#wake me up during the next presidential election so i remember why i went to sleep

[fireforember]

"You have a future and I want to be apart of it" is only a good thing to hear when it's coming from the lips of someone you love. Looking in the mirror and saying it feels like a lie.

#“stick around for our future” sounds like “just dont die yet” when my reflection says it #its comforting when other people say it tho #big yikes #should probably go back to therapy #but ehhhh #idc anymore #just gonna sleep till 2028 #wake me up during the next presidential election so i remember why i went to sleep

[hookedonapirate]

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States. 

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again. 

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld​ for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?” 

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right? 

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase. 

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender. 

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table. 

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.  

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league. 

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman. 

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists. 

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?” 

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does. 

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away. 

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him. 

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior. 

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter. 

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell. 

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner. 

“Hey, babe, ready to go?” 

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips. 

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat. 

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart. 

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes. 

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust. 

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning. 

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words. 

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.” 

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem. 

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing. 

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.” 

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.” 

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.” 

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this. 

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments. 

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.” 

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.” 

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum. 

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties. 

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress. 

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile. 

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship. 

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away. 

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other. 

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually. 

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”  

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years. 

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke. 

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd. 

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.” 

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her. 

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss. 

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television. 

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

[the-canary]

Monday Afternoon - B.B

Summary: There was only one decent thing about the nursing department, not that he noticed you anyways. (College!Reader/Bucky Barnes)  

Prompt: What’s her name again? 

A/N: This is for @fangirlfiction ‘s 1k writing challenge. i went to a women’s college with one exception, the music/nursing program -- this oneshot steams from some of those experiences, just without a bucky ;A: however, i hope you enjoy.

Feedback is always welcomed.

First year.

It’s that time of year for any college freshman — the first week of your classes ever . You print out all the syllabus and pack them neatly into the folder you have set aside for all your classes. You are expecting a lot of wonderful things from the extra freedom this stage has promised to set up for you.

What you didn’t expect was for your second class to be canceled in the middle of the afternoon with the professor wanting a one-pager of what does democracy mean to you?

Written outside and placed in her inbox, any emailed essays were going to ignored. Your Pol Sci 100 class was small, so you didn’t expect many would be in the library at this time — it gave you ample time to write it out and find Dr. Hill’s office on the fifth floor.

You weren’t expecting the pre-nursing and bio students to be pilling onto top of the only two printers the library had — teenagers, excited and confused, like you printing out 100 pages of powerpoint presentations before their classes started. You end up on one of the computers near the large stained glass windows, watching for a moment before going to work on this one sheet of paper.

Between looking through your social media and cat videos, it takes you two hours to finish said paper.

You’re ready to print it out when you and the rest of the library hear it — the horrible whirling from the printer as it seems to come to life, spilling papers in front of the poor boy standing next to it before dying completely.

“Sorry,” he lets a nervous chuckle as one of the older students workers and one of the librarians come up to him and ask what he did. There are a handful of people waiting for their papers to print, but after half an hour, the librarian places the sign -- out of order in front of both computers.

You sigh, unsure of what to do now to get out your paper that is due by the end of the class period, though you feel a little bad for the boy with blue eyes shuffling his feet near the corner as you get your things and search for where you can find another printer. However, not before going to the one person that caused this disaster that had been accumulated by everyone else before hand.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” is all you can say, as you stand a bit closer while seeing some people glaring daggers at him, “Probably happens all the time.”

“Thanks,” he states bashfully with a shrug, as you nod and move forward.

Eventually, you do find a printer in one of the common areas and through some careful maneuvering you are able to turn in the page before 6pm. You also do find out that the printer busting at least once is a common occurrence during the fall semester -- and that everyone hates the nursing students for that one reason.

The second time you meet Old Blue Eyes is during your Pol Sci 101 class. Wanda --the one friend you made during freshman orientation-- sits in back of you as Dr. Carter talks about the different structures of democracy and the broader political systems of the world.

“Mr. Barnes,” she declares in cold fury towards the back of the class as most of you turn to stare, “Would you mind stating some of differences between the structure of Congress and Parliament?”  

Blue eyes look up from what he was doing -- chatting with a pretty girl as the rest of the nursing students who hung in the back look at him. You had a little understanding of why they did so, but though you understood that nursing was the biggest major by far within the school, you didn’t understand why they all kept to themselves and barely interacted in any of the general education classes that you with some younger and older nursing majors.

James --from what you had learned from looking at all your class rosters-- gets up and smiles before going through the list like the back of his hand. Dr. Carter gives him a sardonic smile before going on with her lecture. The cocksure boy grins before sitting back down, glancing at the whole classroom. His eyes meet yours for just a moment as a crooked smile blooms on his face before he goes back to talking to the pretty brunette next to him.

You think nothing of it, as you go back to taking your notes.

Second Year.

Your second year of classes is more easier to handle than your first, though you aren’t without your late night binges to complete a paper in the middle of the semester here and there. At the current moment, you are watching Wanda and Natasha --a friend you made in that strange religion class you both needed for course credit-- dive into their books for the individual finals. You were sitting at the end of the table without nothing in front of you as you took out a smaller case than usual.

“Are you really going to play 3DS right now?” Natasha questions with mix of shock and anger, as you give her a bright smile before turning on the little game device. Wanda simply shakes her head.

In reality, you had completed the most frustrating finals -- your general ed courses, but Pol Sci as confusing as it could be sometimes, it came to you with ease. You could remember years and theories, top it with some fake, deep meaning to it all and you did well in filling up those little green books when it came time to for finals. It wasn’t like it was math or bio, which you scrapped by most of the time.

“I’m trying to defeat the last member of the Elite Four,” you whine, as Nat rolls her green eyes and throws her eraser in your general direction. You move out of the way and the three of you see it hit a familiar boy. You turn around completely in your chair, as James picks up the eraser from the floor and hands it to you.

“I hope it isn’t Karen and her Houndoom,” he chuckles as you frown at the mention of the character, as Nat and Wanda watch, obviously ignoring their finals for something juicer.

“I ran the floor with her last night,” you laugh, thinking about the aneurism the Pokemon leader had nearly given you, due to playing until the middle of the night just to beat her.

And even though James looked like he hadn’t slept in two or three nights, his comment was enough to make you laugh just a little. In return, his face seemed to lose some of its fatigue as those laugh lines come out with his chuckle.

“Well, good luck with beating Lance then,” James says with a smile before some girls in the back call his name.

“Good luck with your exams,” you answer back with a nod before going back to the game at hand, completely ignoring the flabbergasted looks that Wanda and Nat give you.  

Second semester is a bit harder than the first with more Pol Sci classes than before and both Dr. Carter and Dr. Hill realizing the good head that you have on your shoulders, even though you stay silent and in the back during most of their classes. Though, it also means solely evening and afternoon classes, as you wake around noon now more than ever.

However, you end up waking up right before class starts as you end running across the courtyard to the humanities building, only to notice the nursing students standing in front of the entrance with tables and edible goods in front of you. You stop and notice the badly painted sign: NURSING ASSOCIATION FUNDRAISER.

You skipping out on going to the cafeteria makes you pause and glance at all the food until you see the small packaged meals of mini-pancakes with a side of fluffy eggs. You keep staring it as your stomach rumbles.

“‘S my ma’s recipe,” a voice in front of you declare, as you look up to see James with a toothy smile and a brunette (maybe the same one from that one semester?) hanging off his shoulder. And while the sight causes you to pause for a moment, you can’t help but ask.

“And what makes them so special?” you question, as he gives you a cheeky grin, “That I should buy two...maybe even three boxes?”

“Fluffiest pancakes you’ll ever taste,” he teases back, which causes you to laugh. Blue eyes never leave your face, as you agree to buy some.

“If they aren’t the up to standard, I’m coming back to complain,” you state already walking away and heading into the hallway of the fifth floor.

“If it happens, I look forward to seeing you again,” James grins as he watches you disappear.

And while he’s disappointed he doesn’t see you for the rest of the semester, he surely does hope you enjoyed the meal.

Third Year.

You don’t see much of the main campus that semester since you are working in an internship straight in the heart of downtown and take most of your courses online as a result. You end up taking a mini course in the middle of the semester and spend the rest of your time in D.C as a result.

James doesn’t see much of the campus after his accident during the summer either.

You are sure that the Pol Sci department in some way has gotten more funding, either that or Dr. Hill had too much free time on her hands when she decides that there will be mock debates in lieu of it being on election year -- so that the young people will be excited to go out and vote , she declares. You aren’t sure why but she has you sign up for it, though you are more than fine with helping the mock presidential candidate in learning her lines.

It doesn’t help when she ends up getting sick two days before and the only one that knows everything is you.

“Please don’t make me do this,” you groan as Wanda just shakes her head, though you might be complaining she had seen you more than once in mock debate -- this were all just jitters.

“I think most of your department and I know you can do it,” Wanda reassures you with a smile and though you don’t believe her -- you tell Dr. Hill that you’ll do it anyways.

On the day of, you don’t expect the old auditorium to be so jammed packed with students, but apparently this had been promoted for weeks and some classes were even giving extra credit for it. You took a deep breath and ran through your candidate’s lists of arguments while rebuffing the other young women’s. For most of the time, you blank out and you don’t notice that most of the young women and Dr. Hill are grinning from ear to ear, the audience is enthralled with everything -- though one man in particular can’t seem to keep his eyes of you.

“ What’s her name again ?” the now buffer man with long brown-hair sitting near the back of the auditorium can’t help but question as your voice lulls some sense of peace into him, though you are fiercely defending your stance on a political issue that Bucky wasn’t really paying attention to.

You don’t know exactly how you ended up staying in the dorms, but between Wanda freaking out over her oral exam and you needing to stay a bit later than usual for a UN module -- it lead to you sleeping some hours on the floor of Wanda’s dorm room. However, it wasn’t the same as your bed which leads to you wondering around the campus for a moment, hoping that the communal cafeteria is still open in the middle of the night.

As secluded as the campus was, you still screamed a little at the sight of a man at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the new constructed fountain. It seems that he hear you come up, as he turns around and you are quick notice familiar blue eyes, though he is much bigger and now has slightly longer hair compared to the last time you had seen him.

“James?” you question softly, as you notice that he is sitting there by his lonesome as he answers back with the sound of your own name. He ends up getting up and for some unknown reason you have the urge to follow, “I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“I saw your mock debate a few weeks ago,” he declares, turning around to look at you as he comes to sit on one of the edges of the fountain, “You were really good.”

“Oh,” you state a bit surprised, “Thank you, and how have you been?”

“Insomnia and phantom pain here and there,” he states with a sardonic smile, while moving his left shoulder back and forth.  You end up taking a seat next to him. However, instead of asking why and giving him a look full of pity, you simply nod and ask him:

“So what’s on your mind?”

Your question makes him pause of a moment, as you cock your head to the side in question. James had always known there was something that had always caught his attention when it came to you, but in that moment -- you simply staying quiet and being willing to listen grabs at his heartstrings as he talks about anything that comes to mind -- his family, his studies, Stevie, and even his accident if only vaguely.

And you just listen without a word being said, something he hadn’t had in a very long time is such a huge relief as he lets it all out. The only time you finally do ask something is when he is talking about his current courses. He had come back to have some sense of normally in his life, but he just couldn’t keep it up anymore.          

“So why did you end up choosing coming here anyways?” you can’t help but ask as James’ eyes glimmer in the lights surrounding the fountain. He pauses for a moment, playing with the water as he notices that the sun is starting to come up.

“Gotta be here for my ma, Becca, and Stevie,” he admits shyly, as he looks up at the sky as if embarrassed, “But now...I’m not so sure.”  

“I’m sure, you’ll find something you love, James,” you declare like it’s the easiest thing in the world, but as he stares at you with the first rays of morning light hitting your face -- he really wants to believe you.

Fourth Year.

“We’re sure he likes you,” Nat declares over lunch as she points her fork at you. You raise an eyebrow in confusion as Wanda shakes her head -- you weren’t sure how Nat complaining about her Statistics and Methodology class turned into her declaring Bucky liked you.

Since that night a few months back, James had turned into Bucky as he sought you out more outside of class. After deciding he was going to take an extra year to complete his degree with taking summer classes, he sought you to tell you the news and then whenever he saw  you in the library. Sometimes, you even had lunch together. You had even gone on the little shuttle for a weekend together here and there. You had even meet Steve -- an art student who was finishing his own schooling upstate. But, you were sure you were only doing it as friends, Bucky didn’t see you that way.

“You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Wanda smile, “But, we do.”

“I think you’re making too much of this,” you bite back, “He’s always been with that Dot girl, I saw them together the other day.”

“Because they’re in the same class,” Nat decides to fight off your bluff, “They haven’t been together since the end of second year.”

“Guys, seriously,” you let out a nervous laugh,”You’re putting too much thought into this.”

You get up from the table with a shake of your head before heading towards your only class for the day. They wait two seconds before they hear the sound of your name being called out loud by a familiar voice. Your two friends look at each other before shaking their heads at how foolish you were being.

The last final of your college career is on the fifth floor like always and aside from seeing Wanda in the morning, you are alone re-reading the book that is at the center of your final exam. The library is silent with the lack of students who have already finished their finals and have headed home, but you enjoy it as you sit near one of the large windows where you started this crazy chapter of your life to begin with.

The afternoon test passes you too quickly, as you end up standing in the hallway as one of the first people to finish the exam. The fifth floor was quieter than usual with no music playing and no students coming in and out of the small rooms. You walk around, enjoying the silence for the moment. Your head in the clouds and memories until you see someone waiting at the end of the hallway

“Bucky,” you declare with a soft smile, as he can’t help but return it. You ignore that he might have been watching you, “What are you doing here exactly? Aren’t your exams done with?”

You knew that Bucky had finished his exams since Thursday and he had moved out already to go back with his mom and Becca for the summer. So, you weren’t sure why he was here, even if Nat and Wanda wouldn’t stop declaring his supposed intentions since the beginning of the year.

“Waiting for you actually,” Bucky smiles as the two of you start to walk out and look at the emptying campus, though it was a bit more somber for you -- Bucky still had another semester here, you didn’t.

“I--” Bucky coughs out, as you turn to stare at him. The familiar nervousness from a boy you had tried to calm down four years ago more evident now than in any time you had known James, “If you wanted to celebrate the end of the semester with me...just you and me.”

“As in a date?” you question, somewhere between hope and despair over what your friends had been telling you, what Bucky was trying to actually mean, and your own personal feelings about the whole thing.

“Yeah, a d-date,” he stutters for just a second before giving you a bashful grin.

You end up grabbing his right arm and give him the brightest smile you can muster: “A date sounds perfect, Mr. Barnes.”

He laughs at your bad imitation of Dr. Carter before taking you down to where his car is parked. And as your college years come to an end one fine Monday afternoon, you can’t to see what life has in-store for you with Bucky at your side.        

#fangirlfiction1k #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #BUCKY BARNES COLLEGE AU #bucky barnes modern au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fic #series: short stories #fabiola trying to write

[prodigyofprinxetoncollege]

For @xlittlelionhamiltonx // @heavnofhell

25th of July, 10:37 am

Angelica is looking good, despite everything.

Presidential.

The picture of her couldn’t have been taken more than ten hours ago, yet she sits behind that desk in the oval office like she’s done it a million times before.

“Angelica Schuyler was sworn in as Acting President.”

Alex sets down the bottle. He never had anything against Angelica, but seeing her like this, perfectly styled, perfectly composed, while Aaron might be dying under the hands of some surgeon right now, he can’t help but hate her.

24th of July, 6:27 pm

Alex is idly sipping Champagne, looking around the crowd. It’s not technically a fundraiser, but close enough. When Aaron became President, Theo had made it clear she wouldn’t be a First Lady that only smiled and stood by. She had started a program that was promoting the importance of education, was trying to even chances between different races and genders, and had basically been popular since day one. The American people loved their First Lady, and children were a topic that reached everyone.

Plus, Alex’s more cynical side adds, since she doesn’t have children herself, and given her track-record of being CEO of her own company and having more money than Aaron by far…it was kind of the thing the people wanted her to do. The thing that made her seem more like the good wife than the career woman. So she had done it, and was now even more popular for it. And she genuinely believed in the project, Alex knows that.

So today is the day where everyone can shake hands and pat shoulders because they are doing so much good. Alex doesn’t really like it, but he knows Aaron will be there, which is why he is here. The very moment Aaron and Theo enter, the whole crowd seems to notice. The event is open air, there’s only a small stage, yet the First Couple dominates this open space as easily as a small room.

Alex is never going to get tired of watching Aaron go through that little routine of his, smile at someone, shake their head, remember some obscure fact about them that makes it seem like he genuinely knows them and cares about every single person. It’s the kind of stuff Alex knew he wasn’t good at, the kind of stuff that got you elected President of the United States in a landslide, twice.

He might be staring at Aaron in awe, but he knows at least ten (supposedly) straight men that are doing the same right now.

As for Theo…she is wearing a light blue dress, the contrast to her dark skin nothing short of mesmerizing, her hair done up, make-up perfect. She looks like a goddess, just as attractive as Aaron, and equally as determined and dangerous.

For a second, really, just a second, Alex finds himself imagining him in her place, next to Aaron, laughing at his jokes, openly leaning into him, pressing kisses to his skin and being regarded as if it was normal. Shaking the same hands Aaron had shook just a moment ago, being charming-

No. No, those thoughts are the worst, he knows that. They lead nowhere, and they only leave him feeling empty. Apart from the fact that homophobia is rampant in this country, even if that weren’t the case Alex isn’t the right husband for a politician. (You always say that. As if you wouldn’t shut up about your opinions for the rest of your life if it meant to be by Aaron’s side.)

When it is his turn to shake Aaron’s hand, he feels ridiculously nervous. As if he hasn’t seen the man in completely different situations…

“Mr. Hamilton,” Aaron says, and his smile becomes just a little more sincere, a little broader. There is that spark in his eyes Alex knows so much, the thrill of them knowing something, sharing something, that nobody is even suspecting. “It’s always a pleasure,” Aaron adds, and it could be damning if taken out of context, if heard by the wrong ears. But Alex only chuckles.

“Mr. President. The pleasure is all mine.”

Alex also exchanges a few words with Theo, after that the evening is pretty much over for him. There are a few speeches, the first one by Theo, then a couple people that are involved in the project – and in the end, Aaron makes his way to the stage. Everyone becomes quiet.

Aaron isn’t saying anything special, just how much he loves Theo, values her support, that children deserve education and so on – it’s from one second to the next that something happens, and no one has seen it coming. Aaron least of all.

“I would also like to thank…I would like to…thank…”

Aaron looks down at his own chest, uncomprehending, when he starts swaying, his white shirt showing the first red stains. The next second, Secret Service is there, pulling him down, people are starting to scream, someone gets up and starts running, Secret Service is suddenly everywhere and Alex gets up but instead of running away he runs towards the stage, but Aaron and Theo are being led away – hell, they are carrying Aaron, he seems to be unconscious, when a Secret Service man starts pulling Alex back, and he knows he’s screaming, he’s trying to kick the guy, to hit him, but he doesn’t stand a chance.

In the end, the guy lets him go, doesn’t assume anything. Alex is a civilian, plus a former POW, his PTSD diagnosis went through the media, so everyone pretty much assumes his outbreak was caused by a flashback. Secret Service got the guy who shot Aaron, with what seemed to have been a rather small bullet.

But everyone is gone, Alex is the one who’s out of the loop, as usual, and when he gets home at midnight, he falls into his bed and sleeps till the news wake him.

25th of July, 2:47 pm

Alex doesn’t have any kind of information where Aaron is. The only thing he knows – like the country – is that he’s alive. Still alive.

He’s drunk. If this is it, if Aaron dies, just like this, no good-bye, with Angelica left to be President…Alex doesn’t know what he’d do.

Eliza calls eventually, asks him if he’s alright, if his PTSD is acting up. He lies that yes, that’s it, he’ll need a couple days.

She promises she’ll do whatever he needs.

25th of July, 4:24 pm

Alex is woken up by the doorbell. Why was he asleep at all?

Right, the alcohol.

It’s Herc. He stands in the door and just kinda shrugs one massive shoulder.

“Thought ya could need some company. I brought whiskey, but it seems like ya already had enough.”

Alex laughs, a little hysterical, but he lets him in.

“How’re ya holding up?”

Alex raises an eyebrow.

“What’s it look like?”

“You? You look like shit. Your flat? Nicer than I expected.”

Alex is happy Herc is here. They sit down in front of the TV, Alex falls asleep at some point. Herc doesn’t say anything, even though he practically falls into his lap.

Later Hercules makes them dinner, it’s nothing too fancy, but Alex hasn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, he appreciates it. There are still no other news than that Aaron is still alive but still being operated on. To Alex, it feels like the nation is holding its breath.

25th of July, 8:05 pm

Unexpectedly, it’s Theo who calls. She sounds tired, he’s sure she hasn’t slept a minute this night.

“He’s gonna make it. The surgery was a bitch but they did it, and from what they tell me, his chances are good. He’ll make it.”

He has to, Alex thinks.

“Thanks,” he replies. “Get some sleep, Theo.”

She hangs up without an answer. A few minutes later, Theo appears on TV. She doesn’t look like she sounded – she sounds stronger, better, confident. Reassuring. Just what the people (and Alex) need.

“Both me and the President have utter faith in Angelica Schuyer to lead this country while he is on the road of recovery.”

26th of July, 9:13 pm

Alex makes sure not to flinch when he enters Aaron’s room. He has to be the strong one now.

“Hey,” Aaron croaks, voice so weak, and Alex almost starts crying.

“Hey,” he gives back instead, voice sure and steady. “Looking pretty great for a man that almost died,” he teases, and Aaron manages a smile.

“I’m glad you came,” he whispers.

“I’d go anywhere for you,” Alex replies, serious this time. “You know that.”

And Aaron nods. “Yes. I know.”

27th of July, 1:52 am

Alex is still with Aaron. Aaron is asleep by now, but Theo told him he could stay the night if he wanted to, and of course he wants to. He’s been staring at the sleeping face of the man he loved for hours now.

So close.

So damn close.

But he is still here.

He takes out his little book, the one his therapist told him to start, and he skims through the pages, finds what he wrote during a dark night last month. Sometimes, Syria still plagues him.

I couldn’t seem to die, he’d written.

He goes back to the next free page, puts down the date, the time.

Writes, we can’t seem to die.

And that’s a good thing.

#hamburr #alexander hamilton #aaron burr #v; the room where it happens #xlittlelionhamiltonx

[ananou59]

92 questions tag

I was tagged by @3ouncesofwhoopass , thanks a lot !!!

Rules: Answer these 92 questions

THE LAST 1.) Drink: Coffee 2.) Phone call: Parents 3.) Text message: To my best friend 4.) Song you listened to: “Lipstick” by Shinee 5.) Time you cried: I don’t really remember but I think it was during a movie?

6.) Dated someone twice: No 7.) Been Cheated on: No 8.) Kissed someone and regretted it: No 9.) Lost someone special: Yes, sadly 10.) Been depressed: Nope 11.) Gotten drunk and thrown up: Gotten drunk, yea but I’ve never thrown up after

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: Navy blue, purple, red

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU… 15.) Made new friends: Yes! 16.) Fallen out of love: I’ve never been in love so no 17.) Laughed until you cried: Yes, lots of time 18.) Found out someone was talking about you: Yeah well people talk about everyone all the time anyway 19.) Met someone who changed you: Yes definitely 20.) Found out who your true friends are: Yes and that’s not a very happy memory 21.) Kissed someone on your Facebook list: No 22.) How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them, I don’t see why I would add someone I don’t know 23.) Do you have any pets: I have a small dog named Jasper 24.) Do you want to change your name: No, I’m fine with it even if it’s pretty common in France 25.) What did you do for your last birthday: I went to someone else’s birthday lol 26.) What time did you wake up: Depends if I’ve got an 8am class or not but on days off I’m up at around 9am  27.) What were you doing at midnight last night: I was at a family dinner 28.) Name something you cannot wait for: Go on holidays! I’ve just finished my exams, it’s been stressful so now I need to take a break 29.) When was the last time you saw your mother: She’s like right next to me 30.) What is one thing you wish you could change about your life: I’d like to live in another country 31.) What are you listening to right now: Does my neighbor mowing the lawn counts? 32.) Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Umm, no, I don’t think so 33.) Something that is getting on your nerves: The presidential elections huh 34.) Most visited website: YouTube 35.) Elementary: Finished 36.) High School: Also finished 37.) College: I just finished my first year so 4 more to go yay (I’m studying foreign languages btw if someone is wondering) 38.) Hair color: Blond 39.) Long or short hair: I would say in between 40.) Do you have a crush on someone: No 41.) What do you like about yourself: My eyes? 42.) Piercings: One on each ear 43.) Blood type: AB+ 44.) Nickname: I’ve got lots of them, Ananou, Ana, Nana, Ananas, Nanou,… 45.) Relationship status: Single  46.) Zodiac sign: Cancer 47.) Pronouns: Male pronouns 48.) Favorite tv show: I don’t watch TV but I loooooove Running Man 49.) Tattoos: None 50.) Right or left hand: Right

FIRST… 51.) Surgery: When I was a baby, for my ears 52.) Piercing: Ears when I was 3 I think 54.) Sport: Taekwondo during elementary, badminton and track and field during middle school and high school. I stopped when I enter college but I still go to the gym twice a week and run whenever I have some time 55.) Vacation: According to my parents I went to a Center Parcs in France when I was 1  56.) Pair of trainers: When I was 6 for pe class I guess

MORE GENERAL… 57.) Eating: I really love cheese and pasta, also fruits, I love fruits 58.) Drinking: Water, not fan of soda 59.) I’m about to: Clean my bedroom youhou 61.) Waiting for: The 19th of May to come 62.) Want: To stay happy and that all the people I love stay healthy and happy as well 63.) Get married: Someday but I’m not in a hurry. Let me finish college first 64.) Career: Something involving languages and culture or tourism 65.) Hugs or kisses: Hugs 66.) Lips or eyes: Eyes 67.) Shorter or taller: A bit taller 68.) Older or younger: Either 70.) Nice arms or nice stomach: Huh let’s say nice stomach 71.) Sensitive or loud: Sensitive and a little bit loud ‘cause it’s funnier that way 72.) Hook up or relationship: Relationship 73.) Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant

HAVE YOU EVER… 74.) Kissed a stranger?: No 75.) Drank hard liquor?: Yea 76.) Lost glasses contact/lenses?: I don’t wear glasses  77.) Turned someone down?: Yes, a few times 78.) Sex on first date?: Hell no 79.) Broken someone’s heart?: Maybe? I’m not too sur but if I did I’m sorry 80.) Had your heart broken?: No 81.) Been arrested?: No, don’t want my dad to kill me 82.) Cried when someone died?: Yes 83.) Fallen for a friend?: No but a friend fell for me so I had to turn him down and as a result I lost one of my best friend DO YOU BELIEVE IN… 84.) Yourself?: I’m really doubtful to be honest 85.) Miracles?: I believe in coincidences so yeah 86.) Love at first sight?: Why not? Could be romantic 87.) Santa Claus?: I believed in him when I was a kid 88.) Kiss on the first date?: If you already knew the person before I think it’s okay 89.) Angels?: No, that’s a bit too much

OTHER…. 90.) Current best friend’s name: Auriane 91.) Eye color: Brown, with some green  92.) Favorite movie: All of the Harry Potter movies!!

So I don’t really have anyone to tag because I’m totally unpopular but maybe @icantjongout , @theteacoast and anyone who wants to answer those questions idk

[themikithornburg]

Football and Politics

Now that the news and commentary on Yellowstone Public Radio and my Facebook newsfeed are full to bursting with one subject – the Trump administration – I'm hearing and seeing almost nothing about the Super Bowl. Thank heaven!

I should explain. Football, American or otherwise, is right down at the bottom of my list of favorite things. Given the choice, I'd far rather sit through ten hours of Senate debate on C-Span than watch a football game. In fact, watching paint dry might entertain me as much. Watching grass grow would actually be preferable. This isn't an argument against football; it's just me.

But what I have heard recently about the big game has led me to a troubling conclusion. Americans who talk about football know a lot more about their subject than do Americans who talk about politics.

Why is this? Well, for one thing, as complicated as football might be, it's nowhere near as complicated as politics. And there's another reason, maybe even a more important one. If you don't care about football, it doesn't affect you (unless your spouse watches it all weekend, so you either have to find something else to do or learn to enjoy it yourself, which means you have to learn about it). But, although politics, the art and science of government, does affect you greatly, you've never had to watch it. You could let it fly right over your head and it wouldn't make any discernable difference – or at least the difference wouldn't be discernable to you.

Things all began to change, though, with the recent U.S. presidential campaign, and they're changing even more rapidly now, in the early days of Donald Trump's administration. People who never before saw their civic duty as going any further than showing up to vote a straight ticket every two years (or every four years, or never) suddenly fell in love with politics, went to rallies, waved signs of delight or outrage, wore t-shirts emblazoned with "their" candidate's name, and got into heated arguments, singing the candidate's praises or insulting the opposing camp, at every opportunity. You'd think they were talking about a football team.

This could be a good thing. Many Americans of the last several generations have paid so little attention to their government and how it works that people from other countries are shocked at our apathy and, yes, our ignorance. More importantly, our version of participatory democracy requires not only that we participate but that we understand what we're doing. People who don't vote, or who simply vote without knowing why they're making the choices they're making, have no business complaining that their elected government is yanking them around. They're leaving themselves wide open to being yanked around. So it's nice to see that some of us are waking up at last to the realization that it all does concern us.

The trouble is, most of us have a lot of catching up to do. This has never struck me with so much force as it did during a lengthy discussion about the President's immigration ban, via Facebook, with a friend whom I haven't seen in person for almost twenty years. Our opinions on the issue are almost diametrically opposed, but we struggled on, trying to express them accurately and in some detail. Nevertheless, while we argued with logic and zeal, it soon became apparent that we were both out of our depth. I had a few more specific facts at my disposal, so it looked for a while as if I were ahead on points. But my facts – and my knowledge of dependable sources, along with the terms I'd need to search for those sources – ran out all too quickly. Fortunately we let each other off the hook and didn't wind up calling each other ignorant jackasses. But a lot of other folks, reaching that point, might have done exactly that and worse. Families have broken up over political arguments when, if the truth were known, none of the participants had a real clue what they were talking about. Fistfights have started. Murders have been contemplated.

If you know me, you know I have a strong liberal bias. But I'm talking about civic ignorance here, and I'm definitely not saying that Trump's supporters have a corner on that market. I've seen too many comments and rants and memes – especially memes – posted by my fellow liberals that are misleading, wrong-headed, or simply untrue. The fake news, the cherry-picking of data, and the snarling or patronizing emotional bias are equally distributed, right and left. Sometimes the people who spread this stuff are aware of what they're doing; sometimes they're simply ignorant.

In fact, and I hereby freely admit it, we are all too ignorant. Like the guy in the old song, we don't know much about history. We think it's old stuff, sort of fun in costume movies but basically trash we can toss out and ignore otherwise. We don't realize that historical events shape our present and can shake it to the bone. It's the past, so how can it make any difference now?

We don't know much about other parts of the world. We think of their people as "them" – odd ducks that gabble in strange accents, cartoon characters that look almost human (especially when they're babies) but are impossible to understand. And who cares, anyway? They either hate us or they want to be us, but they're not real enough to hurt us so they don't matter. Or, on the other hand, we think they're just like us, really. We're all humans, so deep down in their hearts they believe the same things we believe; we're really just one big family, aren't we, so why don't we all just get along?

We don't know much about how the planet we live on works. That's all too complicated to be bothered with, as long as everything is going well on our little patches of it this morning. That's for other people – scientists, the professionals – to worry about, and if something goes wrong somewhere they can somehow wave their hands and fix it. Or it could be they're lying to us anyway, pretending for some reason that things are going wrong. Why would they pretend that? Who knows. They're scientists, so they have strange minds, way beyond our understanding!

Really, we don't know much about our own laws or about how our government works. It's a well-oiled machine, checks and balances and yadda yadda yadda. It's worked since 1776 or whenever, so it won't stop working now. When we don't like what it does we complain loudly; when we like what it does we're happy, so why rock the boat?

When you come right down to it, we don't know much about anything but our own little specialties, the work we do every day, how to get there and back, how to operate the machines we own. Football, maybe. Our favorite celebrities. We don't have time to know much more, and we certainly don't have time enough to go to the library and check out a couple of books, let alone time enough to read them. Anyway, reading is hard, unless it's a real page-turner, fun and relaxing. Reading history calls for thought and focus. Reading about science is like reading in a foreign language. Reading dry explanations and commentary on constitutional questions makes our eyes glaze over. Reading and understanding thoughtful opinions we don't immediately agree with is difficult and unpleasant.

But we're not going to get what we need – an understanding of how things have worked in the past and how they work now – in any other way. Especially, we won't get an understanding of how our country and our democratic system is supposed to work, and how its workings depend on our knowledgeable participation – in any other way. We need to make the time, and somehow to summon the determination, to do it.

In the meantime, we can at least stop posting mindless memes and spreading false information, information contrary to fact, on social media, taking up each other's time with worthless blather and passing it on. If we don't know something and can't find out, we don't have to agree and comment on it just to be saying something. We can tell the truth, not just the part of it we happen to like. We can be polite to each other. We can stop attacking people on the basis of their looks. And we can behave like adults. I don't enjoy seeing Donald Trump's head photoshopped onto the body of a pig any more than I enjoyed seeing Hillary Clinton's head on the same pig, and I find it difficult to respect the person who thinks that's clever or amusing. If we've never learned the value of knowing something is true before repeating it, of putting our brains in gear before we start running our mouths, it's time to learn it now. If we have real respect for our country, we can remember that we are each part of our country and must have respect for each other and ourselves. We're not stupid; we can learn. And the more we know, the less likely we are to be frightened and confused and angry. We can stop lashing out at each other and turn our attention toward positive action.

We've been ignorant for a long time. It may even be too late to repair the damage our ignorance has done to our democracy, but if we're going to minimize that damage we'd better begin now to repair our ignorance. And we'd better be quick about it. We can't start all over again next year.

This is not a football game.

[ladystylestores]

Your Thursday Briefing – The New York Times

The world is learning to live with a deadly pandemic

China is testing restaurant workers and delivery drivers block by block. South Korea tells people to carry two types of masks for differing risky social situations. Britain is targeting local outbreaks in what Prime Minister Boris Johnson calls “Whac-A-Mole.”

As mass infections strike even in places that had seemed to tame the coronavirus, officials are adjusting to the reality that the disease is here to stay. They are turning to targeted and fast-but-flexible approaches to stop third or fourth waves.

While the details differ, the strategies call for giving governments flexibility to tighten or ease as needed. They require some mix of intensive tracking, lightning-fast response times, border management and constant reminders to their citizens.

Quotable: “It’s always going to be with us,” said Simon James Thornley, an epidemiologist from the University of Auckland in New Zealand. “I don’t think we can eliminate the virus long term. We are going to need to learn to live with the virus.”

North Korea’s backtracking is part of a playbook

Kim Jong-un, the country’s leader, has suspended plans to ​deploy more troops​ and resume military exercises along the world’s most heavily armed border.

His decision on Wednesday came fewer than 10 days after the North blew up the joint inter-Korean liaison office — one of the actions that threatened to reverse the fragile easing of tensions on the Korean Peninsula.

If the flip-flop and de-escalation seem disorienting, remember that it’s long been part of the North’s playbook, our correspondent writes.

The strategy: “When the move is toward peace, the change of tack is so dramatic that North Korea’s external enemies often take the shift itself as progress,” Choe Sang-Hun writes, “even though there is no evidence that the country has decided to abandon its nuclear weapons.”

Young, patriotic and stranded abroad, China’s ‘little pinks’ rethink their country

Chinese students and workers abroad often post online in the country’s defense — in the wake of the Hong Kong protests, China’s handling of the pandemic and more. They are part of one of the most Communist-red, nationalistic generations in decades. Some refer to them disparagingly as “little pinks.”

But during the pandemic, some of them discovered that the government wanted them to stay overseas, leaving them stranded and without answers. Their flights back home were canceled again and again, as they watched other nations’ leaders arrange pickups for citizens. They are, according to our New New World columnist, Li Yuan, questioning for the first time one of their country’s bedrock political principles: National interests come first.

As they mature, she writes, many will become leaders in business, academia and other institutions, and their shifting views could shape China’s relationship with the world.

Numbers: More than 1.4 million Chinese students were living in other countries as of April 2, with nearly one-third in the U.S. It is not clear how many of them have been stranded.

Quotable: “My feelings are increasingly complicated,” a Chinese student at a Midwestern U.S. university wrote on Weibo in mid-May. “The country I loved doesn’t want me back.”

If you have some time, this is worth it

What is owed

The masses who have taken to U.S. streets to protest against racism and police violence are multiracial and multigenerational, helping make this uprising feel different, writes Nikole Hannah-Jones in The Times Magazine. But the support for reform on its own, she says, cannot bring justice to America.

If black lives are to matter, the nation must pay reparations to black Americans, she writes, to balance the assets that have accrued to white people over generations: “Wealth, not income, is the means to security in America.”

Here’s what else is happening

Pakistan crash: The pilots of a Pakistani airliner that crashed last month in Karachi were busy talking about the coronavirus and repeatedly ignored directions from air traffic controllers before their plane went down, killing 98 people, Pakistan’s aviation minister said Wednesday.

U.S. presidential election: Former Vice President Joe Biden has a 14-point lead on President Trump in the 2020 race, according to a new poll of national voters by The New York Times and Siena College that showed broad dissatisfaction with Mr. Trump’s handling of the pandemic and racial-justice protests.

Botched art restoration: Spain’s art restoration experts are calling for tighter regulation of their work after a copy of a 17th-century painting of the Virgin Mary by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo was disfigured in a cleaning by a furniture restorer.

Snapshot: Above, the annual celebration of Russia’s defeat of Nazi Germany. Veterans in their 80s and 90s were among the tens of thousands of people who turned out in Moscow, most without face masks, even as their country is suffering from one of the world’s largest outbreaks.

What we’re listening to: This episode of the podcast “Reply All.” Sanam Yar, on the newsletters team, writes: “This episode digs into the trend of black people across the U.S. receiving random, unsolicited Venmo payments from white acquaintances as a bizarre form of reparations.”

Now, a break from the news

Do: Spending some of this season outside? We have apps to help with maps, trails, pit stops and pizza. Try a Duchenne smile, one that lights up the face, now that masks hide our mouths. And for kids in need of outdoor time, even a little goes a long way.

At Home has our full collection of ideas on what to read, cook, watch, and do while staying safe at home.

And now for the Back Story on …

A Russian scientist family’s work

Years ago, a married pair of Russian virologists tested the polio vaccine on their children, who all grew up to be virologists. A side effect they found is now sparking hope for a defense against coronavirus. Andrew Kramer, a correspondent in our Moscow bureau, talked to us about his reporting.

What did you learn from the Chumakov family?

When I talked to one of the brothers, Alexei, he mentioned that another brother was now experimenting with polio vaccine on himself as a potential protective measure against coronavirus. I had read about the tuberculosis vaccine that’s being tried as a so-called repurposed vaccine approach to the coronavirus. I started looking into the polio vaccine in that context, and it turns out there are also some very serious, established researchers in the United States who are also backing this approach.

That convinced me that it was a serious scientific idea, and it was very tightly tangled up with the story of this family.

How would the polio vaccine work as treatment for coronavirus?

The idea is that a viral infection causes a reaction in the body and a release of something called “interferons” that interfere with viral replication. Before the immune system develops a specific antibody, there’s this innate immune system, researchers told me. If you have an active viral infection in your intestinal system, like polio virus, it would release all these interferons that interfere with the replication of other viruses.

Some viruses can have a beneficial effect on immunity, similar to the way that microbes in your gut are part of your natural healthy state.

Why did the Chumakov brothers decide to go into virology?

Peter said when he was growing up, everyone around him was a scientist. He thought all adults were scientists. The story is a little window into a part of the Soviet Union that not a lot of people see: There was a large repressive police state, but there was also a lot of emphasis on science. Epidemiology and vaccine science were valued.

That’s it for this briefing. See you next time.

— Melina

Thank you To Melissa Clark for the recipe, and to Theodore Kim and Jahaan Singh for the rest of the break from the news. You can reach the team at [email protected].

P.S. • We’re listening to “The Daily.” Our latest episode is about what it’s been like to be unemployed in the U.S. for the past few months. • Here’s our Mini Crossword, and a clue: Alicia who plays the piano, fittingly (four letters). You can find all our puzzles here. • Ashley Southall is The Times’s new police bureau chief in New York City.

Source link

قالب وردپرس

from World Wide News https://ift.tt/2Vfji82

#World Wide News

[trinhhungthin]

Law Class Research Assist and Website Teaching StudyDaddy.com

Personal Loans For Those With Bad Credit – Five Misconceptions

Recently a newspaper flashed a headline, “Mush most hated man in Pak”. This may surprise the western countries as he had been fighting the “war on terror” since many years and doing everything that is right for Pakistan and the world. Only in 2005, General Pervez Musharraf was rated amongst the top 10 worst dictator of the world by Parade Magazine. He also won the recent presidential election by unprecedented margin. Why his own people hate him so much? After all he did everything for the country Your second reflection paper topic is about terrorism, mass protests, and mass shootings. This is essentially the second half of the semester. The directions for this are the same as the first and risked his life for Pakistan.

The Closer (TNT, 9pm) – NEW! Pope implements a plan to improve the department’s public image in the wake of the brutal slaying of a parole-board member who was killed during a phone call with Gabriel. But before any image is boosted, Brenda must first solve the murder.

I Want To Study

We Can Do Your Research Right now

Let Us Research Before You Buy Right now

Let Me Research Your Options Now

I Want To Study

We Can Research Tonight

Let’s Do Your Homework Right now

Let Me Do Your Homework Tonight

Russia has once again used its courts for a political purpose. It demonstrates an utter disregard for human rights and th contmpt for the rule of law. In convicting Mr. Khordokovsky and Mr. Lebedev, Mr. Putn has proven that his country is once again a heartless dictatorship.

What happened to our government? Why won’t the Congress listen to the people, or uphold its oath of office to defend the Constitution anymore? It almost sounds like our elected officials are conducting a concerted effort to push us into another form of government, foreign to traditional American values and our Constitutional heritage of freedom.

Reading the local trade press, both in print and online, could be very helpful to your job hunt. Not only will it help to keep you informed about what’s happening in the sector, but in many cases, they will carry details on vacancies at law college firms.

“That’s both interesting and worrying.” I say. I am not too amazed by this. I mean, I have heard we are at War, you know? Besides, there may be a very good reason for not using machinery. Perhaps a unique ant or lizard is living in that area? Perhaps there is no oil or gas to get at?

Bundy grew up thinking that his grandparents were his parents and when he found out that they were not he felt betrayed by his mother, Eleanor Louise Cowell. He only found out that he was illegitimate because his first love, Stephanie Brooks, had broken off their relationship, telling him that he was going nowhere and that he couldn’t plan anything, so he went home where he found his birth certificate. He returned to college having re-invented himself as a charming and sophisticated out going individual. He got involved in politics and started to learn Chinese.

If you are a student law then you have a lot of entry level law jobs waiting for you. But you must always remember that it is very much important to perform well in all your law school examinations.

The last Supreme Court judge to be impeached was “Old Bacon Face,” Samual Chase. In 1805, he was brought up on charges that he treated defendants unfairly based on his political bias. He was eventually acquitted. Of particular note is that Chase’s impeachment set the benchmark for several judicial boundaries. Most notably, it set the “gold standard” that Supreme Court justices are required to abstain from partisan politics. And let’s be perfectly clear: Religious intrusion into the law of the land is a partisan political matter. Just ask Rick Perry.

The same is true in the world of grownup men. Every person wish to do what he likes i.e. what his nature desires. Yet society only considers some of his desires as right and other as wrong. So the people in power use their power to punish such person for any act that are not considered right by the society. What else they can do to a person who does not confirm to the laws of the society? How do you deal with people in your office who does not work, or work against the interest of the organization? Only punishment can improve them. How do you deal with citizens who break the law and commit criminal acts against the fellow citizen? Only force can set them right. What do you do with a government that does not given justice to its people? You can only change it by force.

Know that applications committees and potential employers can view your social networking profiles. Keep information about yourself unobjectionable to make a good impression and prevent any question of your character.

The Stimulus Package And Obama Provide Mothers With College Grants

For a high school chemistry teacher, teaching kids can sometimes be a nightmare! High schools students can be a bit difficult to handle and when you are talking about chemistry, which is one of the most dreaded subjects, the problems gets even worse! The teacher has to make sure that the subject is interesting and students can easily understand it.

Children are particularly vulnerable to the harmful effects of these toxic cleaning products because proportionally, due to their size and activity levels, children consume more air, water and Unit II Research Paper OpenInstructionsPesticides are a common environmental concern due to the potential long-term effects of the chemicals and their metabolites on the immediate environment food, pound for pound, than adults. In the long run, children are the ones who suffer the heaviest exposure to toxins in the home. You wouldn’t let your child play in a bucket filled with a poisonous substance. Why, then, would you let a baby crawl on a floor that has just been wiped with a toxic chemical? Or worse yet, why let a baby put a toy that was just wiped with a toxic disinfecting wipe into its mouth?

Make My own Studying for you Website

Do My personal Schoolwork for Me Online

Get My own Studies for you Online

Get Your Homework Website

Get My Assignment for me personally Website

Get Excellent Study

No time to eat? Grab a liquid breakfast and run. Why tie a knot in the umbilical chord connecting your bed to your desk? If you can find a long enough straw, just start slurping as you rise from bed, and smack your lips to the last drop as you whiz out the front door. Bye.

You know life is always going to deliver some heavy blows and you’re not always going to be prepared to handle it as you would like. As much as suffering is apparently a negative feeling and gives you the sense of loss, a feeling I know most of us would like to avoid there are however, certain cultures that embrace it, and furthermore find it necessary to their growth.

On no account should you agree with your best friend that her ex was a boring ugly tosser and then add that you’re glad they’ve split as you could never stand him. Next week they will have got back together and your best friend will be your ex.

If you are interested to learn the courses like high school chemistry, general chemistry help, organic chemistry online, AP physics exam, college physics, MCAT physics, high school physics, general physics help, MCAT biology, high school biology, general biology help, CLEP biology, AP calculus exam, high school algebra, elementary algebra online, CLEP college algebra and intermediate algebra then you can learn them within 24 hours. Other than this, you can even get free tips as well as videos regarding these subjects.

To turn this around and make better use of the medium of video, students need to be given control. Students should be allowed to use their imagination and create, not teachers.

On one occasion the secretary phoned me and said there were two enormous boxes that had been left by a parent for the college of chemistry. It turned out to be a spectrophotometer. Now don’t get me wrong. A spectrophotometer is an extremely useful piece of equipment, when it works. This one did not work at all.

Consider this: In one study, beginning tennis players who were told that they could improve their game by trying hard and practicing scored consistently better than those who were told that poor performance meant they lacked the innate ability. “If you believe you have bad genes, you’re less likely to succeed than if you believe you have the power to control your actions, your attitude, and, consequently your weight,” says study leader Robert Singer, PhD, chairman of the exercise and sport school of chemistry at the University of Florida in Gainesville. It’s all about developing what psychologists call “self efficacy” a big word for believing in yourself and your power to do what needs to be done. Here’s how to boost yours.

Exercise MYTH #3: Running a mile burns more calories than walking a mile. The TRUTH: Both running and walking a mile burn the same amount of calories.

I can now personally vouch for the whole Alkalinity argument. I now have vibrant energy, I have lost excess fat, I don’t feel like I need a nap every after noon like I used to, and at the age of 40 I am competing with the young guys in my Triathlons and basketball games. And I was able to do it without giving up my social life!

The post Law Class Research Assist and Website Teaching StudyDaddy.com appeared first on LUẬT NHÀ ĐẤT.

[literateape]

American Shithole #3 — Partisans of Liberty

By Eric Wilson

In honor of the late, great Ursula K. LeGuin, I present a bit of science fiction in lieu of the daily political grind, or perhaps this would qualify as high fantasy.

I was sorting through my things this past weekend — rummaging around the closet spaces, poking through old boxes full of books and papers, rediscovering various knickknacks and doodads from my younger days — and I happened to find an old land line phone with a voice message machine. “A relic from a forgotten time,” I thought. I had picked it up at a second-hand store for a dollar some months back. I don’t even know why I bought it; there is certainly no use for it in this day and age.

Curiosity struck me, and I plugged it in, half-expecting the device to either melt or explode.

Much to my astonishment it powered up. The cassette tape coughed, wheezed and whirred. The little red light was blinking methodically. I lifted the receiver, raised it to my ear, and I was shocked to hear a recognizable voice on the other end of the line. “Hello?” I sputtered. “Hello,” the voice echoed. It was a  familiar voice, alright — it was mine!

Now, I don’t know if a rift in time opened up, or if the new THC/CBD drops were more powerful than I was led to believe — I’m not here to speculate — but suddenly I was having a conversation with myself; the younger, dumber, drunker version of me from exactly ten years ago.

We exchanged pleasantries, and after our mutual disbelief and excitement over this mysterious event had subsided, I felt compelled to inform my younger self of the future:

2018 Me: So, listen up, buddy. I need to tell you a few things about the next decade. These things are going to terrify you, and probably give you gas.

2008 Me: But it’s so terrible already right now; don’t you remember? We’re in the final year of the Bush presidency part deux, fighting two unwinnable wars that have gone on forever, and we’re on the verge of an economic meltdown if this recession turns into a depression; it has to get better. I mean, how bad could it possibly be in the future?

2018 Me: Yes, I remember what I used to think terrible was. So, about that; good news and bad news, buddy. On the upside, the senator from Illinois you admire? He’s going to be president.

2008 Me: Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!! Are you kidding me?! That’s amazing!!!

2018 Me: Yes it is, and yes it was. So that’s, um, some of the good news. I’m trying to soften the blows here…

2008 Me: So what happened, did Obama not win a second term?

2018 Me: Oh no, Obama wins a second term.

2008 Me: Sweet sister sassafras, that’s unbelievable! So he saves us from another Great Depression? Amazing! So through 2016 we’re good, right? 

2018 Me: It was pretty amazing; and with unprecedented partisan opposition at every turn. Unfortunately, it’s not 2016, it’s 2018, and there has been a bit of a kerfuffle, a bit of a setback for humanity, where among other things, Donald Trump is President.

2008 Me: Who?

2018 Me: Donald Trump. He’s a billionaire that went bankrupt a few times. You remember him from the eighties.

2008 Me: Oh, okay. President of what?

2018 Me: President of the United States of America.

(pause)

2008 Me: Donald Trump, from the Home Alone sequel? Sorry, I didn’t place the name immediately — as I can’t really remember the last time he was in the news.

2018 Me: Well, you can just shut your face about that, you lucky fucking bastard.

2008 Me: Hey, take it easy! So what’s the problem? Is he interrupting your favorite TV shows with too many special reports from one of his gaudy gold toilets or something?

2018 Me: Not exactly. Well, yes, come to think of it. Look, you might as well hear about Twitter, and the changes brought about by social media. Ugh, there is so much to address. I can’t recall, are you familiar with social media yet?

2008 Me: I created a Myspace account this week!

2018 Me: A what? Oh, I remember, yes, that’s nice. You will be fascinated with it for three months until you create a Facebook account, whereupon you will enter a vortex of meaningless, perpetual time-suck.

2008 Me: It’s so fun though, sharing music with my friends! So Facebook is what, some sort of internet crack or something? Seems interesting to me. I mean, how cool would that be, if you could just know what everyone else is doing, or even thinking at any time of day? Neat!

2018 Me: Yeah, right… neat. Well, you’re going to have all that and then some, bucko.

2008 Me: So, I’m bracing for more horrible shit. Let’s have it.

2018 Me: Right — back on track. Actually, I haven’t really gotten to the horrible stuff yet. I mean, yes, Trump is horrible beyond imagination, but that’s only part of it. Listen, before I get too far ahead of myself, I want to tell you more about Obama. He saves our lives. I mean me and you, he straight-up saves our lives.

2008 Me: Holy shit, what does he do?

2018 Me: For one, he signs the Affordable Care Act into law, and in 2014 you have your first colonoscopy, and instead of dying, withered and frail like your grandfather, you catch colon cancer before it develops.

2008 Me: Wow, I… I’ve never owed anyone my life before. What a president!

2018 Me: He was pretty special. Also, that affordable healthcare provides you with options when you are struck with a degenerative condition that same year, affecting your legs. Listen, about your conservative friends that voted to take that healthcare away from millions of Americans — the few conservative friends you have — you are going to be very angry with them for being selfish, stupid fucking assholes that cravenly stay silent in the wake of this national debacle. This anger will come close to consuming you. You’ll think you are letting something out, but instead, you’re letting something in.

2008 Me: Oooh, a life lesson. Got it. Don’t be too big of a dick to the dipshits.

2018 Me: Anyway, before I get too dark, there was some cool shit too. There was even a democratic socialist running in the primary, in 2016.

2008 Me: Get the fuck out of here!

2018 Me: I’m not kidding, we had Bernie Sanders — seemingly out of nowhere — a progressive, democratic socialist that was not beholden to the Koch brothers, the Mercers, or Wall Street. He had no private interests advancing his campaign, and he was winning. He was winning, in America. It’s one of the most moving experiences of our lives.

2008 Me: Well I’ll be damned. So what happened next? Jesus, this is an amazing story!

2018 Me: What happened? The DNC conspired to steal the primary for Hillary Clinton, that’s what happened.

2008 Me: Get the fuck out of here! So Hillary Clinton becomes the most seasoned female political figure in American history, steals the primary, and then later loses to Donald Trump?

2018 Me: Yeah, and it would take me weeks to fill you in on all the crazy shit Trump said and did during the campaign, and in his first year. Scholars will be breaking it down for decades. None of it would prepare you for what was really going on.

(It is here in our story where I would encourage you to imagine a montage where I act out various Trump events for my younger self; the building of border walls with tiny hands, the mocking of disabled reporters with tiny hands, etc., — all his greatest hits with tiny hands — set to the music of the underappreciated Balalaika.)  

2008 Me: Wow, how did he manage all of that insanity in so little time? I mean what could possibly motivate him to be that crazy?

2018 Me: Yes, I am getting to that.

2008 Me: At least the wars in the Middle East are over. I mean eight years of Obama must have brought peace to the region, right?

(silence)

2008 Me: Hello?

2018 Me: No, unfortunately the wars in the desert are still raging on — I was just counting the years in my head. The only people that will ever hold dominion in Afghanistan, are the Afghans. It’s a truth that so few seem capable of accepting. Still, the Afghan people are more than willing to teach this lesson, any decade, any century.

2008 Me: We’ve been at war for fifteen years?

2018 Me: Yes, and there is no end in sight. A bit of a side note here — hey, you know all those musicians you love?

2008 Me: Yeah?

2018 Me: You’re gonna maybe need to go buy some concert tickets in the next couple years.

2008 Me: What do you mean? Aww, man! Who dies? I mean, since you are bringing it up, it’s got to be bad; how many do we lose?

2018 Me: Just go ahead and assume that everyone you love in music dies starting in 2015, so, you know, take your time — but when it comes, it’s like a broken spigot, and it’s not going to be pretty.

2008 Me: That really is terrible. Jeez, I feel awful now.

2018 Me: Yeah, yeah… um, so that’s also, by comparison, not the terrible stuff.

2008 Me: Fucking hell, do evil aliens land and take over the planet? Is there a plague that has wiped out most of humanity? It’s a meteor, isn’t it? A giant meteor has killed all the great musicians…

2018 Me: It’s even more Hollywood than that. During all the hellishness of the past two years, it appears Trump, along with his son, son-in-law, and several members of the administration, conspired with the Russians. They committed treason by colluding with hostile foreign agents, in order to gain advantage in the presidential election — and then doubled down by obstructing justice at every turn, when their efforts were discovered.

(silence)

2008 Me: Old me says what?

2018 Me: There’s more. Several prominent republicans along with Trump, are currently attempting to discredit and destabilize the intelligence community, the Department of Justice, and the media, in what has amounted to a de facto coup. Fascism, authoritarianism, and populism are on the rise and Nazis have returned in force to America.

2008 Me: Old. Me. Says. Whaaat? Jesus fucking Christ. I’d rather fight the fucking space aliens.

2018 Me: You and me, both. Look, forget about all that for a second. In about a year, the Supreme Court of the United States is going to hear Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission. It was argued March 24, 2009. Reargued September 9, 2009. Decided January 21, 2010. This is a devastating blow to democracy worldwide.

2008 Me: Citizens United sounds nice!

2018 Me: Shut up, you drunken idiot. Republican sponsored bills always sound nice! If the republicans had a bill that supported harvesting children’s limbs for erectile dysfunction research, they’d call it Tiny Arms Across America, or some shit. Also, all the hippies stayed home in the mid-term elections, including you, you lazy hippy and in 2010 democrats lose the House and Senate. Democrats never recovered and it hamstrung Obama for the rest of his presidency.

2008 Me: Wow, just wow. (pause) Hey, wait a minute. Hey! Oh man, you got me! Who is this, is this Pete? This was the best impersonation of me ever! Such a crazy story too! (chuckles) Trump. Russians. Pussy grabbing. Seriously, best prank ever! I’m going to pass out and forget all about this, so make sure and remind me tomorrow!

(click)

It was just then that I remembered receiving that call ten years ago, and a chill ran down my spine. I had owned this phone, and I must have sold in in a garage sale some years ago. It found its way back to me so I could offer warning — or perhaps so I could complete the time loop. I looked down to find the tape cassette had ceased its whir and the message light blinked no more. If only I had believed myself…

I was startled when my cell phone rang, and it was an eerily familiar voice on the line.

2028 Me: Listen up, buddy, I know this sounds crazy, but I just found this old technology — the smart phone — and I have to tell ya, I’m calling from ten years in the future, and it is insane around here…

#Ursula K. LeGuin #cassette tape #2008/2018 #Trump

[conniefornia]

“Don’t Cry for Me,” Argentina

Hello lads & ladies,

Greetings from Argentina! I've been here for longer than I planned... shocker. After all is said and done Argentina in the top two countries of SA for me (sitting pretty next to Colombia).

Due to its long size and myriad of activities to participate in whilst here, I found my route to be a bit funky but it worked. So to prepare you, I'll share here that I: 1) crossed the border from Chile into central Argentina, 2) headed south to Patagonia, and 3) flew back to central Argentina to move east towards Buenos Aires and Uruguay.

Okay. Onwards to the city blurbs.

MENDOZA:

Mendoza is made for wine and bike tours. If this wasn't here I'm not certain I would have visited. After all it's a quaint town like Sucre but I think I've had about enough of those places.

But biking and wining is a fun way to spend a day! We even got a discount just for asking... would you believe that? :) #frugal. Anyway I spent my time with a German girl named Kathy and an English girl named Ellie who were great accomplices to sampling organic wines to sweet wines to olive oils (!!!). Two takeaway lessons to take away from this day:

Chocolate and flowers are not the way to a girl's heart; instead, it's wine and discounts.

Older women going wine tasting can still be hot messes... but they're funny AF (ours were, anyway).

I enjoyed half my time in Mendoza very much. The other half was horrible due to the results of the 2016 presidential election which made the day absolutely terrible. I have never been so excited to take an 18 hour night bus until then.

For whoever is raving about Cruz Del Sur, as was I, the dinner on the night bus to Bariloche was PRIME. I'm talking mini bread roll, ham/cheese, mini pizzeta, pudding cup, and finally HOT spaghetti bolognese... with a cup of free wine on the side? So much for my avoiding alcohol after a week plus election results. 8 day streak, I see ya. But Cata, thanks for the fab dinner. You're a gem.

BARILOCHE:

If you want a Swiss fix in Argentina, come here. It's home to lakes galore and they sure are beauties! I biked Circuito Chico, sampled lots of chocolate, and marveled at all the dancers in the main plaza as the sun set. Oh and for bonus points, my hostel gave free dinner (and seconds, bc we are on a budget). Woohoo!!!

EL CHALTEN:

This is a hiking town and nothing more but it's a cool place to be. Here are the hikes I did:

Chorillo del Salto

Laguna Torre (for Cerro Torre)

Laguna Capri (for Cerro Fitz Roy)

Mirador de los Condores

Mirador de las Aguilas (for Lago Viedma)

I'll remember El Chalten as being home to some stellar scenery, our little hostel of La Comarca where we were more or less crammed inside but in love with life, and lots of sandwiches as per usual for backpackers. Also, I want to remember how the whole hostel thought these two girls went missing. They weren't actually missing, but it made the whole place a bit on edge and the young hostel manager in need of a cold ass beer!!

EL CALAFATE:

I came here for one thing and one thing only: Perito Moreno! My wallet said "save your money and don't spend the $200 on ice trekking," so I opted for the bus trip. Can you believe they leave you here for nearly four hours?

But it is cool... and when the sun breaks in during late afternoon after the off and on again sprinkling rain, you get a taste of being somewhere sacred. It's worth going in the afternoon versus the morning for those moments of feeling like you've got the whole place to yourself.

Also, I met a Colombian tour guide here who chilled with me when I thought my bus left me. We easily made jokes and talked about travels in his car, and I got a ride from him back down and up again to the main bus terminal at the glacier. Gotta love Colombians!

TORRES DEL PAINE:

Now this place is the BEST. Really the highlight of my trip. My English friend Amy and I did the W trek together and it was so stinkin' sweet I couldn't recommend this or any other multi-day hike in TDP enough!!! Lakes are a luscious blue, water from the streams are drinkable, camping is so fun when you are with the right people and have decent weather (of which ours was 90% perfect the whole time!!), and waking up at 4am in the morning to hike up to catch sunrise with your TDP fam is honestly the business.

This is where a piece of my heart got stamped with such an admiration and appreciation for Mother Nature more than ever before. This place is a confirmation of why we go backpacking. Love, love,and nothing but love.

CÓRDOBA:

I turned 25 here alongside new Argentine friends and my English friend Amy. I attended many different fiestas with our hosts Martin & Igna and their amigos. I tried and drank Fernet & Coke as much as I drank water. That's livin’ la vida Córdoba.

A moment I wish I could have a picture of is drinking mate and eating media luna's in an open field on a picnic blanket with Amy, Martin, and Uly. #bliss

BUENOS AIRES:

If I had to pick a city this far in South America where I would have to live for some time, BA would be pretty up there. There's the metro, loads of buses, street art, hip and nice areas, a ton of parillas... yes. Only thing missing really is a good beach nearby!!

But the tours here are where I got over tours. There's a tour for everyone and everything and it's all unnecessary and annoying. Like Santiago, I think BA is best done on your own.

Overall, Argentina gets high ratings from me thanks to awesome food, delicious wine, and most of Patagonia on their side of the border. Bravo!

xoxo, CONS

[cdepo-blog]

KD DA GOAT BUT OBAMA THE REAL GOAT

I remember waking up in my old home on Dickens Road in Bethesda Maryland. It was eight years ago, when Obama had won the presidency for the first time. I did not know much about it but I knew to be happy since my family was in so much excitement. Growing up, I never really had to deal with much racism. Every now and then there would be that one ignorant kid to say something stupid but It never really bothered me. As time passed and I went through elementary school, and finishing up middle school it really started to hit me. My president was black. And no, having a black president is not the main reason of my happiness but a educated black person with degrees from Harvard and Columbia University. This proves so much because for years we have been mistreated just because the color of our skin and now our president is black? It is crazy to think about. The common white man in the 1800’s and early 1900’s did not believe that blacks were educated, and they believed they were useless. That's where having a black president comes in. There is not a better way of proving someone wrong. Just recently I started to paying more attention to politics when the election came around and Trump was winning the big states in America. I remember going to sleep knowing that Trump was going to win. I just knew, like something was telling me but I did not want to believe it. I prayed it wouldn't happen, but it did. On the way to school the next morning my mom wouldn't really talk, and I already knew why so I didn’t bother to ask. We talked fro very short times during the ride but we both didn't want to talk about it. I visited youtube to view some of the Trump videos and things that he has said during his speeches. He’s made some pretty vulgar statements, and I personally believe he is a racist. The people in attendance of his rallies and his speeches seemed to be that way too. Not everybody, but some of the crowd. Their was this one video of a older white man spitting in a black mans face who was peacefully protesting, and Trump began to laugh, and began to say something along the lines of, “Back in the day, he would of gotten it a lot worse.” When I saw that I was in shock. How can you even say something like that. Especially as a presidential candidate. I did not want this as my president in fear of my family and my friends. Now that he is President I worry sometimes. Sometimes I’ll catch myself overthinking the topic, and my stomach begins to tie up into a knot. Seeing Obama leave the. White house was one of the hardest things I had to watch. Seeing the way he carried himself with class and dignity when greeting Trump was amazing. The way Trump talked down on Obama and even questioned his birth place, I would not be able to be that classy too a man who stoops so low. That man in the White House as I write this blog is not my President. His wife is not my First Lady. That women's march the day after the Inauguration was beautiful. It was amazing to watch. Even though I was not a part of it, I support it to the fullest and Trump has only brought the people together by being a racist, and a sexist. He does not realize what he is up for and I just pray that the nation stays woke. I don’t hope bad on Trump, and I wish him the best as my future lays in his hands. I pray he doesn’t follow through with some of the ideas he had, as they can be very scary to be laid down and put into order. I’m so grateful to be a part of history witnessing the first black president. He accomplished so much before our eyes and I know many people don’t believe he was a good president but I believe he was an extraordinary President and I wouldn’t rather. Have anyone else as my President. If I could have President Obama as my President for the rest of my life, trust me I would. Unfortunately that cannot happen, and hopefully this nation can keep moving forward regardless of the President in the White House. Thank you Obama for 8 outstanding years. #ObamaYOUDAGOAT #THANKYOU