#voting for this senator seat is wild

[sevendeadlysams]

-

[odinsblog]

So Henry Cuellar has been indicted for bribery, foreign influence and corruption. Henry Cuellar, the Islamophobic, homophobic, anti-abortion, anti-immigrant, anti-gun control “Democrat” who often voted with Trump.

Hm.

That’s wild af.

Too bad there’s not someone who was more honest and trustworthy who the DNC and the DCCC could have backed and promoted back when Cuellar was running for office.

That’s really too bad, especially since the margin for the Senate and the House will probably be sO damn close in 2024. Too bad there wasn’t a pro-gun control, pro-immigration, pro-LGBTQ candidate that Democrats could have rallied behind. Instead of funding a conservative, anti-abortion Republican who just called himself a Democrat.

Because if there really was a pro-choice, pro-immigration, pro-gun control candidate who Democrats could have backed, then a lot of people would probably be saying “I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO” right about now. Yeah, I would probably be a little bit pressed. Angry even.

But what do I know, right? I mean, it probably doesn’t matter that AIPAC poured millions and millions against…

Know what, never mind. I guess we’re all good doe, because there wasn’t anyone else who could have taken that seat, the seat that was in a safe Democratic district.

Maybe Democrats will learn and support an actual progressive next time?

It’s all too bad.

[redshift-starfire]

Getting my thoughts on the election out since I've been seeing some squabbling on my dash and I wanna make a futile attempt at clearing shit up that probably won't change anyone's mind

I'm gonna get the president shit out of the way first. Just vote for the genocide woman if you live in a swing state. We (leftists) all hate her, we are all aware that she won't stop the suffering going on in Gaza or Lebanon or anywhere else and she's not going to do much good here. I don't like voting against my morals or best interest, but that was never an option for us. Our voting system is first-past-the-post, winner takes all, so if we don't ensure that the genocidal cop woman with some good policy doesn't get into that office, then we WILL get genocidal old orange billionaire "man" who is hellbent on making everything infinitely worse. It's much easier to bully the former into ending the genocide than the latter. The latter will get you shot by the national guard. Vote strategically then bully relentlessly. We need to get our shit together if we want things to change for the better.

But more importantly:

THERE'S MORE ON THE BALLOT THAN JUST THE PRESIDENT

Do not fucking forget about Congress and how much of a hand they play in all this. God fucking forbid the GOP get another trifecta, if they do it's fucking over, we can't let that happen again. Conservatives are going out in droves to vote early and we need to beat that. A dem majority (especially a supermajority) would make it infinitely easier for the progressive caucus to get their bills through. And that would make many things possible, including better border policy and a ceasefire. This is the best outcome we can hope to have.

VOTE FUCKING LOCAL

I've seen people talking a lot about conservative maniacs in office. THIS IS WHERE THEY ARE. GET. THEM. OUT. This election has State and Federal Senate and House seats up for grabs, Governors, Mayors, County Officials, Sheriffs. All people who have a much greater force on your personal material life than whoever's ass gets sat at that one chair in that one old ass building in DC. This is the one place in American politics where Socialist and Green party candidates are even anywhere close to viable right now and it's how we can get them to be more viable in the future. Do research and make your voice heard in your local area and conditions will improve no matter who the president is. Especially if you show up for primaries and runoffs. There's an independent journalist who makes leftist voting guides for my area and that's what I used to figure out who best to vote for (much more useful for primaries).

DO OTHER SHIT TOO

This is where you can do whatever really, so long as it helps. Poll watch to make sure the GOP doesn't try and completely derail this one. Cure ballots to make sure they're counted. Protest. Scream at people. Join a militia. Strike. Plan the revolution. Boycott. Jack off on Ronald Reagan's grave and post an image of the result on every social media site with the caption: "I'm doing my part!" Whatever. Go fucking wild. The most important thing is that you bully the shit out of whoever is in office until they do something. We by no means should only be doing one thing to shape this society into one we like. Reform/revolution is a false dichotomy. If we do both at the same time, one of them will work.

Do not let them know peace.

[velidewrites]

When the senator of Chandrila’s debts catch up with him at last, the Galactic Empire places a bounty on his daughter’s head. But Elain Archeron is cunning, and she will not go down without a fight—certainly not to the handsome Mandalorian hunter, intent on claiming his prize.

Notes: Part 1/2 of my contribution to Day 7: AU of @elucienweekofficial! Dedicated to @melting-houses-of-gold who patiently listened to my ramblings about this fic <3

Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars, Mandalorian Bounty Hunter!Lucien x Bounty!Elain

Warnings: None (filthy smut in part 2 as I am once again unable to write porn without feelings)

Read on AO3

Part 1

The ship is disturbingly loud.

Elain doesn’t know much about spacecraft, but the sputtering hum of her H-Type Nubian’s engines is concerning enough that she imagines anyone else in her position would feel unsettled. She should have expected the complications—she’d been warned about them, in fact—but she still shifts in her seat uncomfortably.

The yacht has been borrowed to her by Vassa, the former queen of Naboo and a longtime friend—and, for the past four years, a senator within the ranks of the Galactic Empire. Vassa herself had not been present on Naboo during Elain’s stay, called away by what she called a sham of a voting in the Senate, but her people had been informed in advance well enough to take care of the entire process.

Elain Archeron is being smuggled.

It is precisely why she’s been lent the H-Type. The ship is pre-Empire, which means it will—it should—fly under the radar, staying off the Empire’s scopes. It’s not that Elain is a fugitive—not yet, at least—but she has no doubt the Chandrilan government will alert the Senate of her disappearance once they realise Lord Archeron’s daughter has escaped. She isn’t important enough to have Destroyers sent after her, but Elain has never been one to take her chances. Especially not on a day like this.

Especially not on her wedding day.

She has been putting it off since the day she turned fifteen, and it was only the love Lord Archeron supposedly bore for his daughter that kept Elain from an arrangement to be put in place immediately afterwards, as per the Chandrilan custom. Now, though, at twenty-three…Elain had run out of excuses.

The message arrived while she was on Naboo, spending the summer with Vassa as she did nearly every year. A holo-recording of Senator Archeron happily announced her engagement to Graysen Nolan, the only son of Governor Nolan—perhaps the single richest man on Chandrila, Elain’s own family not even coming close in wealth. This will be good for us, Elain, her father said. Finally, the tide turns favourably in our direction.

Elain was not inclined to agree.

Vassa, thank the Maker, had helped her put the plan in motion almost immediately, arranging for safe, undercover passage to the Outer Rim through one of the old hyperspace lanes, abandoned by the Republic during the Clone War. Her intel claimed the route to be safe enough to pass through undetected, which, for Elain, was more than enough.

Graysen Nolan is not old or, superficial as it may be, unattractive by any means. He is quite handsome actually and, as her father so vehemently assured her, quite ridiculously wealthy—but the twenty-eight year old man has a flaw.

He’s an Imperial.

Elain would never dare voice it out loud—in the eyes of the Empire, she is all but a loyal subject, a pretty face to put on Chandrila’s posters and nothing more. But deep down, in a place deep and uncharted like the Wild Space itself, Elain despises them with her whole, insignificant being.

The Senator does not share his daughter’s sentiment, of course—he is a loyalist through and through. It’s what made Elain despise him, too—despise the coward hiding behind expensive gestures and grand speeches. The coward who’d chosen the Empire over his family.

Over the two daughters it had taken from him.

Elain closes her eyes and rests the back of her head against the yacht’s sleek wall, the cool metal doing nothing to ease the pain of the memory. The ship shakes slightly as it charts the course into hyperspace, sending tremors into her bones where it comes into contact with her body. This is one of the crafts with strong deflector shields, Elain reminds herself. As long as they manage to avoid the asteroid field, they will be fine. Probably.

The ship sputters again, and, once again, doubt washes over her in a surging wave. This is probably the fourth or fifth time in the past hour that she’s reconsidered this whole ordeal, the very first one nearly sending her into cardiac arrest as she first saw the ship, the once glistening silver now rusted and peeling off in certain places, as though damaged by battle. It probably was. Elain can’t even begin to count how many attacks on her life Vassa had endured during the Clone War, the controversial Senator constantly the subject of immense interest to the now-extinct Separatist leaders.

She looks around the space, the air suddenly tight. She knows this is going to work—has been assured of it a hundred times—and yet, for some reason, dread continues to build in her chest all the same. Through the wide viewport of the cockpit, even the stars seem to flicker in warning.

“Are we clear?” she asks the pilot nervously.

The pilot, a man Vassa has personally vouched for, half-turns to her from his chair. “We’re calculating the jump, my Lady.”

Elain shifts in her own seat. “How much longer?”

The ground shakes violently before he manages to open his mouth.

Her four guards—or Vassa’s guards, since Elain abandoned her own when she’d sneaked out from her bedchamber’s terrace—jolt upright, white-gloved hands wrapped tightly around their blasters.

“What is happening?!” Elain yells when the floor trembles again, the ship groaning loudly.

All the blood drains from the pilot’s face. “Someone docked in from below.”

Elain’s blood chills. “Impossible.” They couldn’t have realised it yet—she’d purposefully opted to run in the middle of the night, way after the Chandrilan guard conducted their security check. She expected them to find her bed empty in the morning—but not now, merely an hour after her escape.

The commander of her escort looks at his subordinate, his face tight and deep with what seems like thousands of creases. “Check out the disturbance,” he barks, the guard only nodding before he disappears from the cockpit.

“Empire?” Elain asks, the question no more than a whisper. The pilot shakes his head, looking at the beeping controls in disbelief.

“It can’t be—this ship is supposed to be invisible.”

Elain chokes on a breath. “Supposed to?”

The pilot seems breathless, too. “My Lady—” 

His words are interrupted by a singular shot of blaster fire as it cuts through the air. Then, a loud thud as a body falls to the metal floor.

Elain yelps.

One of her guards grabs her by the arm, his grip tight enough to crush the veins beneath her skin. “My Lady, we must hide.”

“Escape pods?” Elain pants.

The commander’s expression looks grave. “There are none on this ship.” He looks at the entrance to the cockpit, and a ringing silence ripples through the air as they all realise the guard has not yet returned—which means the body they’d heard was likely not the intruder’s.

“Hide her,” the commander barks to his remaining two men. “Seal the entrance.” And with that, he, too, disappears between the automatic door, the sharp whoosh of it closing foreboding in a way Elain can’t quite describe.

Not a single person in the cockpit dares to utter so much as a breath as they listen in to the commander’s steps, echoing through the passageway. One second passes, then two—then three.

There is a muffled sound of struggle before the blaster is fired again, yet another thud as what is undoubtedly the commander’s body falls to the floor.

What happens next is a blur to Elain.

The pilot sucks in a breath, and the two guards begin shouting at each other, one order after another as Elain is pulled back toward the small storage space hidden under the pilot’s seat. One of the men lunges for the door, his own weapon at the ready as he aims for the control panel. Elain squeezes her eyes shut, preparing for the shot.

Except that when the shot finally comes, it does not sound from her guard’s sleek, elegant S-5—the man hadn’t even managed to raise it toward the source.

No, it comes from a different pistol, rough and heavy, a trail of smoke hissing upward as the man’s body, too, slumps onto the metal.

Elain tears her gaze off her lifeless guard to look into the eyes of his murderer.

What she finds is a face covered entirely by beskar, the silvery helmet glinting even under the dying starlight.

The Mandalorian comes into view, his powerful frame scraping against the blast door as he takes a step forward, the sound as loud as the bodies of the three men he’d killed. Elain’s breath hitches in her chest, as though afraid to so much as graze the faded green of his chest plate, the metal she recognises as durasteel—hardly comparable to the sheer strength of beskar, but enough to keep the laser-like beams from piercing his heart—something many people have tried to do, if  the ashen marks staining the armour are any indication.

Elain’s own heart—one she suspects will not keep beating for long—thumps loudly in her chest as the Mandalorian man sheathes the blaster back into his belt, so many weapons strapped to its side Elain struggles to understand how he manages to walk with all that weight. He looks calm as he looks over the cockpit—over the three people still alive and waiting for his next move. Elain cannot explain how she knows this—but she swears she can feel his gaze pinned on her, even with his face hidden behind a black, T-shaped visor.

“Stand down, Mandalorian,” the last of her Nubian guards orders loudly, his blaster pointed straight at the masked warrior.

Elain feels his eyes drift away from her face, like a magnet releasing its hold as he looks over the guard with nothing more than an angle of his head. The man actually squirms under his scrutiny.

“I said,” he repeated, no longer able to hide the slight tremor in his throat, “stand down.”

To Elain’s complete shock, the leather-clad hand hovering above his belt falls loosely down his side. The guard, too, seems to release a breath. “This is a diplomatic mission you have disrupted,” he says. “You will be reported to the Guild—”

“I’m not with the Guild,” the response cuts in. It makes Elain shiver—his voice is low and deep, the helmet’s vocoder modulating it slightly, making it seem like a gravelly rumble from his throat.

Once the shiver passes through her spine, the Mandalorian’s words register. If he isn’t with the Guild…

“Hand her over,” he orders. “Now.” One word—deadly. He does not seem like the man to revel in hiding his threats.

The guard gulps, sensing it, too. To his credit, he still manages to tell him, “We will not.”

The Mandalorian’s vocoder sounds with a low hum, the sound seeping a scorching fire into her bones. “My orders are to leave witnesses,” he finally says, his metal-clad body entirely still like a predator fixed on his prey. “It’s a shame I happen to be forgetful sometimes.”

Elain’s heart threatens to stumble out of her chest. He came here for her, and the men sent to protect her—Vassa’s men—do not need to die trying to protect her from the inevitable.

It’s just her luck, Elain thinks bitterly, that the one and only time she’s ever tried to rebel, she has to be hunted by one of the most ruthless warriors in the galaxy. The Mandalorians are known for their violent ways and brutal efficiency—they are, after all, one of the Empire’s most loyal subjects, having allied themselves with Emperor Koschei the moment he came into power.

Since it isn’t the Guild, then, it must be the Empire who have sent this bounty hunter after her, which could only mean two things: her plot to escape her impending marriage had been discovered by Governor Nolan much earlier than she’d expected, or…

Or Father was in a lot more trouble than he'd originally made it out to be.

“It’s okay,” Elain breathes, placing a palm on the guard’s arm. “It’s okay—I’ll go with him.”

The guard shakes his head vehemently. “No—you can’t my Lady, we have been ordered—”

“It’s okay,” she repeats, then squeezes his shoulder. “Lower your weapon.” She turns to the Mandalorian. “I’m going to walk towards you now. Do not hurt those men.”

The bounty hunter does not move, and so Elain takes this as his agreement.

She takes a half-step—then another, crossing the space on shaky legs. She’s almost there—has almost reached that magnetic presence of his when she hears a light swoosh, and a click of metal.

“Lady Elain, duck!” the guard shouts, and fires his blaster.

Elain whirls back just in time to see him sink to his knees, his mouth agape, the hole in his chest sizzling with that same, smoky trail. She shrieks, running back toward yet another man who’d given his life to keep her safe—when a tight, steady grip on her wrists holds her back. “No more tricks, sweetheart,” his warning comes purring as her back hits the hard steel at his chest. Elain whips to face him again, anger stinging hotly at her eyes. “You said you needed witnesses!”

His helmet moves an inch as he seemingly glances at the pilot cowering in his seat behind her. “One is more than enough.” He jerks his chin at the trembling man. “Deliver the message to the Senator. He has seven rotations.”

Elain starts, “Do not—” but her words are cut short as the Mandalorian yanks her back. “Where are you taking me?” she breathes, her attention transfixed on the rough feel of his leather gloves against her bare skin. “Answer me right now, or I will not follow you anywhere—”

His steps come to a stop so abruptly she nearly slams face-first into his back. Slowly, he turns to look at her, silence passing through them in a tremor before he asks lowly, “No?”

Elain swallows. Hard. “No,” she says, accepting that the word might mean her death.

To her surprise, the Mandalorian lets go, crossing his arms over his chest instead, the silver vambraces clanking against each other with the movement. “Look, sweetheart,” he says, the nickname already making a flaming anger stir in the pit of her stomach, “the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: you either come willingly, or I make you.”

Elain grits her teeth stubbornly. “If you want to collect on your bounty, you’ll have to bring me in alive.”

His hands brace at his hips as he cocks his head to the side, and though the black of his visor is nearly impenetrable, Elain swears she saw a flicker of a smirk. “Lucky for me, my orders weren’t that specific.”

Elain’s blood chills.

“So what’s it gonna be,” he pauses, a hint of mockery in his modulated tone as he adds, “my Lady?”

Elain considers.

If Nesta were here, she would have opposed the Mandalorian without a shadow of a doubt, the cold venom in her words perhaps enough to melt through the beskar itself. But Elain had never been much like her elder sister—and so she thinks of Feyre.

Her heart clenches at the memory of her name, but Elain does not linger—instead, she listens to her sister’s voice the way she remembers it—calm and wise, far too knowing for a seventeen year old Padawan—and yet still unmistakably Feyre’s, blue-grey eyes twinkling with mischief as she spoke. Don’t worry, Elain, she had told her four years ago, they won’t see us coming.

No, Feyre, Elain silently agrees now, a plan already forming in her head. He won’t.

She points at the circular opening in the floor—at the ladder to the ship docked directly beneath. “Lead the way.”

—

Elain finds herself in the cockpit of yet another crumbling ship.

The Razor Crest is even older than the H-Type, the model predating the Clone War by at least four years. She supposes the advantage of staying off the scopes is worth it, though right now, she can’t possibly imagine why the Mandalorian working clearly on the Empire’s paycheck would ever need to avoid it.

She sits a breath’s distance behind him, watching as those leather-clad fingers press so many controls her mind begins to spin as they shoot into hyperspace, the blue-white blur of stars blending together a sight beautiful enough to appreciate even in Elain’s current predicament. The ship is fast, too, no doubt tweaked with improvements over the years. She wonders how long the Mandalorian has owned it, frowning as she realises she doesn’t even know how old the bounty hunter is.

She doesn’t even know his face, let alone his name. She would’ve guessed a bounty hunter of his skill would be renowned all the way to the Outer Rim. “What’s your name?” she asks him, curiosity getting the better of her.

He ignores her question entirely.

Elain huffs. “It is rude to ignore a lady, you know.”

No response.

That familiar frustration stirs inside her again. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to simply call you Mandalorian.” Her lip curls. “Or just Mando, perhaps—”

He turns back to her at that, and Elain realises triumphantly that she’d struck a nerve. “You are not to call me anything,” he tells her gruffly. “And besides,” his seat squeaks slightly and he turns to face the viewport again, “Something tells me that you are no lady.”

Her eyes dig into his back, and Elain sure wishes she could will a burning fire into them right now. When she realises it’s a futile effort, she asks, “Where am I to sleep?”.

“Here.”

“Here?” she frowns, looking at the chair, already groaning under her weight. “Where are you taking me?”

There is a brief pause—as if he’s considering how much he can really tell her. Then, “Chandrila.”

Elain’s eyes widen. “Chandrila?”

There is a raspy sound coming from beneath his helmet that Elain can only take for a chuckle. “I’m not taking you home, sweetheart. Sorry to disappoint.”

Elain squints. “So he does have manners after all.” When her hope of hearing a retort fades away, she asks again, “How long before we get there?”

“Too long.”

“Are you always this infuriating?”

He simply chuckles again.

Elain leans back into her seat. “I’m going to need a change of clothes,” she announces.

A glimmer of surprise passes through the space between them—as if whatever the Mandalorian was expecting, it was decidedly not this. “What?”

“I have to change,” Elain repeats, making a point of gesturing to her Naboo-fashioned gown as he turns to face her again. Then, doing her best to sound as bratty as he surely expects her to be—as everyone expects her to be—she says, “Travelling in these is uncomfortable.”

She looks into his visor, which seems to stare at her blankly. “You can’t be serious,” he then says.

Elain tilts her chin up in challenge. “Have you ever worn a gown, Mandalorian?”

“You know I haven’t,” he grumbles darkly.

“Then you have no right to tell me what’s comfortable and what isn’t. These fabrics are heavy—”

“Beskar is heavy,” he cuts in.

Elain stumbles over a breath, irritated less that he’s thrown her off her track, but more that the bastard Mandalorian is right.

Still, she presses, “You’re a Mandalorian, and I’m not. I demand we stop on the nearest planet so that I may—” she hovers a hand over her form, “adapt to the situation at hand.” She angles her head. “Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to attract any attention now, would you? I am a Senator’s daughter, after all.”

For a moment, the bounty hunter says nothing, simply leaning back in his seat as he assesses her. She tries not to shift under the stare she knows lurks beneath the helmet, her mind for some reason wondering if his eyes are the same green—or silver, perhaps—as his armour. She immediately dismisses the idea, though—he burns far too hot for his gaze not to blaze with that heat in some capacity. Not that she particularly cares—Elain has simply never had the chance to speak to a Mandalorian before, and those that she had seen had not seemed to share this one’s sentiment to stay perpetually hidden beneath the beskar.

She decides to flat out ask him, then—if only to satisfy that strange curiosity in her chest—when he surprises her again. “Alright,” he says, his visor seemingly focused on the thick folds of her gown. “We’ll make a stop.” Then, he adds, his voice rumbling with warning, “But no tricks, sweetheart. You won’t be able to escape me that easily.”

Elain has to bite back a smile. We’ll see.

—

A mechanically distorted cough stirs her from sleep.

“We’re landing up on Llanic,” he announces, and walks away.

Elain sits up, her back straining from the worn-out leather of her chair, the heavy dress not helping it at all. She curses herself—and not for the first time—for not thinking to wear something allowing more flexibility as she’d dressed in Vassa’s estate. Though, Elain now supposes, that same gown is the only reason she now has the opportunity to escape.

Soon enough, the Mandalorian lowers the Razor Crest onto a landing platform. Despite its proximity to Naboo, Llanic looks nothing like the planet’s vibrant, ethereal ecosystem. Everything here seems dull and grey—even the people opting for garments of pale blues and sulking whites as they move around the settlement.

“Llanic is the smugglers’ den,” the Mandalorian explains, as though reading the thoughts from Elain’s face. “All of this,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the view ahead as they step out of the ship, “is to help them stay out of sight.”

Elain looks to her own dress, the deep amethyst standing out almost ridiculously, already drawing more than a few pairs of eyes. The shiny Mandalorian at her side, Elain thinks with a sigh, certainly does not help.

The last thing she wants is the attention of more criminals.

“We need to get you a change of clothes quickly,” he mutters, making Elain look up at him with a smirk. “I told you—” she starts, but he’s already begun to walk off the platform, his gruff, “No time” her only invitation to follow along.

Her eyes scan her surroundings quickly, noting a cantina farther out back, already humming with a strange music she doesn’t recognise. He leads them left, though, toward what seems to be the market—one crowded enough that Elain can’t help but loose a breath of relief.

It should be easy to get rid of him here, Elain thinks. If, of course, she is quick enough.

Feyre would have thought this to be no more than an adventure. Elain smiles, the thought pouring a surge of courage into her chest.

They stop at an Ithorian merchant’s stand, one of the largest ones on the stony street, as he grumbles something to a bartering customer. Elain begins to fumble through his selection, her mind already tracking her route of escape. She’ll find some other, proper clothes later—the only purpose of these is to serve as her distraction.

She picks up a matching set of a top and trousers of dusted ivory, and a beige poncho to supposedly help her blend in. She’ll have to pick out something similar later if she truly is to disappear.

Elain is already side-eyeing the cantina, the copular structure practically calling out her name far at the street’s end. Perhaps she’ll be able to find a transfer there—someone to get her off-world and, hopefully, as far away from the infuriating Mandalorian and the Empire as possible

A warm, heavy presence appears beside her, and she chucks the clothes into the bounty hunter’s hands. He only stares back, confusion rolling off of him in waves.

She can’t help but snicker. “You’re impossible.”

“I…don’t understand.”

Elain huffs. “Well, my apologies if I forgot to remember to bring my credits as I was being kidnapped,” she sputters, the word making the elderly couple behind the Mandalorian turn to face her with a frown.

“Be more quiet now, would you,” the Mandalorian growls, the sound a deep rumble from his chest.

Elain narrows her gaze. “Just go buy these, yeah?”

He chuckles at the apparent drop in formalities, though his voice remains firm as he reminds her, “Don’t move until I’m back.”

She smiles sweetly, motioning to the streets around her. “Where else would I go?”

He seems to agree well enough, because the Mandalorian soon disappears between the hanging layers of cloth as he moves towards the Ithorian seller. When the familiar glint of beskar vanishes out of her sight, Elain turns and begins to run.

The amethyst dress and the tightness in her back is a strain on her speed, but the adrenaline surging through her is enough to keep her legs moving swiftly. Not for the very first time, Elain wishes she had the lithe speed and remarkable strength both of her sisters have always displayed, their movements carefully supported by the Force.

The thought leaves her as quickly as it arrived as Elain makes a sharp turn, pivoting into a darkened alleyway that she hopes will discreetly lead her to the back wall of the cantina. Her steps slow, as though the silent darkness compelled them to do so—and Elain quickly looks around, letting herself take a breath before she continues on again.

“Not so fast, princess,” a low, hissing voice sounds behind her.

Elain’s feet freeze into the ground.

“Don’t be afraid,” it croons, stepping in closer. “It will all be over soon.”

Elain’s breath quickens.

The man, unmistakably a Trandoshan, slithers beside her, his scaled, greenish skin finally coming into view—but it’s not his appearance Elain finds her gaze glued to, but the long, heavy Mortar Gun resting in his large hands as he points it directly at her face.

“Sssuch a shame,” he muses. “To ruin such a pretty face. But I find myself in a desssperate need of credits, you sssee.” He angles his scaly head, yellow eyes narrowing on her. “The Empire is paying quite the sum for you, little princess. If it was any lower…I might have taken some time to play with you firssst.”

“A shame indeed,” a voice agrees somewhere behind him. “Unfortunately, your time seems to have run out.”

A single shot booms through the air before the Trandoshan evaporates into dust.

A Mandalorian—her Mandalorian, Elain realises—stands a few metres behind where the reptilian bounty hunter stood a moment ago, a forked sniper rifle Elain had never seen before still pointed at the dissipating dust.

“Where did you get that?” Elain breathed. Has he been carrying that weapon this whole time? Could he have turned her into…into this?

He shrugs. “Had it lying around.”

He reaches her in a few quick strides, his head dipping as he appears to be sweeping his gaze over her, assessing. “Are you hurt?” he asks.

Elain shakes her head, her body slowly moving out of stillness. “No.” She clears her throat, begging the Force to bring clarity into her voice. “Thank you,” she rasps, then sighs, exasperated. The Force had never seemed to be her ally, anyways. “I’m…sorry for running.”

He hums. “I knew you would try something eventually. You got lucky.”

Elain blinks. “You would call this—” she gestures to the Trandoshan bounty hunter’s remains spread out over the stone ground, “—lucky?”

He nods, strapping the rifle to his back in one, swift movement. “There are others out there who would not hesitate to kill you on sight. I’d say,” he adds, “you got more than lucky to end up with me.”

“How very fortunate,” she mutters. He only chuckles, though she feels as his gaze lands on her again. There is a pause of quiet between them before he finally asks, the voice behind the helmet softer, somehow, “Are you, though? Alright?”

Elain sighs. “Yes. I’m…” she searches for the word. Tired. Confused. Lost. “Hungry,” she decides.

Another chuckle. “Follow me.”

The cantina beams a more lively song as they enter, though Elain, despite all that thorough education she’d received, can’t seem to recognise the language. They take their seats at a booth stuck into a dim nook before a waiter approaches, his gaze shining with curiosity at the unlikely pair. “What can I get you?”

“Spotchka,” Elain sighs, earning yet another amused huff from her companion. “And—whatever your special is today.”

The man nods. “That would be the stew.”

“Perfect,” Elain says, then turns to the Mandalorian, the waiter, too, looking at him expectantly.

“That will be all,” he says tightly, his tone enough to make the waiter scatter immediately out back. Elain frowns. “Are you not going to eat?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I’m not hungry.”

Elain counters, “I have not seen you eat since you put me on that rusted old ship.”

The visor seems to glower at her. “The Crest is fine.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not willing to discuss this, Elain.” She doesn’t think she’d ever heard his name fall from his lips.

Does he even have lips? Elain can’t help but wonder. He appears human, but beneath that armour, he really could be anyone. It’s not that she truly cares about his face—the curve of his nose or the angle of his jaw. But she wants to be able to see if his gaze burns as brightly as she’s been imagining it, like a hot, midday sun.

His tone does not invite such questions, though, so Elain gives up with a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” she says. “Tell me your name, at least.”

“No.”

“I’m sick of calling you the Mandalorian in my head.”

“Then stop thinking about me, Elain.”

She throws her arms up in exasperation. “You are impossible!”

He seems to snicker at that. “So I’ve heard.”

Elain sinks further into her seat. “Are you able to answer any of my questions, at least?”

He hums, making a show of considering. “Probably not,” he finally said, earning yet another huff from Elain. “But perhaps you can answer some of mine.”

Elain feels her brows rise. “Oh?”

He laces his fingers atop the table. “What has your father done to get the Empire to put a bounty on your head?”

That, Elain did not expect. “I thought bounty hunters were taught not to ask any questions.”

“To their clients. The bounty is a whole another story.”

“How convenient,” Elain murmurs, and, once again, she swears she can feel his smile in her chest. “Very well. If you must know, he borrowed some money—too much of it for me to even begin to describe, and all of it from the wrong people.” She chews on her bottom lip before quickly releasing it from her teeth, a sharp exhale pushing past her mouth. “It’s why my…engagement was arranged in the first place.”

“To the Governor’s son. So I’ve heard.”

“Yes, well, they had money. But look how that turned out.”

“Do you…” his helmet cocks to the side, as though from this new angle, he can read the answer simply by looking at her face. “Do you regret it?”

“No!” Elain quickly says. “Kriff, no—it’s why you found me on the Nubian instead of the planet itself. I was…” she clears her throat. “I was escaping.”

Silence falls, broken only for a moment as the waiter arrives with Elain’s food. She begins digging into the warm stew, realising the conversation has most likely come to an end, the Mandalorian seemingly gazing off into the distance.

But then, a quiet sound reaches her, so indiscernible she initially thinks she must’ve imagined it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For disrupting your plans.”

Elain flashes him a cryptic smile. “My plans aren’t disrupted just yet.”

—

When Elain emerges from the Crest’s refresher, she finds the clothes she’d picked out at the market laid out on a new cot.

“We’re almost done refuelling,” the Mandalorian’s voice reaches her from where he leans against the ladder leading up to the cockpit.

Elain arches a brow. “What happened to not leaving your side for a moment?”

“Well, I trust you’re not reckless enough to jump out of our ship once we’re in hyperspace.”

Our ship?

Elain dismisses it as her mind playing tricks on her. “Thank you for getting these for me. Believe it or not, but that gown was uncomfortable.”

A grunt of agreement. “It sure looked like it.”

Elain takes the poncho into her hands, her palm smoothing out the fabric. “I’m sorry about nagging you earlier. I—I don’t know much about Mandalorians, I just assumed—”

“You assumed fine.” A deep sigh rattles through him as he bounces off the ladder, stepping closer toward her. “Not removing this,” he points to the shining beskar atop his head, “is my choice.”

Elain dares to ask, “Why, though?”

“Does it matter?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

No, Elain finally decides. Soon—within the next rotation or two, perhaps—the Mandalorian will hand her over to the Empire, a toy to toss over her father’s head. She’ll never have the chance to think about his face again.

Her expression must have told her enough, because his body seems to stiffen as he halts less than five feet away from her.

“Are they going to kill me?” Elain asks him openly.

Silence ripples through the air.

“The Empire doesn’t kill innocent civilians,” he says carefully. Elain can’t help but laugh. “Even if that were true, I am hardly innocent.”

He seems inclined to disagree. “Your father’s mistakes are not your own, Elain.” His words sound deeper than usual as he says them.

She shifts on her feet. “Still, I’m afraid my family’s sins are already beyond repair.” She sighs, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over her, as though the words alone were enough to make her body feel limp. “My…” she can’t say it, her throat tightening on its own as she tries. Elain simply looks away.

But then, a few shallow breaths later, a heavy weight rests on the cot beside her. “My father is the head of an…important clan back on Mandalore,” he begins to tell her quietly. “He’s not a good man—to say the least.” He clears his throat. “I have six brothers, each of them worse than the last, as if they’re all competing to see which one of them can become cruel enough to finally catch Father’s attention.”

Elain turns to look at him at that.

He continues, “I never wanted to be like them—any of them. My mother is the only good thing about my family, and she was the only one not to send bounty hunters after me when I finally left.”

Elain’s eyes widen. “You—you escaped from Mandalore?”

His laugh feels bitter. “There is no escaping from my family. I’m the youngest—not important enough for them to keep on wasting credits to drag me back, but, I suppose, a reminder annoying enough to make my life miserable for as long as they wished.” His hand flickers up for a moment, then falls back onto the cot—as if he was going to run his fingers through his hair before remembering the helmet shielding them from view. “So I cut the best deal for myself as I could—and I’ve been picking up the Empire’s dirty jobs ever since. I don’t like most of them,” he admits, “but…” the words trail off. He does not need to finish them for Elain to understand.

But I’m glad I met you.

It is why Elain tells him plainly, “My sisters were Jedi.”

The Mandalorian goes completely, breathlessly still.

Elain nods. “Traitors to the Republic,” she adds bitterly. “To the Empire. My older sister—Nesta…” she fights back tears at the memory of her icy eyes, softening whenever the two of them got to see each other. “She was—she was on Corellia when…when the Order was given. And Feyre…Feyre was at the Temple on Coruscant.” She swallows the thick words in her throat. “She was—she’s gone,” Elain finishes, unable to speak the full truth. It’s too soon—it will never not be.

Her sisters were discovered late—Feyre at six, and Nesta at ten years old, when all the other foundlings had usually come to the Temple at no older than three. But the great masters had foreseen something in the two of them—something Elain had never quite been able to understand without the Force whispering to her the way it did to her sisters. Something with the potential to change the Galaxy as they all knew it.

Whatever her sisters’ purpose was, it would never be fulfilled. It had never even been given the chance to.

“It’s how I know my father will not come for me,” Elain adds quietly. “When you hand me over to the Empire. He’d aligned himself with them when it took not one, but two of his daughters away. Now, it will take away the third.”

Once again, the ship is enveloped in silence.

It had been so long since Elain had last spoken her sisters’ names that she isn’t sure she’d even talked about them to anyone since their death. The Mandalorian is a quiet presence beside her, strong and warm even through the hardened metal encasing his body. It feels relieving to her to know that he, too, lives in accordance with the Empire’s cruelty not by choice, but by the lack of it, hoping that one day, he will be free enough to leave and never look back.

But then Elain is reminded that neither of them are free just yet—and that, while he might still be able to harbour that dream, it is already too late for Elain. That the only way for him to get a step closer toward it, he has to make sure Elain never gets to reach it herself. There is something about the irony of it all that makes her want to weep—and yet, Elain can’t bring herself to feel angry.

“I hope the Empire pays you well for all of this,” she tells him earnestly.

He turns to face her then—as much as he can with the self-imposed containment of his beskar—and perhaps it is merely wishful thinking, but, for a whisper of a moment, Elain knows with the utmost certainty that she saw a flicker of gold beneath the darkness.

His voice is quiet as he responds.

“Not nearly enough.”

—

Once again, Elain is violently ripped from sleep.

They cannot be landing already—Elain can swear they’ve only just left Llanic’s atmosphere, her face hitting the cot the moment the Crest’s navicomputer was programmed and the stars blurred into a singular light again. Chandrila is still a long journey ahead, at least two, if not three more refuelling stops since the Crest is unable to withstand such a distance on a single tank.

They aren’t landing, Elain understands as the last remnants of her sleep sharpen into reality—into the loud, flaring sound echoing off the ship’s tight space. Into the red light blazing on and off, illuminating her shaky hands as the realisation finally sinks.

The Crest is under attack.

Elucien Week Taglist: @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @labellefleur-sauvage @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

[beepbeepmfkr]

The fucked up part is that I can't even make the post I wanna make explaining why this is bullshit because all y'all have already seen them.

We've explained to you so many times over that the inaction of the Biden administration was largely in part due to the fact that Trump had stacked the Senate and judiciary.

Y'all didn't care. You saw sleepy joe doing nothing and let your absolute absence of political knowledge run wild to decide that a protest vote was the right decision.

Y'all cried palestine, we showed you that Trump is besties with Net., has been instigating worse horror, And plans to turn the Gaza strip into fucking bit of seaside housing. Cool. Now the work we we're already going to have to do has gotten ten times harder. Thanks.

Y'all cried climate change, debt forgiveness - ignored the HUGE strides Biden has made on those ends because it wasn't perfect. Welp. Now we get to have Mr. Billionaire fuckface to make allllll of that worse

Idk. When y'all are done throwing your tantrums can we expect to see you at town hall meetings and supporting the nonprofits who put forth the ballot measures meant to support you? What's your plan for civic action for the next two years until election season comes again for the smaller seats?

Do you have any intention to get involved or are y'all just gonna stay little keyboard warriors doing absolutely not a god damn thing but whine and think about your fucking selves?

[dearyallfrommatt]

Well. Shit.

I honestly don't have too much to say. There's still some this-and-that to dig through, but it looks like we elected a brand new used car, one we know smells bad and burns through oil. He got even more votes this time. He ran a shit ground game, got stomped during the debates, constantly came off as a gibbering lunatic OR a gormless whiner, had a historically loathed veep candidate, & it looks like he'll not only get a commanding victory, right-wing dingbats across the country are getting seats. Cruz and Scott both got re-elected.

Philip K. Dick called the Nixon Administration - and the aura of fear & loathing that swamped the country - the Black Iron Prison. He thought the resignation of Nixon caused it to fall, but I'm more cynical than that. Ford pardoned Nixon and it just went to shit from there. Trump's a stooge as much as every Republican president since (maybe) H.W. Bush, & the GOP winning the Senate means they're about to go hog wild, son.

As a middle-aged white, cis male who owns land in rural Northeast Mississippi, I'm in basically the same shape today as tomorrow. I don't have kids and still know that's the best decision I ever made. Buckle up, neighbors. It's about to get Meaner and Dumber.

[missegyptiana]

each state gets electoral votes equal to their senate seats (2) and their house of representative seats (determined by population). so california has 2 senators + 52 representatives, so we have 54 votes in the electoral college. most of the states are winner take all, so if you get the majority of votes, you get all the electoral votes. maine and nebraska are a little more complicated. lmk if you have more questions!

ohhhh i see! thank u claire this helped a lot! it’s hard for me to learn and understand US politics sometimes so this helped!! this is so overwhelming and complicated like this system is wild

[mariacallous]

The man who became a figurehead of the January 6 Capitol riot is planning to run for Congress in Arizona, and he may not even be the most extreme candidate on the ballot.

Jacob Chansley, a January 6 rioter known as the QAnon Shaman who wore face paint and horns to breach the Capitol, pleaded guilty to taking part in the riot. Last week, Chansley filed a statement of interest to run for a seat in Arizona’s 8th congressional district. Chansley, who has lived in the district for 30 years, tells WIRED that he is running his campaign single-handedly and does not plan to accept PAC money. Though he’s not eligible to vote under Arizona law because he is still serving part of his sentence, Chansley is able to run for Congress.

“When I heard that the seat was available, I prayed on it for a while, and the message I got from God was, ‘Do it,’” says Chansley.

In Arizona, Chansley’s decision to run for office is almost standard. Though Chansley may be viewed as a fringe candidate by many, he is not an outlier in a district and state where election deniers and conspiracists are already front and center in the 2024 election races.

Ever since former US president Donald Trump lost Arizona in 2020, the state has become the epicenter of election denial conspiracies and efforts to undermine democracy. The state was home to the Cyber Ninjas–run GOP recount that cost taxpayers millions, and its voters are represented by multiple far-right extremist GOP lawmakers, including state senator Wendy Rogers and US representative Paul Gosar, who have boosted wild conspiracy theories related to vote rigging. Former TV presenter Kari Lake, who has been touted as a possible vice presidential pick by Trump in 2024, continues to claim that the Arizona secretary of state race she lost by 17,000 votes in 2022 was stolen. Lake has also boosted racist “birther” conspiracies about former president Barack Obama and has pushed for journalists and political rivals to be jailed for unspecified crimes.

In Chansley’s home district, a slate of candidates reflecting Arizona’s embrace of extremist ideologies have already declared interest in running for the seat left open by the retirement of US representative Debbie Lesko, a member of the far-right Republican Freedom Caucus in Congress who voted against certifying the 2020 election results.

Blake Masters, who ran for a US Senate seat in 2022 and lost, announced he would run for a seat in Arizona’s 8th district last month. During his Senate race, Masters was backed by money from techno-libertarian Peter Thiel, his former boss, as well as an endorsement from Trump, who told him to lean into claims of election fraud if he wanted to win the election. (Masters very much touted 2020 election denial conspiracies, but they apparently didn’t help him win.)

Masters, who published videos of him shooting guns as part of his 2022 campaign, will face a challenge for the GOP nomination from Abe Hamadeh. Hamadeh, a 2022 Republican candidate for Arizona attorney general, also lost his race in 2022 despite having Trump’s endorsement. Hamadeh was one of the loudest voices in Arizona falsely claiming that Trump had won the 2020 election, and he is still trying to have his own loss to attorney general Kris Mayes overturned.

Former US representative Trent Franks, Lesko’s predecessor, is also running again. Franks was forced to resign in 2017 after he offered female staffers millions of dollars to serve as surrogate mothers for him and his wife—and at least one aide was unsure whether Franks was requesting to impregnate her through sexual intercourse or in vitro fertilization.

Anthony Kern, an Arizona state senator who was also in Washington, DC, on January 6, and who has been accused of using campaign finances to fund his trip to the capital, has announced his candidacy for the congressional seat as well. Kern was captured on video entering a restricted area outside the Capitol, though there is no evidence he was violent or entered the Capitol itself, and he has not been charged for any crimes related to the riot.

Kern is, however, currently under investigation by the Arizona attorney general as one of 11 fake electors who signed documents in 2020 to claim that Trump had beaten President Joe Biden in Arizona, even though Biden actually won the state. Kern also took part in the sham hand-recount of ballots in Maricopa County in 2021.

Before becoming a lawmaker, Kern was fired from his position with the El Mirage Police Department for lying to his supervisor about repaying the cost of a tablet computer he had lost. He was placed on a list of Maricopa County law enforcement officials with a history of dishonesty or misconduct.

“The race in general is gonna be wild,” one independent researcher who tracks the far-right in Arizona under the moniker Arizona Right Watch tells WIRED. But, they add, they would still “take Chansley over Kern, who is totally corrupt and batshit.”

And even though the other candidates are possibly more connected politically, Chansley still thinks he has closer ties to voters in his home district.

“Several of the candidates running here in District 8 don’t even live in District 8. I’ve lived in District 8 for over 30 years,” he tells WIRED. “I’m largely doing it on my own. It’s just me and God, man.”

He’s currently working on a campaign website, and plans to begin knocking on doors to meet voters in the next couple of weeks. Chansley is also eager to take part in debates with other candidates. “That's where I think I'll shine,” Chansley says. “I'm ready to debate anyone and everyone that wants to try.”

When asked whether he would be attending a candidate forum being organized by a local community organization on Wednesday night, Chalsey says, “quite possibly.”

Chansley added that he doesn’t want any campaign donations, but says that if people want to support him, they can do so by buying merchandise on his website which includes T-shirts, mugs, and yoga leggings that feature him dressed in the notorious QAnon Shaman garb.

Despite having no experience, no money, no support, and no endorsements, Chansley is still optimistic about winning in 2024.

“I think my chances of winning are good, otherwise God wouldn't have asked me to run,” Chansley says.

[stalkedbytrains]

Untouched Horizons Timeline 2/-

The Formation of Zones and First Cold War

-1582

A few native earth plant species are introduced but not many

The new plan is to establish several outposts and break the island into regions to make it easier to tend

A House will formed

They will, as a unit, be given a territory to maintain for 2 years with one long break in the middle

then they have a year off for the Houses to reconvene and interbreed

They will also have time to do other House business before getting their next assignment

A House is ruled by one or several qiins, each representative is left to the House itself to decide

There will be a series of jdaginds to maintain and run the Hive, lots of day to day internal work

And there will be a large series of shrar to work the lands outside the Hive

For the next two years there will be lots of political maneuvering of qiins trying to band together or convince enough people that they have the willpower to form a Great House

Who will go with who, who is offering what, one qiin atop it all or several? Lots of things going on

-1581

The first election of an administrative house to do a 2 year rotation in the colony to oversee the city and everything (including the few remaining scouts)

Great Houses are formed and are recruiting under various qiins; 21 total

21 houses with an average of 580 people making it up

There are inter-House elections for representatives to stay within the Zlicchaser and essentially function as Senators

-1580

The first term out in the wilds is drawn, political favors are extended for seemingly more favorable positions and whatever

The first decision is to make the first term 4 years so that outposts can be built, infrastructure built, that kind of stuff

20 zones, not including Zlicchaser

-1576

The last four years has been the building of the outposts and connected waterways

The island’s ecosystem is doing much better, the animals they’ve found are starting to thrive in expected ways, nothing truly unexpected happening just yet

There is one major problem as everyone’s time is up at the same time so the entire population returns to the colony for their “shore leave” and it is a debauched party for several months and a large population spike

-1575

A new administration is election and the 2 year rotation is drastically changed

Great House: House of the High Sun (Ziiryaukste Gankt)

The House rotations are much more staggered, there is a lot system implemented

The work season/election cycle is now 30 months now: 24 on, 6 off, no more than 4 Houses off at the same time

2 slots are split at the beginning and end of the thing as it is seen as the worst ones

For the ecosystem, some scientists suggest that for an ideal set, they’d like 600 Great Houses but they are extremely underpopulated for it but that will change in time

There are complicated rules for making and splitting of Houses

There are even more complicated inter-House rules for the same thing

-1572

The first suggestion to extend term limits is denied

First petition to remain on land tries and fails to get a unanimous vote

An allied house of Gankt (High Sun) gets elected to the administrative position for the season: Chauigtsoond House (Plentiful Choond, a plant from Yatz that is known and prized for its flavorful purple berries)

-1569

Gankt (High Sun) is returned to the administrative seat, the flaw in the system is exposed

-1566

Chauigtsoond House gets the administrative seat once again

Outrage is had but there is no way to prove the election was rigged

-1563

The final act of Chauigtsoond House is to grant a request from Gankt (High Sun) to claim a zone for itself, which is of course the richest zone

The other houses are incensed

They reject the claim on the land and force Chauigtsoond House out of their positions

When the pushback happens, the allied Houses cannot stand against the willful neglect of the other 16 houses

All of this leads to a cold war

-1560

The cold war is between 16 houses and the 5 allied houses who have been trying to take power

An ally house is in the administrative house

The other houses refuse to let any business get done so they veto everything on purpose

Trade embargoes, the other houses are under no obligation to trade with them so they don’t, isolating the other 5 houses which wouldn’t be a bad thing except for

Attacks on the trade-ways between houses

Minor violence

Rivers are damned, supplies attacked and stolen

Somehow all out war is mostly avoided

-1558

The season comes to an end and the 16 houses demand a vote for the new administrative house which the 5 allied houses can’t not agree with

When a new system is in place the residency of Gankt (High Sun) is revoked, and the scandal is revealed

Gankt (High Sun) is forcibly disbanded

Their allied houses are deliberately placed within the lots to be as separate as possible so they cannot meet even during their off times

Rules are established as to which house can be administrative and for how long and for how many times in a set period

A circle pattern is established for rotating houses over zones and administrations

[warwickroyals]

you've mentioned places like great lakes and new westminster. are these states or provinces, or just general regions? how is sunderland divided administratively?

Yes, hello, these are provinces and Sunderland has ten of them! They look like this (roughly, it's a work in progress)

The ten provinces are:

Alexandria, Algonquin, Cheyenne, Danforth, Great Lakes, Iroquois, Lakota, Missoria, and New Westminster

Each province is represented by a provincial government and they are considered to have shared sovereignty with the federal government. Each province has a Governor-General, who represents the Crown aka Louis V. Each province has a certain amount of MPs (Members of Parliament) who sit in either the House of Commons (lower chamber) or the Senate (upper chamber). MPs represent the legislative interests of their provinces and municipalities at the federal level. There is a fixed number of twenty senators (two from each province), who are appointed by the King on the advice of his prime minister, while members of the House of Commons are elected directly in federal elections, with the number of MPs depending on the population of their province, the larger the province the more seats they have in the House of Commons.

In Sunderland, you don't vote for the prime minister directly, you vote for them through your MPs. So, if the potential prime minister (the party leader) belongs to the Liberal party, you vote for the Liberal MP representing your area, if that Liberal MP wins they have a seat in the House of Commons. If a majority of the MPs in the House are of a certain party (the main two being Liberals and Tory Conservatives), their party leader becomes Prime Minister with a majority government. If a party wins the most seats but fails to hold a majority, this is called a minority government and the ruling party has less absolute authority and will have to coalition-build with other parties in order to get things done. So, it's extremely important that the Prime Minister and his Ministers are supported by their MPs in the House of Commons, this is something Sunderland's current prime minister is struggling with. MPs can resign, retire, switch parties, or die on a whim, so the amount of power a government has can fluctuate.

The Senate is more of the wild-west as Louis is free to appoint to whoever he wishes for whatever reason he wants (on the advice of the prime minister, but he can ignore the advice). The general rule is that these people have to be of noteworthy public standing, but they don't have to be politicians. They can be activists, lawyers, civil servants, etc. If the King tries to appoint a friend or a family member, nothing but public outrage can stop him. So, naturally, Louis doesn't appoint friends or family and has grilled James and later Nicholas on this being something you should never do as King. Louis's Daddy James II didn't have the same restraint. . . Nor did King Nicholas (removing the leftists meant sacking the senate against them) . . . Or King George who fought tooth and nail to have his moronic son-in-law appointed to the Senate in 1898 . . . but it's not a corrupt system at all, I swear . . .

The Senate has the job of approving the potential laws (bills) passed to them by the House of Commons, in short: if they dislike it, they send it back or veto it, if they like it, they'll hand it over the Louis for royal assent. Believe it or not, the fact that there is an unelected body, that serves until the age of SIXTY-FIVE, picking and choosing what laws get greenlit has caused SCANDALS, with the protests happening in this post being triggered by the Senate rejecting an affordable housing bill forwarded by the Liberals in the House.

Until 1999, those appointed to the Senate were given a title of nobility, typically an Earldom or a Dukedom if The King thinks you're a really good boy. The families of Irene and Tatiana are descended from prominent Senators, this is where their family titles originated from. This tradition ended when the first woman was appointed to the Senate in 1999, since women can't inherit noble titles, Louis stopped the practice altogether, instead of . . .y'know, just getting Parliament to allow women the ability to hold noble titles suo jure. Louis can technically still hand out noble titles, but he informally agreed to stop granting titles to non-family members. People at the time viewed this as him becoming more egalitarian and progressive for the new millennia, but in reality, he was just keeping his crop of aristocrat ass-likers more exclusive. So, now your senators aren't literal dukes and earls . . . yay, progress?

Finally: The "commander-in-chief" of a province is called the premier. Think of him like a governor in the United States. These guys are elected through provincial elections and they form their own legislative bodies to handle provincial legislation (healthcare, education, etc.). They operate largely independently from the federal government and have historically resisted federal micro-management.

If you're familiar with American geography or history, you'll know that the provinces have Indigenous names (Cheyenne, Lakota, Missouria, Iroquois, Algonquin) and others are named after royalty (Alexandria and Louisia) and prominent figures/locations (New Westminster, Danforth) . . . the implications of these names say a lot about Sunderland's history.

Hopefully, I'll be able to update my map soon, hope you enjoyed the political lesson.

[jaspersboy]

It was the early hours of November 5, 1998, well past my bedtime on a school night. Sister Sledge blared over the house speakers in a nondescript ballroom in a south Denver suburb. I was dancing giddily on stage looking out at a pack of my fellow awkward whites: donor types in their formal wear for the occasion, campaign hacks in our garish purple tees, inspired by our candidate’s love for the town’s new baseball team.

All of us were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Bill Owens, the man who had just been declared the winner in the gubernatorial election reversing a nearly three-decade streak of Democratic victories in Colorado.

From that stage, my barely postpubescent expectation was that there were only greens ahead for the Grand Ole Party in my home state. Republicans won up and down the ballot that night. When the counting was through, the state’s senior senator, Ben Nighthorse Campbell, would celebrate his first victory as a member of the GOP, his party switch in 1995 having presaged the state’s political shift. Republicans would control all the statewide constitutional offices except attorney general and four of the six congressional seats, most notably first term Representative Tom Tancredo, a racist gadfly who won easily in the suburban 6th Congressional District where I grew up. Two years later, the state, which Clinton had won in 1992 by a comfortable margin, went to George W. Bush by 8 points. Two years after that, Owens would go on to a landslide re-elect, be named the “Best Governor in America” by National Review, and be whispered about as a possible presidential hopeful. His top strategist, Dick Wadhams, was seen as a potential national star, set to run a top-tier 2008 presidential campaign before it got all macacaed up.

The political world was at our fingertips; the growing, dynamic Mountain West was primed to be the engine for a free-market, libertarian-streaked party that was perfectly suited to lead in the twenty-first century. Colorado could be the center of it all. It seemed as if I was timing my entrance into Republican political life perfectly to be along for the ride.

That was then.

Not even a quarter century on, Colorado can’t even be described as a swing state anymore. The last gasp of that status came in last year’s midterm, when the GOP nominees for governor and the Senate got crushed by umpteen points in what should have been a good year for the party. In that midterm, Democrats did better in Colorado than even in such liberal strongholds as New York and Illinois, according to analysis of the statewide popular vote by Split Ticket. Today, Dems control every major statewide office and five of the eight congressional seats—and they came just 500 votes short of taking out Lauren Boebert on the Western Slope and making it six. 2023 marks the party’s highest level of dominance in state politics since 1936.

You would think that such a dramatic fall might lead the Republican party poobahs to do some self-reflection on how it all went wrong. Maybe brainstorm on what they can do to reinvigorate the GOP’s heyday or come up with new strategies to bring back the voters who have swung so hard against them.

Nah. Instead, the GOP’s most wild-eyed members are determined to run things even further into the ground. This weekend they handed the keys to the party to a tiny cloister of extremists more interested in owning the libs than fixing their losing brand.

[bllsbailey]

GOP Clinches Houses Majority, Ups Seat Tally to 219

After Newsmax projected an official clinching of the House majority of at least 218 seats, Republicans have upped their total to 219 with the official victory declaration of Rep. Ken Calvert, R-Calif.

Calvert is a long-serving House GOP member in the deep-blue state of California.

There was a flip away from Republicans in the state as Rep. Mike Garcia, R-Calif., has officially lost his seat to Democrat George Whitesides.

That sets the latest House tally at 219 Republicans and 210 Democrats with six races remaining too close to call. Republicans lead in three of them.

Breakdown of the remaining races:

California (five seats): Districts 9, 13, 21, 45, and 47. Republicans lead in Districts 13 and 45.

Alaska District 1: Republican Nick Begich leads incumbent Rep. Mary Peltola, D-Alaska, in a ranked-choice voting state that would flip a seat to the GOP.

Rep. Juan Ciscomani, R-Ariz., held on to defeat Democrat challenger Kirsten Engel in Arizona's District 6, Newsmax is projecting, which clinched the 218th seat for Republicans, assuring the majority.

Democrats had been hoping to capture control of the House to blunt Republicans' grip on both the presidency and the Senate. In last week's election, Donald Trump recaptured the White House, while the GOP claimed the Senate majority 52-47 with one race (Pennsylvania) yet to be called by Newsmax.

Majority control is likely to smooth the way for enactment of the many elements of Trump's new administration, including plans for a large-scale deportation of illegal immigrants and tariffs on various foreign countries' products.

Trump is also expected to put forth a number of judicial appointments, which would likewise face a smoother road to passage under a GOP-controlled government. That is expected to include one or more Supreme Court justices.

The projection is a major victory for Speaker Mike Johnson, R-La., who rose from relative obscurity to lead the House in both its legislative agenda and its push for Trump's reelection, according to The Hill.

Vulnerable Democrat incumbents like Susan Wild and Matt Cartwright of Pennsylvania were toppled, though the GOP did suffer some losses of its own. Three of its freshmen New York lawmakers, Reps. Anthony D'Esposito, Marc Molinaro, and Brandon Williams, lost reelection bids.

The final House tally is unclear, as some races in California remain to be called. The ultimate margin, The Hill said, could make a difference in how Johnson handles the House and how much he is able to achieve.

House and Senate Republicans have been working up a legislative plan for Trump's first 100 days under total GOP control, Johnson told Newsmax on Election Night.

"Those include extending the tax cuts passed in Trump's first term, boosting border wall funding, repealing climate initiatives, and promoting school choice," the Hill said.

Another issue is sure to be whether and how to continue support for Ukraine in its effort to repel a Russian invasion. Many in the GOP have raised questions over the continued allocation of resources to this foreign conflict.

Eric Mack ✉

Eric Mack has been a writer and editor at Newsmax since 2016. He is a 1998 Syracuse University journalism graduate and a New York Press Association award-winning writer.

© 2024 Newsmax. All rights reserved.

[livinglibertytoday]

Living Liberty Today with Charlie Earl

Winning the Lottery

Otto von Bismarck: “If you like laws and sausages, you should never watch either one being made.” If the late Otto was correct, then the 2024 campaign resembles making vegan bologna, Back in my radio days, I had a love-hate relationship with political advertising. I loved it because of the gross volume of income generated but hated it because by law I had to sell the ads at the ‘lowest unit rate.’ Those crafty career politicians passed a law requiring a benefit for themselves that typical advertisers couldn’t earn. Image that.

Now comes the time when half of the nation must assume a stiff upper lip and suffer the consequences of their friends’ and neighbors’ voting preferences. I suspect/fear that firm upper lips will be in short supply for several weeks. The rancor and vitriol surrounding this election cycle has probably guaranteed that there will not be a smooth transition. The nature of the various campaigns in our nation (including the big kahuna) provides a platform for charge and countercharge, suit and countersuit, and reaction and anti-reaction. Incendiary language and physical assault may capture the headlines (and our imaginations) in the coming weeks. The Bonfire of the Inanities has already commenced in Seattle. (Fret not, Pilgrims, they are merely roasting tasty Seattle coffee in outdoor venues…so I assume).

First, I hope that Trump has a plan for the next six weeks…something more than throw it against the wall and see what sticks. Although I am a strong advocate of accountability, I urge Trump to cut a deal with Biden: You pardon me, and I pardon you and Hunter. This tradeoff would minimize disruptions during the transition period and allow the new administration a clean slate to implement their objectives. Elon, Vivek, Dr. Ron, et. Al. should immediately begin identifying agencies, departments, bureaus, and commissions that are ripe for elimination or drastic downsizing, and strategies should be identified for implementation.

Although we ‘on hold’ as we wait to discover the makeup of the House and Senate, I believe that Trump/Vance will need a 20-vote margin in the House, and a four to five vote pad in the Senate to successfully enact its agenda. (I call this the Squish-Rino factor). Fasten your seat belt because it may be a wild ride. Whatever happens in the next six weeks or the next four years, I have no fear.

“…But as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD."

Joshua 24:15b

[starseedfxofficial]

Trump Wins Again: Wild Market Reactions & Secrets Forex Traders Need to Know Trump Does It Again: Market Trends, Forex Shenanigans, and Ninja Moves You Can't Miss They say the only thing predictable about the markets is their unpredictability, and today, we got a perfect dose of that. Donald Trump is back in the White House, and he’s brought along a political rollercoaster that has both traders and analysts gripping their seats tighter than a kid in a candy store. If you thought 2024 would be any different—that it might be more stable, perhaps a bit chill—oh, you sweet summer child. Buckle up, traders, because what follows is a hilariously insightful dive into the day’s market twists, strategic gems, and the kind of tips that most gurus would prefer you didn’t know. The Trump Card You Didn't See Coming: Winning the Presidency and Senate Yes, the hair is back, and so is the man who loves making deals. Donald Trump just managed to snag the presidency—again—and has taken the Senate to boot. While most folks were still deciding if they preferred regular or decaf, Trump was winning over North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and Georgia, enough to put him at a projected 285 electoral votes. And let’s not forget the Senate flip; Republicans snagged two extra seats, taking it to 51, which means a few things for us in the financial world—mostly that our Twitter feeds will remain spicy. If you’re thinking, “Well, how does this affect me, a humble trader?” let’s peel back the curtain and expose a few of the hidden mechanics at work. Under a Trump presidency, expect to see a “drill, baby, drill” resurgence—which, funnily enough, is great news if you know your way around the crude oil futures market. Hint: you might want to look at accumulating more oil options while the sentiment is still fresh. And if you think this volatility doesn’t touch Forex, think again—USD is suddenly as desirable as a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory. Pro Tip: Keep an eye on safe-haven assets. With the DXY flexing like a bodybuilder at a competition, there are whispers about a liquidity squeeze. This is prime time for anyone thinking about snapping up EUR pairs, especially since the euro is taking hits like a prizefighter in the twelfth round. The House Still Playing Hard-to-Get: When Political Drama Meets Your Portfolio While Trump may have won the Presidency, the House is still undecided—like a college freshman trying to pick a major. California should’ve tipped the scales one way or another, but alas, we’re stuck with a cliffhanger. Republicans are at 200, Democrats at 188, and the game is on with no clear end in sight. Decision Desk’s projection meter is on overdrive, showing a 58% chance of a Republican win. Expect a few sleepless nights and more conspiracy theories than you’d find in an Area 51 fan club. The Market Reaction: More Bouncing Than a Beach Ball at a Nickelback Concert It’s not just politics; it’s market mayhem. US equity futures are acting like they just downed an espresso shot—ES +1.8%, NQ +1.7%, DJIA +2.0%, and RTY outdoing them all with a whopping 4.3% gain. European futures, meanwhile, had a brief “Oh no, not again” moment and dipped before rallying, perhaps realizing that life’s too short to fight the bullish sentiment. APAC couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. The Hang Seng closed down 2%, while the Nikkei—that sly fox—sneaked in a 2.2% rise. What’s the secret sauce? A little help from our friend the JPY, which got a good old-fashioned slap thanks to market expectations for tighter Fed policy. Hidden Gem Alert: Don’t let the APAC markets fool you. Those who understand the underlying monetary policies know there’s a golden opportunity hidden in the yen right now—shorting it before the Fed puts the hammer down could just be your next ticket to the profits express. Fixed Income and FX: When the Dollar Struts, the World Watches Over in fixed income, USTs were under marked pressure, leading to a steepening yield curve, which—let’s be real—is giving traders that unsettling feeling of someone rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. USTs are at contract lows, and there’s still talk of a 25bps rate cut by the Fed, keeping us all guessing. For European bonds, we’re seeing bids across the curve, with yields falling like it’s 2008 all over again—ah, memories. Markets are already pricing in odds of some front-loaded action from the ECB, which means, my friends, it’s time to think about how much risk you’re willing to take on. The EUR/USD spread against the US 10-year note is getting juicier, and this divergence could be your golden goose…or a frying pan, depending on how you play it. The real kicker, though, is FX. With the dollar flexing so hard it should have a protein shake sponsorship, the DXY saw its largest jump since March 2020. EUR took the brunt of it, while the Aussie and Kiwi dollars struggled under the weight of China’s endless economic drama. Expert-Level Insight: If you’re thinking of playing the AUD/USD pair, you might want to consider where China fits into the equation. Watch for signs of increased stimulus from Beijing—any indication, and the Aussie could bounce back faster than my mood on a payday Friday. Commodities: Gold's Tantrum and Oil’s Swagger Gold had itself a little hissy fit, dropping in response to the dollar’s strength, and let’s not even get started on base metals, which were battered and bruised by market anxieties over a Trump presidency. And then there’s crude—good old crude—which seems to be weighing its options between increased supply from the US and the strong dollar. The market expects more “drill, baby, drill” from the States, and if you’re positioned right, there’s money to be made on both ends—shorting when the sentiment changes, going long when optimism spikes. Crypto, on the other hand, enjoyed a short-lived high. Bitcoin hit a record before fading, seemingly dancing to the tune of House politics. If there’s anything we’ve learned, it’s that BTC loves uncertainty—and right now, there’s plenty of it. But a word to the wise: don’t get suckered into hype. Instead, keep an eye on macro signals—any whiff of institutional buying, and BTC is going to the moon faster than Elon Musk with a booster rocket. Ninja Tactics for Your Trading Playbook So what do we do with all of this? Easy. First, recognize that volatility is your friend if you’re prepared. Second, keep your emotions in check—markets are reacting, not planning. Trump’s presidency may spell a boon for equities, a mixed bag for bonds, and chaos for commodities. But for Forex traders, this is the time to shine. Find your entries, play the volatility, and remember, it’s not about how loud you can yell “buy the dip”; it’s about knowing why the dip happened and when to get out. Want to stay ahead of the game? Check out our latest economic indicators and Forex news for real-time updates at StarseedFX Forex News Today. Expand your trading skills with our Forex Education resources, or join our Community Membership for expert analysis, daily alerts, live trading insights, insider tips, and elite tactics. Sometimes, the smartest move is to get the right tools, and we’ve got just what you need at StarseedFX. Don’t just trade—trade smarter. Need a little extra support in managing your trades? Check out our Free Trading Plan to set goals, manage risks, and track your progress effectively. And don't forget to enhance your performance with our Free Trading Journal, providing real metrics to refine your strategies. Looking to optimize further? Our Smart Trading Tool will help you with automated lot size calculations, insights, and order management. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated   Read the full article

[uncleasad]

Just lost an hour and a half of my life (which was essentially all of tonight’s writing time) because my dad forwarded me an email that was making wild and slanted/politically-biased claims about the referendums on this year’s ballot (which, ugh, I hate those every election, because no one ever does a good explainer, at least that I can find), and he wanted me to fact-check the claims.

Interestingly, the author of the email was opposed to all three measures because they were sponsored by Republicans (a fair reason to be skeptical, for sure). They were opposed to two measures because they reduced local (property tax) government revenues while giving protection/relief to individuals (which they also portrayed as residents of rich counties getting tax breaks and residents of poor counties having to pay more!), and they were opposed to the third because it made certain uncommon things more expensive for individuals (average number of cases per year can be counted on two hands). So…they’re against helping individuals in two cases, but for helping them in the other? (These arguments appear to have been mostly pasted from an “explainer” in a left-leaning publication, which was the least informative of all the explainers I read while researching the measures.)

The author neglected to mention that these measures had to pass the General Assembly by a ⅔ majority vote to make it on the ballot, and even with our current gerrymandered state of affairs, that means the measures required support of significant numbers of Democrats. At least two of the three measures passed the House unanimously (I can’t easily find the result for the third, and I’m not spending more time on this!), and those two passed the Senate 42-11 (80% of those voting, or 75% of the total number of seats) and nearly unanimously (the lone dissenter was a Republican); the third measure also passed the Senate unanimously. So these measures had massive bipartisan support.

By all means, help us understand these ballot measures, but, please, if you’re on the left, don’t make up crap and present poorly-researched representations of the facts. The other side is already doing more than their fair share of flooding the field with lies, misdirections, and half-truths!

I want my hour and a half (now two hours, thanks to my writing this rant sigh) back!

(And if anyone cares about my opinion: based on everything I could find, they seem like measures that fairly balance the needs/desires of the individual/taxpayer and those of the government(s), so I, like a vast majority of voters, will be supporting them. Unlike the vast majority, I at least have an inkling of what I’m supporting 😢)