes to govern. This alone gives us as voters and constituents so much more leverage to apply pressure on her administration to achieve political victories we actually want: a ceasefire in Gaza, universal healthcare, nationwide abortion access, protected trans rights and trans healthcare, and more.

There is SO MUCH on the line in this election — and so many of the issues at risk this year are or are adjacent to fat liberation and queer issues:

Healthcare and prescription reform

Racial equity and justice

Abortion access (reminder that Plan B is less effective for those over 155 lbs!)

Trans rights, safety, and healthcare access

LGBTQIA+ rights

Disability rights and healthcare (including Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security)

Environmental reform and climate change mitigation

Public health and vaccine funding

Public education funding and related infrastructure

Labor rights

We have a lot to lose this year. But if we can elect an administration that is at least invested in moving forward, we'll also have a lot to gain.

SO, WHAT CAN I DO?

Check your voter registration!

Text voters and help them register!

Phonebank or textbank for blue candidates!

Write postcards to voters in swing states!

Knock doors if you're able!

Join a voter protection & registration hotline!

Donate to your local candidates (find them here)!

If you're not sure where to start, these organizations host tons of events you can get involved with:

Democrats.org

Democratic Volunteer Center

Field Team 6

Mobilize

Sister District

Swing Blue

Swing Left

Vote Save America

WHY TIM WALZ?

The guy gets it. Need I say more?

[directactionforhope]

Hot take apparently but don't harass Palestinian Americans about voting. Don't message them about it, don't send them asks, don't post about how they need to be voting blue.

I'm Team Elect Harris and Keep Trump Out Of Office all the way.

But listen: Palestinian Americans don't owe us ANYTHING. We're the ones who owe them - more than can be imagined. That debt goes one way.

The United States is an extremely active participant in the genocide of their people. They are having to watch their friends, families, and homeland destroyed every day, thanks in massive part to the US government.

They get to feel however they want to about voting. They get to vote or not vote however they want to.

I am determined to never condescend to Palestinians about how they should feel or what they should do in regard to the US government, and I encourage you to join me in not having the audacity to look someone in the face or askbox and say "Hey, I know my country is slaughtering your people, but you need to help my country out anyway."

Take that energy and go organize with Swing Left or write postcards encouraging people to vote (studies show this to be surprisingly effective x, x) or make phone calls or knock on doors. That's what we need more of.

[mariacallous]

Under a clear blue sky, on a warm spring day, several dozen Virginians gathered in a suburban backyard near Richmond to plot the future of the Democratic Party. Not that this was what they said they were doing. This was a meeting of the Henrico County Democratic Committee, “dedicated to electing Democrats in Henrico County, the Commonwealth of Virginia, and nationwide,” and they had come to rally neighborhood support for Abigail Spanberger, a local girl made good.

Spanberger, a member of Congress and now a candidate for governor, lives in Henrico County—about 10 minutes away from that suburban backyard, she told me. Although she currently represents a more rural Virginia district, this is her home base, and the home team wants to help her current campaign. A local official introducing Spanberger thanked everyone present for spending “a lot of hours in offices and knocking on doors and writing postcards and delivering signs.” Another spoke about “getting the band back together,” reuniting the people who helped Spanberger during her improbable first run for Congress, in 2017, when she came from nowhere to beat a Tea Party Republican, Dave Brat.

The audience cheered when Spanberger talked, as she often does, about her notable career trajectory. Famously she served in the CIA, from 2006 to 2014 (and has always been circumspect about what, exactly, she was doing). When she returned home, she told me, “I thought I was done with public service”—until she was galvanized by the election of Donald Trump. Now, after three hard-fought wins in purple-district congressional races, her aspirations stretch beyond the Virginia governor’s mansion: She wants to change the way Americans talk about politics. “We want to turn the page past the divisiveness, the angriness, and just focus on brass tacks, good policy, and governance,” she says.

In today’s Congress, those goals are wildly idealistic. On both sides of the aisle, “divisiveness and angriness” attract headlines. Outrage, not brass tacks, produces attention. Marjorie Taylor Greene is repeatedly interviewed and profiled, even though she has never been associated with a serious piece of legislation. Matt Gaetz, known for nothing except being Matt Gaetz, is more famous than many important congressional committee chairs. Even among the Democrats, the ranking members of many important committees have a lower profile than the members of “the Squad,” a group who come from very blue House districts and have defined themselves to the left of the party.

Spanberger is part of a different, less splashy friend group, one that also includes House members Jason Crow of Colorado, Chrissy Houlahan of Pennsylvania, Seth Moulton of Massachusetts, Mikie Sherrill of New Jersey, and Elissa Slotkin of Michigan, among others. Most are in their 40s or early 50s; many come from purple districts and swing states. They are sometimes called the “NatSec Democrats,” a phrase that explains their origins but doesn’t quite encompass who they are or what they do. Most, it is true, are veterans of the military or the intelligence agencies. Most entered Congress in 2018. Most hadn’t been in politics before that. Some of them were helped or encouraged by Moulton, a former Marine who was first elected to Congress in Massachusetts in 2014, made a quixotic run for president in 2020 and created the Serve America PAC, which backed 15 of the 28 Democrats who flipped the House in 2018. Moulton told me that Trump inspired a lot of veterans to consider political careers for the first time—and to run as Democrats. “He’s so uniquely unpatriotic and anti-American. I mean, this is a guy who didn’t try to hide the fact that he was a draft dodger. He said, The people who signed up were suckers. The people who got killed are losers.”

In retrospect, the members of this cohort turned out to be precursors of an important change, one that may end up redefining American politics. For half a century, the Republicans were the party that embraced patriotism most intensely, talked about loving America most loudly, and seemingly took a harder line on national security. But now the Republican candidate calls America “a nation in decline” and refers to the U.S. economy as an “unparalleled tragedy and failure.” That language has inspired a geographically diverse, pro-Constitution, no-nonsense backlash in the Democratic Party, a movement in favor of patriotism, concerned about national security, and convinced that only a democracy that delivers practical results can stay safe. The effect was clearly visible at the Democratic National Convention when Kamala Harris promised “to uphold the awesome responsibility that comes with the greatest privilege on Earth: the privilege and pride of being an American,” and when delegates responded by waving American flags and chanting “USA, USA.”

The Democrats who were in the vanguard of that backlash have been working together for some time. Spanberger, Moulton, Slotkin and others wrote a joint letter to President Joe Biden in December, for example, warning against Israel’s strategy in Gaza, on the grounds that “we know from personal and often painful experience that you can’t destroy a terror ideology with military force alone.” But national-security experience isn’t the only thing that links them. Tom Malinowski, a former State Department official who was also part of the group—he was elected to Congress from a previously a red New Jersey district in 2018, then lost in a close race in 2022—points out that although most of his cohort had never held elected office before, all of them had taken oaths to protect and uphold the U.S. Constitution. They came to Congress in that spirit. “We were very idealistic in our belief that our job was to protect democratic values and institutions in this country,” Malinowski explains, “and very pragmatic on the day-to-day work of Congress on issues like the economy, the budget, immigration and crime.” In other words, he explains, “we all believe the country would be fine if we had to compromise on issues like that. What was essential was not to compromise on democracy.”

Malinowski, who suggests calling the group Service Democrats, agrees that they are defined by attitude as much as issues. Although motivated to enter politics by their disdain for Trump, all of them say they are happy to work with individual Republicans. Sherrill told me that she thinks “getting as broad a coalition as possible on the legislation I want to see passed” is a sign of success. This outlook is very different from the obsessive hatred of compromise that has prevented the current Republican House majority from passing almost any legislation at all. “Anytime a Democrat supports a Republican piece of legislation, then it’s not good enough. It’s obviously not extreme enough, because then it’s a RINO bill or something,” Sherrill says.

The group’s attitude also redefines what it means to be a moderate in the Democratic Party. By an older standard, Spanberger, Slotkin, Moulton, Sherrill, and Crow might have been called progressives. They believe in abortion rights, for example—a cause once avoided by what used to be called conservative Democrats—and have joined pro-abortion-rights caucuses. But if, again, a moderate nowadays is someone willing to talk with the other side in order to find solutions, then this group is a bunch of moderates. Sherrill said she could see the appeal of what she described as a “progressive model” of politics: “deciding what you want and accepting nothing else until you get it.” But there is also a risk to that model, because you might not get anything at all. Had the Democrats in Congress been more willing to bargain with the Trump administration over the border, she thinks, they might have secured concessions for Dreamers, the children who arrived in the U.S. with their undocumented parents and have no citizenship status.

Still, the NatSec Democrats’ deeper objection is not to any particular ideological faction, but rather to politicians who, as Spanberger says, “don't actually want to fix anything,” because “performance is all there is.” As an example, she cited the border-control bill that was written and shepherded through the Senate by senior conservative Republicans but was then blocked—to the surprise of the bill’s authors—by Trump, who thought that fixing the border might help Biden. Her friends, by contrast, want to fix things: the border, the health-care system, even democracy itself. Having served in places that have collapsed into chaos, they know what it’s like to live in places that don’t have governance of any kind.

They also learned how to operate in that sort of chaos, which is useful now too. Elissa Slotkin, a Middle East analyst who was elected to the House from Michigan in 2018 and is now running for the Senate, says she still thinks the same way about solving problems as she did when she worked for the CIA, the National Security Council, and the Defense Department, among other previous employers: “My job is to identify real threats and go after threats. The No. 1 killer of children is gun violence. Mental-health issues, suicide, opioid addiction—those are real threats. I’m not going to spend a ton of time on things that I believe are exaggerated threats, like books or teaching Black history in our schools.” Spanberger, also used to being challenged, makes a point of traveling in the redder parts of her district and talking in detail about the agricultural bills she’s introduced in Congress: “You can’t both think I’m some crazy deep-state whatever, or some radical leftist,” and at the same time be chatting politely about meat-processing regulation.

Given members’ experience, the group’s special interest in foreign policy is unsurprising, but it doesn’t come cloaked in bluster. When speaking at the DNC, Jason Crow—an Army Ranger and paratrooper who served three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan before winning a House seat in Colorado—contrasted “tough talk” and “chest thumping” with the “real strength and security” that comes from alliances, competence, and continuity. “I refuse to let Trump’s golf buddies decide when and how our friends are sent to war,” he said. Over coffee a few months earlier, Crow told me that isolationism’s appeal is overrated. An outward-looking America appeals to voters, especially those concerned about security. He reminds people, he said, that “America can be a great force for good, that we are at our best when America is engaged and American leadership matters,” and he thinks they listen and care.

Slotkin, who met me in a tiny Senate campaign office she keeps near the Capitol, also told me that voters respond to that kind of expansive message about America’s role in the world. She said she talks about her national-security background on the campaign trail as a way of explaining her other policies: “I really believe that in a multiracial, multi-ethnic democracy, it’s essential that anyone from anywhere can get into the middle class. And if we don’t have that, it’s literally a security problem. If we become a country of the very rich and the very poor, it’s a stability risk.” She thinks her training helps her in a different sense too. Like Spanberger and Crow, Slotkin has also taken oaths to uphold the Constitution, and she, too, has been part of teams dealing with life-threatening situations. “You cut your teeth professionally, in jobs where mission is more important than self,” she said. “And in fact, if you put yourself ahead of the mission, you would have been fired for most of the jobs that we did.”

A few months after Spanberger’s rally, on a rather hotter summer day, I watched Mikie Sherrill deliver an equally pragmatic message. Speaking at an event held at the Ukrainian cultural center in Whippany, the congresswoman, an Annapolis graduate and ex-Navy helicopter pilot, was introduced by Thomas “Ace” Gallagher, mayor of Hanover Township. Gallagher is a Republican, but Hanover suffers from flooding, and Sherrill, he said, had helped his district get money and attention from the Army Corps of Engineers.

“She’s on the Democratic side of the aisle,” he told the room. “But for me, there are not two sides: There’s people that serve and work together and are focused on the common good. As for everybody else, they can do whatever they want to do, as long as they don’t get in the way of our good work.” Soon, he predicted, “you are going to see many people that are more moderate working together … on true solutions to our problems.”

Sherrill, who is expected to launch a run for New Jersey governor herself, seemed as surprised by this optimistic outburst of bipartisan goodwill as I was. “I look around this room, and I’m feeling a little emotional,” she said, and paid tribute back to Gallagher. “Again and again and again, we have come together here in the Eleventh District of New Jersey, to try to problem solve, to try to address the things that are scaring people, to try to make your life a little bit better, to try to just bring some rationality and sanity to a world that right now isn’t making a lot of sense.”

While she was talking—this was on Sunday, July 21—people in the audience started looking at their phones, whispering to one another. At the end of the event, the speakers asked the audience to contribute to Ukrainian charities, stepped off the podium, and learned that President Biden was no longer running for reelection. Two weeks earlier, Sherrill had joined what was still then a very small number of elected politicians openly calling for him to step down. Over lunch, she told me that she had been moved to do so because “we’ve all been saying Trump is an existential threat. But we’ve been acting like we don’t really believe it.” At that point, only two senators had publicly called for Biden not to run: Joe Manchin of West Virginia and Sherrod Brown of Ohio. Not coincidentally, both came from red states. In places outside safe blue states and blue districts, Sherrill told me, Democrats had been looking hard at the polling data and couldn’t see a path to victory.

Earlier, Sherrill had done a small event for Sue Altman, a Democrat who is running for Malinowski’s old seat, attracting the same kind of fired-up-to-do-something-positive crowd as Spanberger, a team of people who seem genuinely excited to knock on doors for a pragmatist who is offering to get things done. Young people in particular, Altman told me, “are sick of the negativity. They’re sick of politics as usual, and they want the government to work properly.” But it’s not a mass movement—nobody gets tens of millions of Instagram followers by finding long-term solutions to flooding in New Jersey.

On the contrary, in a world where social-media algorithms promote anger and emotion, where cable-news teams have an economic interest in promoting the fame-seeking and the flamboyant, charting a different course carries serious risks. The dull work of passing meat-packing bills in Congress, or fixing flooding in New Jersey—none of that will ever go viral on TikTok. Only people who still see politics through the lens of real life, and not through an online filter, will care. In a bitter Senate fight in Michigan, or a close governor’s race in Virginia, the contest could feature candidates who differ radically, but in style as much as substance.

But then, the same can be said about the candidates at the top of the ticket. In a sense, the presidential race is the biggest swing-state race of all. Like the other Service Democrats, Harris also took an oath, early in her career as an attorney, to uphold the Constitution. And like any Democrat running in a purple district, Harris also needs to appeal to a wide range of people who are “sick of politics as usual,” to get them to focus on real-world concerns—economics, health care, inflation—instead of culture wars, and to convince them that she is in politics to solve problems and not just to perform. If she looks down her party’s ballots, she’ll find plenty of allies who have been fighting that same battle for years.