#At least the senate now knows what it’s like to be in a public school lockdown

[vaesbst]

The Academy for Soulless Dolls|| #1

╰┈➤ Synopsis; Mencià, a lifelong drifter through boarding schools, is thrust into the mysterious Rosethorn Academy, a haven for the elite. Eager to stay under the radar, her plans unravel when the school's most powerful heir becomes dangerously obsessed with her. As she uncovers dark secrets within the academy's shadowy halls, Mencià must protect her own secrets or risk being consumed by the sinister forces at play.

╰┈➤ Paring: Hyunjin x OC

╰┈➤ Genre: elite academy au, dark secrets, slow burn, angst, smut,fluff

╰┈➤ Warnings: explicit language, implied violence

╰┈➤ Word count: 5.1k

notes: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written and english isn’t my first language so I apologise for any grammatical errors. The main protagonist is an OC I created, and she’s meant to be a darkskin black female but you’re more than welcome to picture her as yourself or anyone else you want. Please do leave me some feedback as I appreciate them all and they help me improve.

Mob mentality

-- also called herd or hive mentality -- is the inclination that some humans have to be part of a large group, often neglecting their individual feelings in the process, and adopting the behaviors and actions of the people around them.

                                                                                   ╔⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╗

New beginnings are always scary- well at least that's what the average person would say if you asked them . Not many people are fond of change, some will even do the unthinkable to avoid it because, understandably so, it does open a vast door to the unknown and when individuals are used to a set routine, suddenly having to face and tackle something foreign will arise a sense of fight of flight in them.

But I can't say the same for me.

I'm walking through the vast opaque corridors of what's going to be my new home for the next year with my head ducked down, hiding away from the public and taking count of every step I'm making, attempting as much as possible to avoid the curious stares that I'm already receiving from the other students. I know it's weird to refer to a school as a "home" but coming from where I came, anywhere would be better than my actual in-house situation. My old school used to be my safe heaven. A place where i felt accepted and secure. A place where I felt like I could truly be myself and walk around the hallways without feeling much angst. It was great, until it wasn't. They turned on me so I had to flee in search of a new place to call home.

My dad wasn't too happy about me having to change schools in the middle of the year, as it would raise too many questions that he'd have to bury since he can't risk having his reputation ruined by a "trouble making" daughter. At least not now that's he's running for senator. So he did what he's been doing for the past 14 years. Found the best academy he could lock me up in for good.

This time he chose Rosethorn Academy for Gifted Kids, which I've heard lots about. Mainly regarding how it's a elite school where extremely rich entitled parents send their spoiled bratty kids to, so that they can get on with their luxurious lives without having to worry about them for a good year. But also about how they have developed an intricate housing system that is substantially similar to Hogwarts from Harry Potter which I'm sorta excited to see.

"Make sure your clothes are straightened and your hair is patted down adequately Mencìa, your aim is to leave a good impression" says my mum walking alongside me with her back as straight and rigid as a sugar cane, nose pointed up to the sky, strolling along this unfamiliar corridor like she owns the place.

Despite initially being a mere "commoner", my mother has gained a sense of superiority over her peers when my dad chose to marry her. She is aware that most of them bad mouth her behind her back, but she could not care less because in her words "only miserable people have the time to look down on others since they aren't satisfied with what life has given them, successful people are too busy capitalising off of their success". In some ways I do admire her confidence, but sometimes I do wonder whether she's just putting up a front.

Me and her have been walking for what seemed like hours before we reached the door of the headmaster's office. "Look at me for a second" my mother says grabbing my chin and tilting my head towards her.

"Ow ma! You're hurting me" i loudly whisper , trying to not gain attention from the other passer-by's as she keeps tilting my head in every direction, closely analysing my face to detect any imperfections.

"Like I said, leaving a good impression is key" she reminds me, "Plus, you look great today, though I wish you wore something a little bit more...professional? concise?" She admits whilst simultaneously looking down at my outfit: an oversized grey hoodie with a black Metallica graphic tee underneath, a jean skirt, white slouch socks and a pair of black healed Mary Jane's.

"I think it's a pretty average outfit ma" I defensively say since I literally don't see what's wrong with it, this is literally how I dress everyday. "Exactly." she reaffirms leaving me dumbfounded as she proceeds to knock on the door.

"COME IN!" shouts a feminine voice inside the office. As we walk inside we are welcomed by a tall, slim blonde woman, standing right next to her desk. She seems to be in her mid 50's.

"You must be Mencìa Natalia Cypress" she says looking at me and holding her hand out smiling. I took it, shaking it lightly, slightly intimidated by how intensely she's gazing at me. Almost as if she was trying to uncover my deepest darkest secrets which made me wonder what she could already know about me.

"And you must be Amethyst VonDée, her guardian" she says while shaking hands with my mother

"Yes correct, it's nice to finally meet you Mrs Peregrine" she smiles, looking at her up and down whilst still maintaining a sense of elegance in her greet, which Mrs Peregrine seems to be slightly taken aback by, but she manages to quickly compose herself and greets her with the same intesity, "The pleasure is mine, why don't we all take a sit and chat for a bit" she says, guiding her hands towards the two cushioned chairs in front of her chestnut desk.

Me and my mother gladly take our sits and Mrs Peregrine joins us shortly after. "So Miss Cypress, what I have here in front of me is your curriculum from your other school" she informs us, "and by giving it a quick scan I would like to say that it's relatively impressive!" She adds, "You have an A in pretty much every subject- except for PE but we can work on that. Plus, we only look at academic subjects here and not really physical" she smiles at me reassuringly.

"Though a C isn't a bad grade so you don't have much to worry about, but..." she shifts her gaze from her computer screen to me, staring at me with so much intensity that it made me shake on my sit, anxiously waiting for the next words that were about to come out of her mouth.

"I just wanted to inform you that we do not tolerate any type misconduct here at Rosethorn" the tone of her voice changed, suddenly sounding a lot more stricter and colder, a juxtaposition of her initial sweet and reassuring voice.

My heart drops at the reminder of the past occurrences in my old school. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to move on so badly and get away from it all. I tried forgetting every instance that had happen for my own sake, but it seems like this situation will forever keep haunting me.

"My husband has already taken care of it Mrs Peregrine so it shouldn't be an issue" my mother intervenes, probably sensing my discomfort, "Plus I am aware that he has left a rather large donation to prevent this topic from coming up again, was it not large enough? Should i refer it to him?" she adds, smugly looking at the headmaster with her head high.

I witness firsthand the colour of her face completely draining as she started frantically coughing, "No *cough* no need to result to such drastic measures, I just wanted to..." she pauses and looks at me with a tight smile "..tell Mencìa about how the academy works. I was not referring to anything in particular" she awkwardly laughs and diverts her gaze back to her computer screen.

"Shall we move onto sorting out the house you will be part of?" she utters, clapping her hands together.

I swiftly look at my mother which seems rather pleased after witnessing the headmaster literally shiver from terror at the mention of my father. Me and her both know that my father is a scary individual. Not many people are willing to go against him because of his overarching strong personality, and the faint rumours about the end that many of his competitors have met. I don't know if the rumours are true since I was never too keen on knowing how my dad handles his business, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were. He's a terryfying man.

"Okay so after our system calculated the mean of your grades, looked into your old extracurricular activities and analysed the frequency in your contribution both in class and during these clubs as well as your socio-economic status, it has suggested that the best house for you would be.... Làpis Lazzuli!" she announces excitedly, looking at me seeking for a reaction.

I give her a slight awkward smile which she seems disappointed by, probably expecting a bigger reaction from me. I have no idea about what significance the houses here hold so being put in Làpis Lazzuli doesn't really make a difference to me, I would have been content any where to be honest.

"That's perfect! That is exactly what me and her dad were hoping for!" my mum proudly exclaims, looking at me like I've just won a Nobel prize for world peace. Confused is literally an understatement for what I'm feeling right now.

"I'm very glad you're happy with the choice madame" Mrs Peregrine smiles "Mencìa, heres your timetable" she says handing me my seemingly packed schedule "and your designated uniform should have been delivered to your room by now, so when you go check it out it should be placed on your bed. If it's not, do not hesitate to ring front desk and they'll sort it out for you"

I nod feeling slightly light headed. It's done. It's over. I've been enrolled and now i'm officially a Rosethorne student. I'd be lying if i said that my heart didn't feel like it was literally about to jump out my throat. I knew the process wasn't going to take long but a little part in me hoped that this meeting would have lasted longer, or at least long enough for me to familiarise myself with the idea of frequenting a school where hopefully no one knew me. And i was going to make that my priority. I have to keep myself anomymous no matter what.

I pick my bag up from the ground where it was slouched against one of the legs of the desk and make my way outside the office alongside my mother.

"That was a succesful meeting, i'll make sure to refer everything back to your father, he'll be very pleased to hear that you made it into Lapis house" she says, looking at me ecstatic. I scoff, knowing that if she was refering to my dad, as in THE Lucious Santana then he most likely wouldn't have cared. He doesn't tend to mingle with my affairs, all he cares about is his "empire".

"What the hell is the deal with this Lapus Lozzuli house?" i frown perplexed, "It's LÀPIS LAZZULI, not Lupas Luzzoli or whatever language you just spoke right now" she corrects me "Plus, only the best of the best get accepted into that house. Think about every politician or successful business owner you know that has attended Rosethorne. They were all sorted into Làpis house. They call it the house of the 0.1 percentile" she triumphaly says, making a grand gesture with her arms to emphasise the significance of her statement "Because being in that house will guarantee you a prime spot amongst the elites of the population the second you're out of here".

I nod as i sign of understanding to cut the conversation short. I tuned out whatever she was saying the second she started talking about politicians and all that rubbish, i have bigger things to worry about, like what the uniform is gonna look like on me and how fast i'll be able change and walk to third period english literature to be able to get there before everyone else. The last thing i want right now is to have an entire group of post pubescent teenagers wonder where the fuck i came from just because i chose to appear at a more appropriate time.

                                                                                   

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Oh wow..." my mother says dumfounded by the large building that was currently facing us. "Oh wow indeed madre..." i reply being equally as dumbfounded as she was. The female dormitory is rather magnificient to say the least.

It's a slate grey brick building with a charcoal clay & concrete tile roof. The massive burgundy entrance door was shadowed by a vast ashen staircase in the same opaque shade as the building. The walkway was drowned by white pebbles that composed an ironically smooth path of gravel that flawlessly complimented the walls' colour, and the dormitory was surrounded by a perfectly trimmed bush that fenced the structure. Directly infront of it, in the centre of the expansive walkway, a bronze fountain stood, with a statue of a supposedly faceless woman holding a withering rose against her chest.

I make my way up the stairs clutching the ends of my jean skirt  so tightly to avoid flashing anyone behind me and just to have something to hold because i genuenly don't know what to do with myself. The anxiety is eating me alive.

We make it through the entrance and are welcomed by a spacious hall, illuminated by an enormous crystal gold chandelier perfectly cascading above a large mahogany desk residing right in the centre.

A brunette tanned woman is sitting infront of a silver large screen behind the desk, loudly tapping away on her minuture iMac keyboard. She looked up once she heard us walking towards her and stood to greet us warmily "Hello! Nice to meet you both, i'm Faith" she said shaking both mine and my mother's hands. "You must be Mencìa" she looked at me with a bright smile "I was expecting you", she said whilst walking behind her desk and coming back round to where me and my mum are standing with a set of keys in her hands. She hands me the keys and i notice the large golden 77 engraved in the blue leather keychain attached to them.

"You will be residing in our solo suites on the third floor as requested by your father" i exhale, being glad that for once my dad cared enough to actually listen to me. I wouldn't have minded sharing a room with another student if it weren't for the special circumstances i'm currently in.

After all, i did have a roomate in my old school but unfortunately it didn't go as well as I planned...

I begged my father to request for a single room by myself, and i didn't think he was actually listening to me that day since he seemed to be a lot more captivated by contents on his work computer rather than his literal offspring standing in front of him begging for her life. I guess this time he actually acknowledged me.

"The elevators are this way" Faith points to her left towards the end the corridor where three silvery metallic doors were sitting against a brick wall next to each other. "Your suitcases should have been taken up to your room by now so don't you worry about them. Do call me if there's any concerns" she lastly says before returning back to her sit.

We made our way up to the third floor and found my room in no time, being that it was the only room at the very end of the corridor. There weren't many students around, as i recall noticing that the only people present in the bulding when i first walked in were Faith the receptionist and the tall security guard next to the entrance.

I figure that everyone must be in their respective classes right now hence the current sinister emptiness of the corridors.

"Okay brace yourself for disaster, we're here!!" my mother squeales excited. I grip onto the handle and open the door at a painfully slow pace with my breath hitched, expecting the worse even though it's probably just going to be an average sized empty room and I'm just overreacting.

The door opens all the way and we're met with a beautifully lighted spacious bedroom. The walls are pearly white with a pinkish undertone that I'm yet to determine whether it's due to the sunlight reflecting onto the majestic diamond chandelier in the dead centre of the ceiling, or if it's simply just the paint.

The floor is covered by a light grey carpet that I adore since I prefer walking around my room shoe less. A double bed rests upon a little round platform (also covered by the grey carpet) directly in front of the door. Its headboard is a silvery crushed velvet material. On the left side, two massive windows allow the sunlight outside to naturally light up the room, and a white couch with two fuchsia cushions sits underneath them.

A white mahogany desk resides on the right side of the room, between two doors. One leads to the en-suite bathroom and the other one leads to the walk-in closet. My suitcases were left in the middle of my room.

"I gotta admit this is much better than I expected" I say satisfied with what I was given. I'm not too sure whether it was my dad's doing or if these are just what the standard single rooms look like, but I'm happy nonetheless. I can't wait to decorate it.

"Your dad really outdid himself this time. That couch is fabulous! We need one in our bedroom" my mum says, pacing around the room inspecting the surroundings.

"What do you mean by 'dad outdid himself'? Did he remodel the room?!" I ask anxiously. I mean, I did request for a single room and it is indeed quite nice but I don't wanna receive any special treatments in case it brings too much attention. I would've been fine with anything.

"Not necessarily...but he did replace the original bed with the current one and he also got you the couch" she explains "plus the chandelier was my doing! Do you like it?" she looks at me hopeful, waiting for my response.

"It was a nice touch, I love it! Thanks mum" I say embracing her lovingly. A bit extra? Yes.

But what can I do. That's just how my mother shows her love for me every so often, especially since she doesn't get to do so in public anyway.

"You're welcome tesoro~" she replies hugging me back. I end our embrace and walk towards my bed where my uniform is sitting: An almost black navy blue blazer with 2 golden buttons, a blue and grey plaid bow tie with a big blue gem on the knot,  a plaid pleated skirt of the same colour of the bow tie, and a complementary black gilet sweater that I'm guessing is for when the weather is colder.

"Do you need any help unpacking Mencià? Because I can stay for longer if you need me to" my mother asks me with a look of worry on her face.

"No thanks mum. I'm gonna go off to my first lesson soon so I'm probably not gonna unpack right now. Plus it'll give me something to do this evening so I should be fine" I tell her, smiling reassuringly.

"If you say so then I'll be taking my leave. Don't forget to call me tonight once you're back from your classes and don't even think about shortening your skirt Mencià..." she beings rambling as I start pushing her towards the door. Once she starts she'll never end.

"... and wear tights! And I'm not talking about those fishnets you're hiding in your suitcase. You thought I didn't see them huh?!" she carries on, "yeah mum I won't don't worry" I respond exasperated trying to cease her blathering.

"Also..." we're at the door now and she's finally stopped her rambling session. She's looking at me now, worry back on her face "Don't forget that we're always here for you. Your dad may not show it often but he loves you very much" A saddened look replaces the look of worry as she begins stroking my left cheek with her thumb

"You've gone through a lot of hardships but this is your chance to start over. Don't think about the past anymore and focus on building a new future. A future that you desire" she says, smiling at me reassuringly.

"Thanks for the advice madre~" i force a smile in an attempt to hide the tears that are about to spill out my eyes. Goodbyes are  never easy, no matter how frequently they happen. I've gradually adapted to not being at home often being that I grew up going to various boarding schools, but this time it's different. It feels different.

"Please thank dad on my behalf for the bed and the couch" I say giving her one last hug. "I will~" she replies. We end our embrace and she gives me one last look before taking her leave.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Gosh~ spero di essermi portata tutto..."(I hope I brought everything I need) I mumble underneath my breath.

After mopping around my room for 30 minutes trying to figure out how to make my uniform look less dull, I finally left. I know I promised mum that I wouldn't wear the fishnets but I had no choice. I tried to add a little bit of me to my uniform by slightly shortening the skirt and wearing black fishnets with platform doc martens. Everything else is normal.

Third period starts in 45 minutes meaning that I still have time to get to my English classroom and settle in before the other students start swarming in.

Luckily I'm not experiencing much difficulty in finding the room thanks to the map of the school Faith gave on my way out, though I've noticed that the stares have increased and I'm starting to feel slightly anxious again.

Earlier today, I had thought that the reason why everyone was looking at me was because I was literally walking alongside my mother hence people figured that I was new and were just curious. But now I'm all by myself yet others are still staring at me, specifically at my neck, and whispering things underneath their breath to their friends if they're walking in duos or groups.

I'm trying to shake it off, but I'm finding it difficult to not think that they could know something. I feel like if I don't get out of here right now I'm going to start hyperventilating, which i absolutely need to avoid.

I begin rushing to find my classroom so I can seat down and stabilise my breath before everyone else gets there. After searching the hallway on the second floor for what seemed like an eternity, I finally find.

I go to open the door but I stop due to the unknown voices I'm hearing coming from inside. No one should be here yet, class literally starts in about 30 minutes then why am I hearing people inside?

"Have you not learnt your lesson yet? Must I remind you who you are again or are you gonna come to your senses?" says a male voice in a threatening but oddly calm voice followed by a loud bang and a weak mewl possibly coming from a second person in the room. I jolt as I take a step back thinking about whether I should just go back to my room and return at a more appropriate time.

"I-I-I-m s-s-s-orry. I won't do it a-a-gain. I must have lost my mind" pleaded someone with a shaky voice. Another loud bang occurs and this time a high pitched shriek of pain erupts from someone in that room. "You think sorry will cut it? How dare a parasite like you look at me" says the voice I heard at the beginning with a slightly more aggressive tone.

I can't stay here any longer. I'm not entirely sure about what's going on in there but what I'm sure about is that i don't want to be the next target. As I go to take my leave I suddenly come face to face with a girl who's seemingly been standing behind me for a while looking at me with what could only be deciphered as curiosity.

Since she hasn't uttered a word I choose to quietly keep moving. I'm not a fan of small talk as I fear awkwardness and I want to avoid it at all costs.

"Old money or new money?" the girl suddenly asks. I stop dead in my tracks, "I see you're Lapìs house so I'm assuming old money correct?" she insists after noticing my lack of response, "or...don't tell me you're social care!" she loudly whispers.

I look at her confused not entirely sure what to say. "How did you know I was Lapìs house?" I ask her the first question that popped into my mind.

She points at my neck and chuckles "Your bow tie. The gem in the middle is blue. Since you didn't know that then my assumptions were correct" she states proudly "You're new. That explains why I've never seen you around" she says, taking a step closer.

"My name is Aiura Yamaha but you can call me Yuri, nice to meet you" she triumphantly announces with a big bright smile revelling her perfectly curated white teeth. I nod and smile back introducing myself also but with a lot less energy "Nice to meet you, my name's Mencià".

She takes my hand and frantically shakes it, smile still wide and bright. Now that I'm taking a proper look at her I gotta admit that she's relatively beautiful. Her hair is dirty blonde styled in a pompous half up half down hairdo. Her skin is tanned and shiny emulating the reincarnation of what it means to be "baciata dal sole" (sun-kissed).

She's only wearing a white shirt with the first three buttons undone showing her prominent cleavage. Her bow tie is sitting lose around her neck, her skirt ends just below her bum and her thick white leg warmers rest on top of her black platform crocs decorated with a variety of random charms.

Her alternative way of dressing is a complete juxtaposition of her sweet innocent face. Her eyes are emphasised by the thick white eyeliner on her water line and the heavy nose contour gives her nose a more dainty and petite look.

"You didn't answer my question though" Aiura says, smile slightly faltering. I look at her clueless as I genuinely don't remember "Are you old money or new money?" she asks as I'm reminded of the set of questions she began her introduction with.  She stares at me with much more intensity waiting for my response

"I-I don't know, what does that mean?" I ask trying to sound as calm as possible but failing miserably. For some reason I feel like saying the wrong answer will only lead to the possible future trouble I'm so desperately trying to avoid. I should've just kept walking. I don't know why I stopped to interact with her.

"Wait...you don't know?!" she looks at me in disbelief with her mouth agape and her pupils about to pop out of their sockets. Was I supposed to?

I slowly shake my head wary of her next response. "When did you start?" she asks me incredulous, "today..." I whisper looking behind her in search of an escape from this situation. I'm still very unsure about where this conversation is heading.

"Ohhh! In that case, let me give you a brief rundown of how things work in this school. But not here, follow me!" she grabs my arm catching me by surprise and begins hurriedly pulling me away.

With a struggle, I'm able to snatch my arm away from her surprisingly tight grip. Her head snaps back to face me again, but something's different. Her face is flushed and she keeps glancing at the door of my English class. "You really can't be here Mencià. Or at least not now. You need to come with me" she says in a panicked tone.

"But where are we goi-"

"Just come!" Aiura snaps grabbing my arm once more and dragging me away again. My intuition is telling me that following her may be the best option for me right now. I don't ask any further questions and i let her guide me down the hallway.

Suddenly, I hear the door of my English class swing open as we're nearing the end of the hallway. I try to look behind me to catch a peek of the person (or people) that was causing all that ruckus. All I'm able to see is a tall, slightly slender silhouette with jet black wavy hair before Aiura takes a corner and my view get obstructed by the wall.

[dosomethingplease83]

I’m a quite tipsy right now, because election night and my birthday are the only occasions when I drink, so please excuse the spelling errors and inconsistency/inaccuracy in my reasoning.

It hasn’t been called yet, but it looks like Harris is going to lose this election. Fuck.

I think the Supreme Court is going to be conservative (and not *moderate, Mitt Romney-esque conservative*) until I’m at least my dad’s age. Again, Fuck. (Unless there’s some major Supreme Court reform in the next decade or so, but even then, it’s not going to happen in the next four years).

The House and Senate also went Republican, so Republicans (and Trump-Republicans) will be able to push through any right-wing legislation they want with no one to stop them. FUCK!

On top of that, it’s not like 2016 where Trump lost the popular vote, but won the Electoral College. Trump’s winning the popular vote too! I thought that since the first disastrous Trump presidency was in recent memory, non-Trump Republicans and undecided/swing voters would remember how awful it was and either abstain from voting for Trump or vote for Harris. I was wrong, I guess Trump is like a Faustian bargain for moderate Republicans. When Biden was still running, the messaging was that we were voting for him because of the administration he would appoint, regardless of his own incompetence. I guess the moderate Republicans reasoned the same way.

I can’t think of a worse outcome. And I can’t pinpoint a singular point where the Harris campaign went wrong. Were they too pro-Israel? Were they not pro-Israel enough? Was it the time where she said that she wouldn’t do anything different than Biden? Was it Biden’s fault for promising to be a transitional president, and then running for a second term, and then waiting until July to drop out and endorse Harris? Was it the fact that Harris is a woman (and a woman of color at that)? I think picking Walz was a good choice, I’ve never seen anything negative said about him, but it wasn’t enough to save the campaign. “She has to be flawless, he gets to be lawless” indeed.

Even my solidly-blue state of Minnesota went purple this year. I know it’ll turn out blue by morning, but it’s still very disappointing.

If I had to give a piece of advice to the Democratic Party, it would be, “stop running female candidates for president.” America just isn’t ready. I don’t think many people were motivated to vote for her because she’d be the *first woman president*. Sure it’d be historic, it would be a good sign of progress for women in this country, but democrats/leftists of voting age don’t really care about the candidate’s gender. Look, Harris (and also Hillary Clinton) is WAY more qualified to be president than Trump, but America is too sexist to get past the fact that Harris is a woman, and the presidency is way to important to risk. We tried it twice, almost in a row. And the second time, American voters knew what a Trump presidency would look like! And even a mediocre candidate like Biden, who promised to be a transitional president (read: just vote for me to get rid of the awful other guy) won easily! Yeah, it’s wrong to discriminate on the basis of sex/gender, but if we want to win a presidential election (or a difficult, non-incumbent congressional or gubernatorial election), the best bet is a man. And winning is what counts, what saves lives, what changes policy and laws.

Right now, my thoughts are with my nephew, who is to be born in about two weeks. What kind of world will he grow up in? What will his homeschool education teach him about this point in history, and the decade that lead up to it? Will he be glad he was born in this time and country, or at all?

My own public-school was lacking. “World history” was about the classical era around the Mediterranean, and then medieval-WW1 in Europe. In the next few years, I should quit picking up on odd tidbits of history from Tumblr and actually learn world history on my own somehow. I despair when I think of my own life; I have to learn stuff for him, so I can be the cool aunt who teaches him stuff (like how gay people and Muslims aren’t the spawn of Satan).

I’m unemployed because of a yet-to-be-diagnosed disability that means about 80% of my daily energy is spent on survival, and I live with those aforementioned Mitt-Romney-esque Republicans who held their nose and voted for Trump because of the people he would appoint, so I don’t think that attending a protest or joining some activist group is in my near future. But I will focus more on the education that I missed (because I was basically narcoleptic in 11th and 12th grade, sleeping through half of my classes every day. I only passed because I’m very good at test-taking).

I don’t know how we crawl out of this. I’ll survive, many won’t. I don’t know when the 2016 election cycle will finally end. I just know that everything does, eventually, end. Even if not all of us will see it.

[otrtbs]

hi! could you explain a little bit what you studied and if you did any apprenticeship before you got a job ? a little summary to how you got there ? i’m so curious (and i admire you a lot)

hiya!! sure!!

so back in high school i actually started volunteering at my local art museum when i was 16 (up until i graduated at 18). they had a program specifically designed for teens to volunteer at the museum (i gave guided tours, and helped plan events at the museum, and worked with kids 3-12 in a drop-in studio every saturday where they could make art of their own after looking in the gallery) <- not a lot of museums do this, but you can call and ask if they need volunteer docents for the weekends !! they’ll train you!!

then i majored in art history in undergrad (making sure to focus my courses in modern and contemporary art towards the end of my studies bc that’s what i wanted to do! also i took a LOT of french classes. as in i only needed a few credits to have a minor but the last class was so hard i dropped it) to give yourself a leg up, i recommend studying a language (italian, french, spanish, german) most jobs in ARH require at least a minimal reading knowledge of another language.

while i was in school, i got a job at my university’s art museum as a gallery assistant! (<- fancy way of saying i walked around the galleries and told people not to touch the paintings and answered their questions if they asked and made sure no one was trying to steal the art)

during the summer, i got a summer internship at an art gallery in the biggest city close to my house (bc i moved back home w my parents in the summertime. uni housing was crazy expensive) and that was the *most* instrumental. i learned how to write wall texts, how to install artworks, i made studio visits to artists, updated the gallery website, handled artist contracts, you name it! it was great experience!!

i also got involved in art history/fine arts clubs at my university! i was on the fine arts council at my uni which represented the art and art history department to the student senate and the university at large. and the art historical society.

then i got my master’s degree in history of art theory and display, joined the art historical society at that university, got a degree and entered my FLOP ERA OF THE CENTURY

and by that i mean, i was 6 months unemployed and moved back home w my parents flop era. no one would hire me ,, no one would even give me a call back to tell me they didn’t wanna hire me ,,, and then one day someone did !! rahhh!!!! and i got some of my research approved 4 publishing and now im here!!!! (i say this not to discourage you but to let you know that the job market for art history ppl is tough,, it has always been tough,, but if you love it, it’s never a waste to pursue!)

i would do a few things differently if i had a second go at it, just to get a leg up so here’s some advice that im giving but i DIDNT DO myself:

1) try to minor in something to give you a leg up! a language is good, marketing is good, public relations… something to make you stand out!

2) try to get things published as an undergrad or a grad student! get your research out there if you can (way easier said than done ik ik) have some things you can list under your publications tab on your CV

3) if you find yourself in a 6+ month jobless, flop era period like me, volunteer somewhere at a museum or gallery if you are able. i was bitter as fuck that i had a masters degree and would be working at a museum for free when i needed money so i didn’t do it ,, but when someone finally calls back and you get an interview and they ask what you’ve been up to recently ,,, telling them you spend your time volunteering in museum spaces and working in your desired environment looks so much better than saying “i’ve been job searching” i promise !! (<- also just recognizing the extreme privilege i had to just stay at home and look for jobs in my desired field instead of immediately having to get a job somewhere. but im not gonna lie to you. i put out applications at olive garden and einstein’s bagels and they both rejected me. so. i was scrambling bc my student loans were due and i had zero dollars 2 my name 🧍‍♀️)

okay i rambled on for entirely tooooooo long. but i hope this was helpful somewhat !!! 💗💗

[radlymona]

Several British people have responded to that Tumblr to inform you, in depth, with legal and historical references, why you are confidently and completely incorrectly talking absolute nonsense about British culture. No, it’s not the same just because Australia is also an Anglophone country. Would you blindly claim France and the Ivory Coast have exactly the same cultural contexts? Take the loss gracefully.

I do not take anons who go on another person's tumblr and woefully misinterpret what I say as an "in-depth" reply to me.

Now considering, the weird amount of people who have zeroed in on this matter (like seriously of all things??) you would think I would have posted a poorly written thesis on the country's political party system.

What I actually said: There was and still is a severe bullying problem at British elite schooling institutions. Man, what an incorrect statement. Since you want references, there are many, many, many, many news articles that refrence this culture of bullying and abuse. They often have to write very covertly and include it as part of a bigger picture of terrible elite boarding school culture. Which is quite frankly, what JKR is commentating on as a whole. It also doesn't take a genius to know that bullying is still likely being underreported/glossed over/downplayed, especially when you consider the importance of boarding schools -> prestige universities -> prestige role in society, pipeline. I.e. you'd rather not be kicked out of old alumni groups, for the prestige and doorways it opens, by spilling the school's secrets on the front page news.

Now, when I mentioned hazing/fagging (and as I went on to explain in a second response that no one has responded to), I so obviously meant that with such severe practices still in place in the 1970s (even if the general public was turning against them), the equivalent of magical pantsing would not be seen as particularly severe or abnormal. At least nowhere near to the extent that it's been painted as.

And for god's sake, anybody could have commented on such a basic fact about what goes on in the British schooling system. You don't have to live there to know about the elite boarding culture (we have a very similar boys' school culture, because gee I wonder what influenced it?). I mentioned being from Australia because it kept brought up as if we were on two different planets, rather than two very culturally close countries. And I'm sorry, as long as the literal king of england is touring the country and we're having a revitalised national debate about our sovereignty and the potential republicanism, I do not give af about making a few broad comments about very a similar culture. As long as Australian senators (who represent our population) are forced to make a fucking oaths to a monarchy on the other side of the planet, I'm well within my rights to make a few broad comments.

[abigailspinach]

“How often in 100 days do you get to change the trajectory of the world? How often in 100 days do you get to do something that’s going to impact generations to come?” Walz asked. “And how often in the world do you make that bastard wake up afterwards and know that a Black woman kicked his a**, sent him on the road?”

The line was well received on the call and almost immediately grabbed headlines. For many Democrats, at least, the online virality – with apologies to Biden’s “Dark Brandon” meme – was the kind they have pined for over the past few years.

Walz also has a personal story befitting the zeitgeist – a family history, as he discussed last month, of infertility troubles, with his wife of three decades, Gwen, which allows him to speak with some authority against opponents or skeptics of in vitro fertilization, or IVF.

“My oldest daughter’s name is Hope. That’s because my wife and I spent seven years trying to get pregnant, needed fertility treatments, things like IVF – things (MAGA Republicans) would ban,” Walz told Harris supporters. “These guys are the anti-freedoms.”

And to draw a bright, cheeky line under his own childhood experience, Walz – not for the last time – recounted that he “grew up in a small town: 400 people, 24 kids in the class, 12 cousins.”

Prior to Congress, Walz was a high school teacher and football coach and served in the Army National Guard. Over more than a decade in Congress, he assembled a fairly centrist voting record. As a first-time campaigner, he opposed a ban on same-sex marriage and supported abortion rights. And once in Congress, he balanced that out with comparatively more conservative positions on gun rights, which resulted in scoring a National Rifle Association endorsement. Walz has since fallen out of favor with the gun lobby over his support for gun safety actions as governor.

“I think he was a solid Democratic member of the House with a few twists - focus on ag, farmers, rural areas,” said Democratic strategist Jeff Blodgett, a longtime aide to the late Sen. Paul Wellstone. “I think that he wanted to protect rifles and things of that nature as a rural congressman.”

Walz ran for governor in 2018, emerging victorious by a double-digit margin. He won reelection in 2022 with 52 percent of the vote. As governor Walz had to grapple with divided government and slim majorities in the state Legislature. But in 2022, the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party (as the state’s Democratic Party is known) won control of both the state House and Senate giving Walz’s party a slim “trifecta” of legislative control.

That allowed Walz to sign into law a raft of expansive social welfare programs such as free lunch for public school students, expansive access to Medicaid, increased protections that allow workers to unionize and expanded medical and family paid family leave.

Through the trifecta, Minnesota Democrats were also able to codify abortion rights into law, increase transgender rights protections, pass a marijuana legalization bill and install new gun safety laws. Progressives hailed the work as an example of all that Democrats could achieve. Former President Barack Obama wrote in a tweet praising the most recent legislative session that it was a “reminder that elections have consequences.”

Walz touted the trifecta’s work in a combative 2023 State of the State address.

“There’s nowhere quite like Minnesota right now,” he told the audience of lawmakers. “Together, we’re not just showing the people of Minnesota what we’re capable of in delivering on our promises. We’re showing the entire American people just how much promise is contained in that progressive vision held by so many people.”

“As governor, he’s embraced the idea that it’s really important to invest in people and infrastructure to grow the economy,” Blodgett said. “And to do it in a way that really helps people in the middle and down below. To me, it’s just a huge focus on economic issues that are kitchen table issues that people care about.”

When speculation began about who Harris would pick as a running mate, Walz started out as the darkest of dark horses. He did get support from a few members of Congress such as Minnesota Rep. Angie Craig and Washington Rep. Pramila Jayapal of the Congressional Progressive Caucus, as well as encouragement from labor unions. In the end, Walz’s background as a governor experienced in working with Democrats and Republicans and his roots in rural Minnesota made him an appealing choice for Harris.

Walz was also a surprise to Republicans.

“Tim Walz doesn’t even register on the fear-o-meter,” Minnesota Republican strategist Kevin Poindexter said before the announcement, adding that Republicans had been more worried about Harris picking either Arizona Sen. Mark Kelly or Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro. “Him joining the ticket as VP does not bring anything.”

Democratic strategist Raghu Devaguptapu, a former Democratic Governors Association political director, characterized Walz as a “real steady hand” more than anything else as a governor.

“He’s not the most charismatic guy, but he’s a steady hand. He’s really thoughtful, very likeable. He’s done a really nice job of building a broad coalition of support. … That’s the center of strength around Tim Walz,” Devaguptapu said.

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Good Morning World The News Media is Thriving These Days, But…

The news media is thriving these days, alive and well with its many commercials, political propaganda, gossip, sports, and, relatively speaking, minor news events—and, oh yes, commercials. From our very beginning, “Freedom of the Press” has been a major contribution to the safety, welfare, and protection of the people from the errors and sins of government, but real in-depth reporting is slowly disappearing from the scene. Daily news events are reported over and over, sometimes for days, while other important subjects are overlooked. We are majoring in minors and minoring in majors.

For example, where, today, are the pros and cons of single payer healthcare being discussed? Certainly, this subject is being discussed superfluously, but where are the in-depth pro and con discussions? Most of what I hear about the subject is, to the effect, “No need to discuss this as it will never be approved anyway”. Oh well, healthcare is only 17.5 percent of our spending nationally, annually contributing to our national deficit and debt. No problem.

Ref: http://www.justfacts.com/healthcare.asp

The financial crisis of 2008 was triggered by derivatives, one of those new securities invented to allegedly provide insurance coverage to home mortgage holders, aka fish food for speculators in the financial markets. I don’t really know how many dollars’ worth of these securities were in circulation in 2008. I have heard numbers like $400 Trillion. I have also heard numbers amounting to $900 Trillion. What are the numbers now, and when is our illustrious media going to reveal them to the people. The last time I heard anything in the mass media about the derivative risk was an article by Peter Cohan, AOL.COM, Big Risk: $1.2 Quadrillion Derivatives Market Dwarfs World GDP. Folks! Do you know how much money $1.2 Quadrillion is? Let me tell you. It is $1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.00 or 1,000 times $1 Trillion. My gosh, folks, the world’s annual gross domestic product is only $50 to $60 trillion, and this article was written June 9, 2010—over six years ago. Oh well, that wasn’t important either. The public wouldn’t understand anyway.

Let’s really get basic. It’s common knowledge that education in government, and civics has been lacking in our school systems in recent years. Yet our government from the president on down and the news media, when they address the people, they refer to members of the House of Representatives as Congressmen (or women). They are not Congressmen. Their titles are Representatives. If they are a congressman, so also is a Senator by gum and by golly. Congress is the name given to our national legislature, a bicameral body made up of the House of Representatives, the lower house, and the Senate, the upper house. To be a congressman, one would have to be both a Representative and a Senator at the same time. Duh… By the way, do you want to know why we have two houses? In short, the answer is the lower house, the House of Representatives represent the majority of the people, the masses who elect them. There are 435 members. The Senate, the upper house, represents the minority elite among us, in theory at least. There are 100 of them. I say elite. In our nation’s beginning, Senators were elected by the House of Representatives. Only later in the course of our history where they were elected by the people as they now are. For further information:

http://www.sfgate.com/politics/article/Enduring-debate-elitism-versus-populism-3189454.php

To close, for now, our news media exists to serve our people. They have to earn income to pay their bills, i.e. salaries, insurance, rent, and return on investments to their investors, but their main purpose, their only purpose which, in the end, justifies their very existence is to serve the people with news which is the truth; and, in my view, they could do a much better job. This is my view. What’s yours? Saturday, October 19, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida USA From: Steven P. Miller, @ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org  TM ‎Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups. #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO. www.facebook.com/gatekeeperwatchnan www.facebook.com/ Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956

[communistkenobi]

Political knowledge and interest in public affairs are critical preconditions for more active forms of involvement. If you don't know the rules of the game and the players and don't care about the outcome, you're unlikely to try playing yourself. Encouragingly, Americans in the aggregate at century's end are about as likely to know, for example, which party controls the House of Representatives or who their senators are as were their grandparents a half century ago. On the other hand, we are much better educated than our grandparents, and since civics knowledge is boosted by formal education, it is surprising that civics knowledge has not improved accordingly. The average college graduate today knows little more about public affairs than did the average high school graduate in the 1940s. (Bowling Alone, p 35)

Putnam just got done saying voting is only a limited slice of American political participation and voter turnout numbers can’t be used to generalise about all public political engagement, but we are now back to “knowing about elected officials” as a generalised version of political knowledge (which, as he argues, is a pre-condition to political participation, eg voting).

Adorno’s comment about the widespread political ignorance of the American public comes to mind while reading this, although his diagnosis is very different from Putnam’s, pointing instead to the industrial capitalist standardisation of education that produces extremely rigid knowledge frameworks that encourage people to think in set types, to believe there are singularly correct answers to complex problems, and that these answers are discoverable only within the available range of options (contributing to “both-sides”-isms and a failure to imagine political discourse beyond what is presented by political candidates). I think there’s a bunch of idealism going on there too, but Adorno at least acknowledges that education in America is the result of capitalist economic production shaping cultural and educational standards, which are deeply revisionist and use american imperial interests as the basis for educational programs. Coupled with how poorly funded and decentralised public education is, the privatised nature of post-secondary education, and the deeply racialised and gendered dimensions of economic inequality, access to the types of education that would inform you about political matters is reserved for the select few.

And that’s still a very generous criticism, given that Putnam’s argument rests on the absurd notion that political participation is a function of education (even though he acknowledges in that last sentence that college degrees don’t necessarily mean you “know the rules of the game.”) Again I’m not like a historical expert or anything, but my understanding is that black civil rights movements, gay civil rights movements, women’s rights movements etc in the 60s and onwards were not resultant from all those people individually getting college degrees or learning who their elected officials were but rather mass organising and protesting - ie, a response to the failures of electoral politics to secure civil rights and protections for oppressed groups. This is again a bourgeois conception of political participation - if education is a necessary function of political engagement, then mass movements and demonstrations do not really “count” as political engagement.

it’s honestly laughable that this book is as well-regarded and heavily cited as it is. Putnam is fundamentally unserious about and uninterested in anything outside of the American mythological conception of bourgeois individualism and electoral politics. The term “social capital,” a centrally important concept in his book, is not interrogated for any ideological baggage or methodological limitations it may carry, and he has not provided any explanation for social change aside from the completely ridiculous idea that generational change is the driving factor in American politics. He claims that a lack of knowledge or interests in electoral outcomes prevents people from “playing the game,” with no allowance for anyone who declares the game itself is unfair, or any argument that we should change the rules of the game. He’s writing about the social life in America with the assumption that there is literally nothing beyond liberal electoral individualism, and any arguments to the contrary - any political activity that is illegal, unpopular to the white public, or simply uninterested in electoralism - to be unimportant in diagnosing the social ills of American society. What a fucking joke

[leuchtstabrebell]

Whumptober Day 7 /Prompt: Reluctant whumper

Leia is 15 and desperately waiting for the summer to finally be over. She could be doing important things, spending time with her friends, building important connections or studying. Instead, she is stuck with meaningless conversations and the uncomfortable dress that Palpatine is making her wear. The celebration honoring the coronation of Naboo's new queen ironically takes place on Coruscant, and while those in charge have tried their best to make the decorations reminiscent of the Emperor's home planet, it all seems so incredibly fake and superficial. Leia doesn't understand why Palpatine even bothers to seem interested in his former home world anymore.

Her father is here as well but doesn't leave the Emperor's side, as usual, and Luke is on an official inspection visit to some planets in the middle ring, ostensibly to demonstrate his diplomatic skills.

One of the few bright spots of the evening is the presence of Mon Mothma. Since Leia has known the Senator she has been the coolest person in every room she is in almost all of the time, and Leia is pretty sure that she plays an important role in the rebellion, although she can't prove it. Mon’s mental shields are some of the strongest Leia has ever encountered. She knows that Mon wants to save her from her father's influence, and Leia wishes she could talk openly about him, or even openly about anything in her life, so Mon would understand that it’s not him she is worried about.

"Ah, the young Lady Vader," Mon greets her, drink in hand.

"Hello Mon," Leia says, even though she knows Mon likes to insist on formality. “Where did you get that drink?” she grins.

Mon grimaces. "Really, Leia, where are your manners?"

“Oh, so now you’re on first name basis too,” Leia laughs. Mon can't help but smile with her. Leia knows she has a daughter close to her age, and sometimes something maternal comes through in her that Leia longs for.

“How’s school going? Do you know what you want to do after?” Mon asks, and Leia gives an evasive but acceptable answer, and so the conversation moves along.

Leia senses something is about to happen before she hears the shouts and screams in the next room.

She and Mon look at each other and, like most of the guests, make their way to the source of the commotion. In the middle of the crowd stands the emperor, and next to him, her father has captured a man, his arms twisted unnaturally behind his back. A blaster lies on the ground a few steps away. The man can't be older than 20, and his pupils are dilated with fear and pain. His one shoulder looks like it's been dislocated.

Palpatine has a hand pressed protectively to his chest, but Leia knows it's all an act. He likes the facade of the old, frail man, and her father as a dangerous monster who needs to be controlled. The entire party holds its breath, waiting to see what Palpatine will do next. He stands up and takes a few steps away from the young man, who is still being grabbed by her father.

“Please excuse the bother, dear friends,” Palpatine says. The man tries unsuccessfully to free himself from Vader's iron grip, curses and shouts: “You will pay for your actions, I promise. If I don't do it, someone else will!”

Palpatine ignores him. "It saddens me deeply to have to order this, but I think we must neutralize this threat to the public," he says, looking encouragingly at Vader. The thought no longer makes Leia's stomach churn. She has seen her father kill too many times for that.

But something is holding Vader back. She sees it in the way he stiffens, almost imperceptibly.

Leia, his voice rings in her mind, and she knows immediately that whatever her father is about to say is something terrible. He wants you to do it.

No, she thinks. She wishes she had asked Mon for a drink after all, then at least she could hold on to it now. She feels as if time has stood still.

“Leia,” her father’s voice booms through the silence. All eyes are suddenly on her. She wants to shake her head, wants to run away. Mon's presence next to her suddenly doesn't seem comforting at all. “Pick up the weapon,” Vader thunders. She knows these aren't her father's words, that Sidious is whispering them to him, but somehow that just makes it worse.

She doesn't look at her father - even without a mask, his blank expression wouldn't help her - but at Palpatine. He doesn't smile, but there's a darkness in his eyes that she knows all too well. “Don’t worry young lady, of course I would never expect you to take over your father’s work. Death is not a nice thing, even if it is sometimes necessary for the greater good.”

Leia swallows against her dry throat. Of course, Palpatine once again presents himself as the bastion of reason, the one who keeps the bloodthirsty monster Vader in check. And of course, it is this monster who now wants to get her hands covered in blood.

"For the safety of the Empire," she says, forcing herself to go to the gun. Their footsteps echo loudly in the silence. The man looks at her pleadingly, but she forces herself to look through him. She comes to stand next to her father and suddenly has the childish desire to hide her face in his chest. Help me, she thinks out loud, and then, please, don't let this happen. She knows it's not fair to ask this of him, and yet she feels betrayed by him. But her father doesn't answer, and with trembling hands she takes the gun in her hand. It's loaded and cocked, and Leia presses the barrel against the back of the man's head. When she looks up, her eyes meet Mon's. Her expression is pointedly neutral, but beneath it lurks disappointment and horror, and Leia has to look away. Her finger on the trigger doesn't move.

"Do it," her father says, and they all think it's an order, but Leia hears the pleading in his voice. She sees that his hands, holding the man's arms in place, are also shaking. Then she pulls the trigger.

A bang and her father drops the lifeless body to the floor. Some blood has splattered on her face. She looks down at that terrible dress and there are some red spots there too. “The dress,” she whispers. “Papa, the dress is stained. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get it dirty.”

“We’ll get it cleaned later,” her father says.

A murmur arises in the room, whispering, excited conversation. The Emperor approaches and takes her hand, the one with which she was just holding the weapon (when did the blaster fall to the ground?). “Thank you for your drive and courage,” he says, and Leia hates him with every fiber of her being. She smiles at him in a daze, nods in all the right places, smiles, and finally says goodbye in the direction of Mon.

She wants to fall on her knees before her and ask for forgiveness. But when you spend your whole life on your knees, the gesture is worthless, and so she stumbles to Mon, who has since joined several other liberal senators, and doesn't fall or plead. She can see that politicians are having a hard time keeping their composure, that they don't quite know what to say. She is grateful to her father for playing the monster again, for giving her the opportunity to blame some of her actions on him. But murder isn't something you can just excuse with a father complex.

“Hello Mon,” she says and, without asking, takes the glass from her hand, drains it in one go and then makes a face. The stuff doesn't taste anything like the liquor one of her friends brought back from the academy, but maybe it's exactly what she needs right now.

[dankusner]

‘When the Clock Broke’ traces the origins of our current political mess

Third-party candidate Ross Perot speaks during a 1992 news conference in Annapolis, Maryland.

Perot first ran for president in 1992 and is one of the political figures featured in “When the Clock Broke: Con Men, Conspiracists, and How America Cracked Up in the Early 1990s” by John Ganz. I’m confident I’m not the only person looking at this November’s presidential election through parted fingers, feeling powerless to stop what appears to be an unstoppable horror.

The U.S. political system has descended into a kind of madness and dysfunction.

Worries about crime, immigration, and economic inequality and the seeming inability of our political leaders to address these problems abound.

Migrants are demagogued as an invading force.

White supremacists are seen as a viable political constituency.

Cities are declared to be unlivable cesspools of crime.

Misinformation and hate flow freely.

It’s more than sort of terrifying, to me at least.

A tremendously interesting, highly entertaining new book argues that the roots of our present-day crack-up can be found in an earlier time, and that perhaps the forces that were almost unleashed then cannot be contained now.

The book is “When the Clock Broke: Con Men, Conspiracists, and How America Cracked Up in the Early 1990s” by John Ganz.

“When the Clock Broke” is a masterful yoking together of historiography, political science, sociological analysis, cultural criticism, and political theory, rendered in the always lively and engaging style of the author, who is most known for his independent newsletter, “Unpopular Front.”

As the subtitle suggests, the book is a tapestry of major, minor and even forgotten figures in the political landscape of the post-Reagan years, and how these figures contributed ingredients to what has become a truly toxic stew.

The book starts with David Duke, the neo-Nazi and former Klansman who was elected to the Louisiana House of Representatives before making failed runs for governor, senator and then president.

An overt white supremacist, Duke was thwarted by a political establishment that rallied against him, but as Ganz notes, in each of his state-level races, Duke achieved a majority of the white vote thanks to voters who approved of his racial demagoguery.

Ganz segues to Pat Buchanan, who looked at the success of David Duke and wondered if Duke’s message would go over better in a Washington-ready package like him.

Buchanan’s insurgent challenge to incumbent George H.W. Bush, which focused on repelling an “invasion” at the border, threw a brief scare into the sitting president.

Out of these origins, Ganz traces the additional forces that shaped the political landscape, voter “rage” that made room for a Ross Perot candidacy in 1992 that had the Texan leading in the polls during the summer before the public got to know him and didn’t like what they saw.

Another chapter looks at the rise of political talk radio, particularly Rush Limbaugh, and the effect of relentless partisan propaganda and demonization of the media on public opinion.

Each chapter shows attacks on our various institutions — political parties, governments, media, schools — that leave them badly battered.

As a government fails to fulfill the needs of people, other forces fill the gap, preying on alienation for power and profit.

In New York City, the mob of John Gotti and the mayorship of Rudy Giuliani are two sides of the same coin.

Subsequent events have shown they may actually occupy the same face.

The subtext of Ganz’s narrative and analysis is the creation of a world where a Trump figure not only achieves power, but is able to co-opt institutions to his own venial ends, as a kind of mobster who understands how to pull the raw levers of power.

The way Ganz braids these stories makes not just a convincing case, but an engaging, and dare I say entertaining one.

And also, maybe a little bit reassuring one. We’ve been here before, and managed to stumble forward.

Perhaps this can happen again.

[zenyye]

experienced a coup before my first kiss, at this rate I should just pay someone

[ladyartemesia]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist...

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx  • @underthejoon • @yeojaa​ • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna​ (Lindy) @underthejoon​ (Fal) and @xjoonchildx​ (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen​ (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you. 

To @hobi-gif​ for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted... Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor. 

To @lemonjoonah​ as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar. 

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though... I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

“Jimin was... uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite. 

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events...”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them. 

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered. 

“Oh sweetheart... it isn’t you we don’t trust...”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back. 

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me? 

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa. 

“Jungkook, I need to look into faking my own death. Nothing too over the top. Just a tasteful disappearance—”

The man in question could barely restrain his grin. 

“You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with your mother in the event of your tragic demise and miraculous resurrection.”

“I could pay you more.”

“Or,” Jungkook replied with a heavy dose of judgment coloring his tone, “you could put on this ridiculous tie and stop trying to weasel out of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I pay you at all,” Taehyung growled, yanking the tie from the younger man’s grasp. “Clearly I’m not the one in charge.”

“Your words, sir, not mine. Now shall we go over the details and itinerary?”

If Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best executive aide in the city (and one of his closest friends) Tae would have drop-kicked him right then and there.

“Could you at least try to look like you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was insensitive of me to ignore your suffering in this delicate time. The trauma of escorting a beautiful woman to a series of glorified buffets weighs heavily upon you.”

Taehyung tightened the tie so aggressively, he almost strangled himself.

“Beautiful woman?!” he wheezed. “We’re talking about the girl who showed up to our formal graduation party looking like she just escaped from Azkaban.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. 

“Tae… how long has it been since you’ve actually seen Ms. Park?” 

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

The heir-apparent of Kim Holdings avoided the public end of corporate culture like the plague, preferring to leave the requisite schmoozing to his personable cousin, Kim Seokjin. 

However, he had crossed paths with his adolescent nemesis in... other ways. 

Taehyung was romancing a lovely young socialite who suddenly ghosted him after someone told her that he wanted at least eight naturally-birthed children. 

Soon after, your favorite charity received an anonymous 30,000 dollar donation requesting that you be featured in the dunk tank for an upcoming benefit carnival and then the same anonymous patron paid for at least fifteen little league teams to attend. 

In retaliation, someone petitioned the National Aviary Society (chaired by a very influential senator’s wife that no one ever refused if they wanted their permits to go through) to make Taehyung the MC at their annual awards ceremony—knowing full well he was allergic to birds (not dangerously allergic—just enough to be miserable).  

Taehyung had sniffled and sneezed through approximately one hundred parrots, parakeets, and other assorted fowl until he was ready to commit murder. 

The last several years had been littered with similar incidents of the two of you taking thinly veiled potshots at one another. 

“I can’t imagine she’s changed very much,” Taehyung bit off absently. His mind was abruptly consumed by how he could get revenge for those demonic birds. 

He didn’t notice the smile creeping over Jungkook’s face. 

“No, sir. I’m sure she hasn’t changed at all.”

Taehyung had only ever had the wind knocked out of him once before. 

He was Dionysia High School’s star pitcher for three seasons and during one particularly tense game against JY Prep, Lim Jaebeom whacked a line drive right into his solar plexus. 

That’s how it felt to look up and see you at the top of the stairs. 

In his head, you were still the mischievous imp from his childhood. Every prank he played was directed at the fierce little fiend with braids and braces who’d knocked him and his date into the university fountain while experimenting with her friend’s skateboard. 

But she was gone… and in her place was something far more dangerous. 

A woman. 

Silken fabric wrapped tightly over curves you definitely didn’t have four years ago. That wild hair had been tamed into shining waves and pinned elegantly at the nape of your neck. The wicked slit that traveled all the way up your thigh teased a smooth shapely leg that all but demanded the viewer fantasize about running their hand up the length of it. 

Suddenly it was very clear why Park Jimin wouldn’t let his sister venture into the corporate cesspool alone. 

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate. 

Betrayal—of all things—slowly crept over Taehyung as you descended toward him like some sort of angel floating down from the heavens. 

His mind went blank. Just watching the seductive shift of your hips as you swayed ever closer felt like a violation of his friendship with Jimin. He could feel the judgmental stares of an imaginary Bro-Code Council boring into him from on high. 

“I see you’ve recovered from your memorable tenure as the Aviary Society’s Master of Ceremonies.”

And just like that the brat was back. 

Taehyung breathed a hefty sigh of relief, secretly thrilled to be in familiar territory with you. 

“Naturally I was delighted to help Senator Mitchell’s wife. In fact, Mitchell’s office just fast tracked all my pending permit requests for the new year.” He tilted forward, coming into your space a bit. “I should really send you a thank you card.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scowled, breezing past him like an indignant queen. 

Tae could practically see the steam pouring out of your ears. 

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

The first gala of the holiday season was an extravagant annual affair hosted by Min Corp., a Seoul based investment firm that commanded billions in assets. This year, the theme of the event was the Joseon Dynasty and the entire ballroom had been gloriously transformed into a stunning celebration of the Min family’s royal heritage. 

Attendees were gifted their own traditional fan, each uniquely crafted by artisans from Damyang. Taehyung’s was all black with bold silver calligraphy while yours was a beautiful bamboo and silk piece decorated with pomegranate trees. 

You had already whacked three people with it by the time dinner was served. 

“It really is a pity these fell out of fashion,” you lamented. “They’re quite useful.”

“You are deranged,” Taehyung mumbled, massaging his temples in exasperation. 

“Nonsense. I only fanned those who deserved it.”

“Harkins?”

“He was staring at my rack for a solid minute.”

Taehyung could hardly blame the man, it was a battle he himself was losing after all, but Harkins was twice your age and married—therefore his ogling was in especially poor taste. 

“Okay... What about Kang?” 

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.” 

“Alright, fair enough, but why on earth would you go after sweet old Mrs. O’Malley?”

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

“And still kickin’ apparently.” You shook your head in disgust. “As if I’d whack an eighty-five year-old woman for anything less than non-consensual touching.”

“I- I- mean—surely you must be mistaken,” he coughed. 

“Oh, there’s no mistake. That nasty old crone is a serial offender. She likes to play it off as dementia, but she’s as sharp as a tack. Last year she got a whole handful of Jimin. Honestly, I’d call the police on her, but the commissioner is her grandson so I doubt I’d get very far.”

Taehyung turned to the woman in question just in time to see her totter lecherously toward Jung Hoseok, fingers already twitching in anticipation. 

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly. 

You shrugged. 

“Many people who accumulate as much as our families have start believing that they are entitled to whatever strikes their fancy.” Your eyes met his with a hint of bemusement. “Surely you should be used to this sort of thing by now?”

“Yes, but I was hardly expecting it from little old ladies!”

The remainder of dinner was a terse affair where you pretended he didn’t exist for the entire meal and he in turn pretended that the spunky young heiress seated to his right was the most darling creature to ever walk the earth. By dessert she was ready to get married and you were ready to vomit. 

Afterward, Taehyung found himself quickly converted to your views on fan usefulness as you began strolling through the crowd intent on strengthening your family’s corporate ties. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you ground out through clenched teeth, “how am I supposed to do business if you keep stabbing everyone I speak to!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m simply not used to carrying one of these. I may have accidentally grazed a few overzealous individuals—”

“My last three conversations have been rudely disrupted by the blunt end of that accused fan.”

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly. 

“And what of it? Jimin sent me along to keep an eye on you and the gentlemen in question were hardly behaving themselves. No one has to put their hand in my back or lean that close to me when they’re talking business.” 

“That’s because no one wants to get that close to you,” you replied sweetly. “You’re gross.” 

A devastating grin slid slowly over his features as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I can think of several women who might disagree.”

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before- 

“Like who? Miss Blushes-and-Giggles from dinner?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily. 

“Only in your dreams, Kim.” Then, with a deliberate flick of your fan, you turned your back to him. “I’m headed for the ladies room. Do yourself a favor and don’t follow me in.”

It was twenty minutes before Taehyung realized that you slipped out the back entrance of the restroom. 

It took another ten for him to locate you on the balcony flirting outrageously with Min Yoongi. 

The young heir of Min Corp. was just leaning closer to whisper sweet nothings in your ear when a black fan slid right in between the two of you. 

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Taehyung observed cheerfully. His eyes bounced between you and Yoongi with barely concealed fury and you let out a miserable groan. 

“Mr. Kim,” Yoongi cleared his throat significantly. “What an… unexpected surprise.”

Frustration clawed at your chest as your overbearing guardian nodded smugly in response. 

It was time to teach him—and Jimin—a lesson. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed, sliding your hand pointedly through the crook of his arm, “I’m not feeling at all well. Would you perhaps… escort me home?”

Taehyung suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a live octopus. 

Yoongi grinned, clearly thrilled with the prospect of simultaneously spending more time with you and irritating Taehyung. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Jimin is gonna kill me,” Taehyung grumbled as he watched Min Yoongi help you into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. 

An ugly green feeling he refused to identify twisted sharply in his gut when you smiled coyly at the other man. 

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled to no one in particular before yanking his phone out of his pocket. 

Jungkook picked up on the second ring. 

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to Ms. Park’s apartment and tell me if she goes in alone or if Min Yoongi goes in with her.”

“You want me to what?!” 

“Just do it!” he snapped, downing an entire glass of champagne before signaling his own driver. 

Fifteen minutes later his phone vibrated from the car seat next to him. 

1 New Message from: Jungkook

Her building has four separate entrances. Which one do I watch? 

Taehyung could practically feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scrolled through his contacts. 

You picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh it’s you… Wait—how did you get this number?”

“Jimin. Obviously. Now please answer the question.”

“Oh a ‘please.’ Who knew you had manners?”

“Answer the question, Park. I’m tired.”

The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping carried through the speaker. 

“I’m at home, of course. Where else would I be? I just got here like a minute ago.”

He had a sudden vision of Min Yoongi helping you out of your dress. His grip on the phone tightened. 

“Are you alone?”

You snorted. 

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Taehyung saw red. 

“I’m coming over.”

There was a loud crash and several colorful words in at least three different languages. 

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

The line disconnected and Taehyung swore loudly. He was just about to direct the driver to your building when his phone went off again. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

He almost choked on his tongue. 

You were clearly in the middle of undressing and—in your irritation—probably hadn’t looked too carefully at the picture you sent.  

At first glance it was simply a shot of your empty room (presumably “proof” that you were alone) but you neglected to consider the floor-length mirror hanging in the far corner…

A mirror that showed you angrily holding up your phone with your gown pooled deliciously around your waist and the soft round swells of your breasts strapped into lacy red lingerie. 

You were exquisite. 

A fierce, hot sensation gripped him ruthlessly, and this time there was no mistaking it. 

Desire. 

Your phone lit up on the bed where you tossed it after snapping a photo for your tightly-wound man nanny. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch 

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh. 

Your head tilted in confusion. 

There was a Van Gogh print in your room, but he couldn’t have seen it because it was behind you when-

Oh NO.

You gasped, scrolling back up to confirm what deep down you already knew to be true. 

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie. 

Several miles away, smiling smugly in the backseat of his town car, Taehyung was sure he could almost hear you screaming. 

“Good morning, sir. Which would you like first; the bad news or the worse news?”

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers. 

“Don’t you ever knock? I could have a woman up here.”

“You’ve never brought a woman up here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned. 

“No,” Jungkook tossed a small stack of newspapers and printed digital articles into his lap, “this is the bad news.”

Pictures of you, Min Yoongi, and even himself were splashed over the front pages of all of them. 

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

WHO WILL WIN THE PARK ANGEL’S HEART? KIM TAEHYUNG OR MIN YOONGI? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS

NEW ROMANCE ALERT? PARK ANGEL LEAVES JOSEON BALL WITH MIN SCION 

“The Park Angel?” 

“That’s what the media calls her... The public is rather fascinated with her actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled. 

“Of course not, sir. It’s a great mystery.”

As usual, Taehyung chose to ignore his aide’s lethal snark and pressed on to the matter at hand. 

“This is a flaming disaster.”

“Oh I don’t know. I really appreciated the picture of you staring on forlornly while she and Yoongi climbed into the Aston Martin. Takes a real gift to capture all that drama in a single frame.”

“Which one was that?!” 

“It’s right under the MAN DOWN: PARK ANGEL LEAVES KIM TAEHYUNG HEARTBROKEN headline.”

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation. 

“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called.”

“She has. Twice.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the ‘worse news’ is it?”

“No.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m never that lucky.” He collapsed backwards into his pillows with a beleaguered huff. “Go ahead then. Tell me.”

“Park Jimin is on the line for you right now.”

After a small eternity on the phone with Jimin (assuring him that NO Min Yoongi had not despoiled his precious sister and YES he would definitely do better next time), Taehyung was forced to attend an impromptu brunch with his mother. It took considerable effort, but he was eventually able to convince her that you were neither breaking his heart nor expecting his child. 

By the time he arrived to collect you for this evening’s event, Taehyung was already sick of hearing your name (he’d spoken it no less than three hundred times since Jungkook woke him this morning).

You were in much the same boat as Taehyung, having spent most of the afternoon pacifying Jimin and clearing up your own mother’s romantic delusions regarding the Min and Kim heirs respectively. 

Tonight’s gala was a Victorian Christmas Ball thrown by the National Literary Fund and the entire venue had been transformed into a Charles Dickens fever dream. 

Unlike the Min Gala (whose theme was guarded like a state secret every year) the Literary Fund’s tribute to A Christmas Carol was tradition and you were dressed accordingly in a custom corset gown with gorgeous detailing. 

Every second of effort it took to lace yourself into the monstrosity was worth the look on Taehyung’s face the moment you slipped off your cape. 

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was desperately trying to look literally anywhere but your chest, where said corset was serving up your breasts like a debauched buffet. 

Jimin. Think of Jimin. Think of what Jimin will do to you. Think of how much trouble she’s caused-

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits. 

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked. 

The itinerary for the evening included performances by a local children’s choir, a traditional waltz, and—of course—dinner.

You both managed to get along without snapping at each other during the choral performance, but as two of the largest donors to the Children’s Literacy Initiative, neither of you could escape being drawn into the waltz. 

The energetic socialite who Taehyung flirted with over dinner the previous night eventually lured him onto the floor while you graciously accepted an invitation from a lovely older gentleman who chaired the Fund’s event committee. 

For the first few movements, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Mr. Lee was charming, respectful, and still an excellent dancer despite his advanced age. It wasn’t until a familiar sound caught your attention that the lightness in your chest suddenly felt heavy...

Taehyung was laughing. 

You heard him do so many times over the years, and in each instance, the carefree magic of it never failed to make your heart flutter. 

But now he was smiling down at the pretty little heiress and laughing for her… and the flutter in your chest was accompanied by something else. 

Something that felt an awful lot like longing. 

“Does he know you look at him like that?” Mr. Lee asked quietly. 

Your eyes flew guiltily to his, but it was too late. The old man had caught a glimpse of the secret you buried deeply for more than a decade; so deeply, in fact, there were times you almost forgot it yourself...

Almost. 

“No,” you whispered, “he has no idea.” 

Disaster struck at dinner. 

Taehyung quite liked dancing with the lovely Miss Something-or-Other. She was sweet and funny and (unlike with you) he wasn’t constantly torn between agitation and raging inappropriate lust in her presence. 

The cold shoulder you offered him when he took his seat seemed even more frigid than usual and he spent half the meal wondering what he’d done to earn your amplified disdain when suddenly—

Your hand smacked down on his wrist, seizing it in a vise-like grip. 

Taehyung nearly choked on his steak and was about to give you a searing set-down over your spontaneous grabby-ness when he noticed your expression. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning forward in concern. 

“I-I need—” 

It looked as if you were in some sort of physical pain and Taehyung was rapidly becoming worried. 

“I need your help,” you finally managed to whimper and the next thing he knew, you were dragging him away from the table and into one of the secluded alcoves near the main entrance hall. 

“Is there anyone around? Can anyone see us?” The look on your face bordered on unhinged. 

“No. There’s no one. Park, are you okay? What’s going on I—”

“I need you to unlace my dress,” you hissed frantically. 

At that moment, a bomb could have gone off and Taehyung wouldn’t have blinked. 

You, however, were completely preoccupied with your own distress and therefore oblivious to his. 

“My earring broke during dinner and fell down there and now it’s stabbing me—”

Your eyes were beginning to tear. Taehyung remained frozen, still trying to figure out whether or not this was a lucid dream. 

“—it’s definitely pierced the skin and there’s a possibility I’m gonna start bleeding through the fabric—”

The mention of blood snapped him out of his daze somewhat. 

“A-Alright. Just turn around—brace yourself on that wall.”

You quickly did as you were told and Taehyung began to tug fruitlessly at the ties cross-crossing your back.

“Why won’t this—”

His fingers fumbled over the knots, desperately trying to loosen them, but they simply wouldn’t budge. 

“I can’t—I can’t get it. Whoever helped you into this thing made sure you weren’t getting out of it.” 

You whined in frustration and the earring shifted a bit in response. 

There was only one other way to fix this (and you would almost rather be in pain). 

“Taehyung I—” you turned to face him again, forcing your eyes shut before reluctantly doing what had to be done “... I need you to reach down the front of my dress and get it.”

He blinked. Twice. 

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

“Please, Tae,” you whispered desperately, letting your lip tremble in a way he had never been able to resist, “it hurts…”

He gulped. 

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. She’s in pain, right? You’re basically a doctor right now. You’re just going slide your hand in between the most mouthwatering pair of breasts you’ve ever seen and then—

Taehyung’s manic inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of his own moan. He immediately faked a coughing fit to cover it and prayed you hadn’t noticed. 

(You hadn’t. You were actively being stabbed.) 

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, curling his fingers over the scalloped edge of the bodice. 

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold back any reaction, but when his knuckle brushed the pebbled tip of your nipple, you gasped. 

Oh.

His hand stuttered, lingering a moment too long over the tight little peak as his gaze suddenly shot up to meet yours. Both of you had been studiously avoiding eye contact, yet now it was as if neither of you could look away. 

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively. 

“It’s too tight,” he whispered, “I need more leverage.” 

Then his arm wrapped over the curve of your lower back and he drew you tightly against him, anchoring your hips just enough to fully slip his hand between your body and the corset. 

You were so warm.

So soft...

“I can feel it,” he grunted, “but I can’t get a good grip on it.” 

His mouth pressed into a tight line as he leaned forward, bringing your back up against the wall. You let out a little squeak and his eyes darted briefly down to your mouth before he spoke again. 

“Hold on to me.”  

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost pretend that this wasn’t one of the most erotic moments of your life. 

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing. 

Your mind was spinning wildly, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he noticed how strangely you were breathing or how hard your heart was beating...

“I’ve got it,” he murmured. Shivers shot down your spine at the dark timbre of his voice. 

He was so close. You could feel every word he spoke brushing softly against your skin. 

“On ‘three’ I’m going to pull it out… Are you ready?”

You drew in a final steadying breath. 

“Do it.”

He nodded. 

“One… Two… Three—”

Taehyung yanked his hand back and several things happened at once. 

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset. 

The decorative clasps on the front of your gown tangled with the buttons on his shirt and when he pulled back, three of them went flying off like stray bullets. 

And finally, the corset didn’t relinquish Taehyung’s hand quite quickly enough and, as a result, you toppled forward and crashed down on top of him, smashing your newly bare breasts to his newly bare chest. 

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours that passed by while the two of you lay there, breathing heavily in a pile of confused arousal when—

“... Is… everything alright here?”

You both looked up to find a thoroughly scandalized member of the waitstaff standing over you. 

Taehyung saw his life flash before his eyes—ending (of course) with Jimin murdering him for this. 

He gulped again. 

“I can explain.” 

It was decided—for the sake of appearances—that you would both leave the venue (immediately) in separate vehicles. 

Taehyung dropped a cool three hundred in crisp bills on the unfortunate waiter in order to help him ‘forget’ whatever he may or may not have seen. 

Neither of you spoke another word to each other in the ten minutes it took to bribe all the appropriate parties, gather your coats, and call for two separate town cars. 

Something had happened when he touched you; a subtle shift in the precarious balance of your relationship that you both felt keenly, but could not possibly begin to define. 

Taehyung barely even remembered climbing into the back of a vehicle. His body was firing on auto-pilot after the sensory overload of the last half hour. It wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized he was still holding onto your earring. 

His mind began to wander as he examined the troublesome bauble in his palm. It was a striking piece; deceptively complex and unexpectedly beautiful. 

Just like you.

He told himself that the heat pooling low in his belly was anger—that the strange anxiousness to be near you was simply a desire for retribution—that it was merely platonic curiosity that left his hands aching to explore the rest of your curves. 

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that. 

Still, he clung to them desperately out of self-preservation. 

The gentle hum of his phone suddenly disturbed Taehyung’s silent contemplation. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

I made it home safely. 

Taehyung’s fingers were typing a reply before he could properly consider the consequence of his actions. 

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time. 

He nearly threw the phone the moment he sent it, running his hands down over his face in disbelief. 

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung. 

And he was burning up already. He had no business sending you texts like that. Maybe you wouldn’t catch it. Maybe he could just-

The phone went off again and it was embarrassing how quickly he scrambled to open your response. 

His heart stuttered in his chest. His breathing ceased entirely-

And he knew—he knew—there was no coming back from this.

At first glance the photo was nearly identical to the shot you sent him last night. Same room, same angle… 

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different. 

The temptress in the glass wore nothing but that sinfully delicious corset and a pair of silky lace thigh highs, each accented with a green satin bow. 

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. 

 “Oh Taehyung,” he whispered, as a dark wave primitive longing tore through him, “you are in so much trouble.”

Across town (buried beneath a pile of blankets) you were still struggling to process the boldness of your own actions when his response lit up your screen. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color. 

“WHERE IS HE—”

Taehyung awoke to a series of crashes and shouts echoing from the floor below him. 

Jungkook was already seated in the corner of the room reading a newspaper. 

“Good morning, sir,” he said without looking up. “Would you like the bad news or the worse news?”

Suddenly the french doors of his bedroom slammed open and one very irate Park Jimin stormed through. 

“I swear I should have seen this coming. The two of you have always been obsessed with each other, but I never imagined—”

Taehyung’s eyes widened guiltily. He quickly schooled his features into a confused glare. 

“Jimin, I’ve only been awake for fifteen seconds. What the hell are you talking about?!”

Another stack of newspapers hit his lap and this time the pictures were mostly of him with his shirt ripped halfway down his chest. 

KIM HEIR AND PARK ANGEL CAUSE AN OLD-FASHIONED SCANDAL AT VICTORIAN BALL

FORGET MISTLETOE: KIM TAEHYUNG DISCOVERED UNDER THE PARK ANGEL AT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

NAUGHTY NOEL? PARK ANGEL’S STEAMY AFFAIR WITH CORPORATE PRINCE 

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one. 

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start throwing things.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to do just that, but he was interrupted when his mother marched into the room waving the same articles that Jimin had just thrown at him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG I raised you better than this! How could you!? That poor girl!”

“Mother!” he squeaked, yanking his blanket up over his chest like a frightened debutante. 

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner. 

“Indeed,” Jimin added darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, “how could you?”

Taehyung sighed heavily. 

“Is anyone else going to come charging into my bedroom?”

“Just answer me once and for all, is she pregnant?” 

“WHAT?!” 

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

“Why does your mom think my little sister is pregnant?!”

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation. 

“My mom thinks everyone is pregnant! You know this!”

Jungkook could no longer contain his hysterical cackling. He very nearly fell off the chair trying to hold it all in. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung ground out irritably, “if it’s not too much trouble, could you please escort everyone out of my bedroom so I can get dressed!” 

“So you see—I was basically like a doctor,” Taehyung finished emphatically. 

He spent the past twenty minutes explaining to the entire table (which now included both you and your mother) why it was necessary to shove his hand down the front of your dress. 

Park Soomin had shown up at his door looking for answers (and dragging you behind her like a sacrificial lamb) about three minutes after Jimin. 

You had taken one look at Jimin’s murderous expression and insisted that the situation be evaluated over breakfast at the cafe down the street (where there were lots of witnesses). 

Which was how you, Taehyung, Jimin, and both your mothers ended up discussing your cleavage over coffee in a public restaurant. 

Jimin was the first to break. It was a few snorts at first, but he was basically in tears by the end of it, wheezing about how he never doubted Taehyung for a second and holding on to his sides from laughing too hard. 

Taehyung’s gaze met yours for a brief, heated exchange. He conveniently forgot to mention your slightly-less-than-explainable ‘check-in’ texts, but their existence was palpable in the air between you. 

“I think I’ll take a walk,” you muttered, excusing yourself from the complicated atmosphere at the table. 

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you a tad too long as you wandered away, a fact that wasn’t missed by either of your mothers.

“Just a few more events and you can go back to not seeing her at all,” Jimin chuckled, patting him on the back. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung answered with a tight smile. “That’s… great.”

The cafe had a lovely little balcony area decorated with all sorts of comforting Christmas foliage. It was far more inviting than the awkward conversation and confusing stares you and Taehyung had been trading all morning. 

For the first time in the nearly fifteen years of your relationship (such as it was) you didn’t know where you stood with him… and it bothered you more than you cared to admit. 

Taehyung had always been important to you, whether you wanted him to be or not. He mattered—effortlessly—from the first moment you met him and continued to do so without regard for your sanity. 

Whatever was building between you now would almost certainly bring change… though what kind of change was anyone’s guess. 

It was hard to imagine the years ahead without the strange excitement he always brought to your life, but some things were simply out of your control…

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

A profoundly unpleasant feeling (something similar to falling through the ice on a frozen pond) overtook you. 

“Milo.” Even saying his name felt gross. You sighed. “What is so strange about seeing me here?”

The man in question blushed in a way you once found irresistible. 

“I looked for you everywhere. All your usual places—”

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you. 

Milo nodded. 

“I—I figured.” 

He took a step closer and you instinctively moved back. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, but you had long since become immune. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed angrily. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

“Yes, but—” his hand reached out to curl over your forearm and you recoiled, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain—”

“Excuse me.” 

You both turned to see Kim Taehyung with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Milo like he was a roach that crawled across his dinner plate. 

“Your mother sent me to come find you. She wants to leave.” 

You nodded and moved to pull away, but Milo’s grip tightened on your arm. 

“No—please if you just give me a minute—”

“That is enough,” Taehyung snarled, seizing the other man’s hand and forcibly removing it from your person. He angled his body between the two of you protectively. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. 

“You’re Kim Taehyung. I read all about you in the papers this morning.” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he addressed you. “You really think you’re better off with him if that’s the way he treats you?”

Taehyung tensed menacingly beside you, but you laid a gentle hand on his arm to calm him. 

“None of that is any of your concern.” Your gaze rose to meet his defiantly. “Nothing about me is your concern anymore.”

Milo’s eyes fell to where your palm rested on the other man’s sleeve, noticing the way you both unconsciously leaned toward one another. 

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, storming off. 

After he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. 

“Thank you,” you whispered (though you couldn’t resist adding), “I could have handled it myself of course…”

Taehyung laughed. 

“Oh I know. I was at that party where you knocked out Tyler Jung for grabbing your ass.” 

You grinned. 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.” 

(He neglected to mention that he split Tyler’s lip behind the library the next day, just to make sure it was extra memorable for him.) 

“I wish I could forget about Milo.”

“... Are you still in love with him?” 

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

“No.” You smiled softly. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with him actually. It’s more—” you sighed, “—embarrassment… wounded pride.”

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing. 

“In the beginning, he was very playful and charming—and obviously handsome. He reminded me so much of—”

you. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway… I was quite taken with him at first. I didn’t suspect any ulterior motives.” You shrugged, trying to hold back the unpleasant emotions that always threatened to overrun you in moments like this. “I just thought he liked me.”

Taehyung’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as you spoke. It felt oddly natural to open up to him this way. 

“Jimin is very protective of me—with good reason it turns out. He was suspicious of Milo and hired people to do some discreet digging.”

Your hands wrapped around your body for both warmth and comfort. 

“Milo’s family owns several companies, just like ours, but they’re all struggling. His father sent him to me hoping that he would eventually get compromising information… a sex tape or photographs—something of that nature. They intended to blackmail Jimin into doing business with them.”

Taehyung felt his jaw clench painfully. Fury, hot and profound, rolled through him. 

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself. 

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

“Scum like Milo aren’t worth it,” you chuckled. “He never got what he wanted… but I was still mortified. I felt like such a fool for believing him.”

“No,” Taehyung’s hands slid up to cup your shoulders, “it’s not foolish to believe that someone cared for you.”

It would be so easy to care for you. 

“Besides…” his eyes fell briefly to your lips as he searched for the right words, “I saw the way he looked at you and—even though he’s clearly a terrible person—I believe his feelings may have been genuine.”

You nodded. 

“That’s what he keeps trying to tell me—that he did have bad intentions, but ended up falling for me anyway.” You shook your head. “As If I could believe a word he says.”

The silence between you stretched comfortably. Taehyung sensed you had more to say, so he waited until you were ready to voice it. 

“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about handling things on my own lately… and just now even. I want to prove to everyone—to myself—that I’m not a liability.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping your chin up till your gazes met, “no one thinks you’re a liability. And even if you are capable, no one should have to fight their own battles all the time—especially when they’re emotionally compromised…” His thumb gently brushed away the small tear that escaped down the curve of your cheek. “That’s the benefit of having people who care about you.”

“... Like you?” 

The words left you so softly, you could almost imagine they were still in your head where they likely should have stayed. 

Taehyung’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze became even more intent and you ceased breathing altogether. After a moment his lips parted as if he was about to speak- 

“What’s going on, guys?”

You both jerked back at the sound of your brother’s voice. He was standing in the entrance to the balcony, gaze darting suspiciously between the two of you. 

Taehyung was a bit dazed, but you were always quicker on your feet. 

“I ran into Milo… Tae was calming me down.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately. 

“Where is he?”

“Long gone,” you mumbled, ambling over to the familiar warmth of his arms. “I just want to go home.” 

The Black and White Ball was one of the most coveted invitations of the holiday season. 

The dress code was quite strict (all black or all white—no exceptions) and it was one of the few events where people actually arrived in limousines. 

Taehyung loathed limousines. He felt absurdly pretentious pulling up to your building in such a gauche ride, but traditions and appearances meant too much in his world to simply disregard them. 

His ensemble for the evening was a beautifully tailored black suit with hand-stitched baroque detailing. Oddly, he found himself wondering what you would think of it... 

“You look like a vampire.”

Taehyung turned at the sound of your voice and was struck, yet again, by how incredibly beautiful you were. 

You had chosen to wear white, donning an exquisite gown with delicate pearl beading and a daring sweetheart neckline that molded perfectly to your frame. 

If he looked like a vampire, you were surely an angel. 

Still…

Angel or not, he couldn’t let that comment pass. 

“I think I’m offended.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, loads of women are attracted to Nosferatu.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. 

“There are so many sexy vampires in popular culture, but you just had to lump me in with the creepy bald one...”

You shrugged playfully. 

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was going soft.”

A wicked grin danced over your lips as you strolled past him regally—just as you had many times before... 

This time, however, he let his eyes linger a little longer on the view. 

Lord have mercy. 

“Of course not,” he coughed. 

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well. 

The two of you formed a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend that your last encounter on the balcony (and on the phone) had never happened and (despite the heated glances you occasionally traded) the bickering and playful banter characteristic of your relationship had all but returned to normal...

Until Taehyung learned of your participation in the evening’s main event. 

“I told you, I’m part of the date auction this year.”

“Does your brother know about this?!”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother him with it.” You were suddenly preoccupied with your nails. 

“Woman,” Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are you trying to make my life difficult?”

“No, I’m just naturally gifted in that respect.”

You turned and began making your way to the front, but Taehyung was hot on your heels and clearly not ready to let the matter rest. 

“I cannot believe you’re actually going through with this! It’s not 1810, you know. We shouldn’t just auction off women for dates—”

“You’re absolutely right, Tae Tae.” You brushed a condescending pat over his cheek. “Nowadays we auction off the men too.”

Then you sauntered off to join the rest of the participating women—and men—backstage, leaving Taehyung to stew about the entire situation from the crowd. 

“As you know, all proceeds from tonight’s auction go to fight childhood hunger right here in our city. For legal purposes, I must advise all bidders that you are only bidding on the company of the individual in question.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Jimin is probably going to kill me for this.”

“If you place the winning bid, then you and your date will receive two VIP tickets to the Governor's Winter Wonderland Gala which comes with a variety of amenities including; a luxury limousine service, one of the private and famously romantic Winter Wonderland dinner experiences—”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Jimin is definitely gonna kill me for this.” 

“—unlimited free drinks, ten complimentary tickets for each of the grand prize raffles, photos with the Governor and his family, along with many more surprises!”

Taehyung grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby waiter and downed it in one go. 

“And now for our first date of the evening! Mr. Jackson Wang!” 

Jackson went for a cool six grand because no one was brave enough to outbid his girlfriend. 

After him, the beautiful Manoban heiress and her handsome cousin Kim Namjoon went for twelve grand each.

Jung Hoseok started a frenzied bidding war between two young socialites and Mrs. O’Malley. He ended up going to the lovely Ms. Ana Fallon for a staggering twenty thousand dollars. 

Taehyung’s own cousin, Kim Seokjin, paid a jaw-dropping twenty-one thousand dollars for Lin Yuna, the young CEO of Lin Cosmetics. (Taehyung made a mental note to ask him about that later.) 

Then it was your turn. 

“The next lady on our list needs no introduction. The lovely Park Angel has graciously agreed to a date with one lucky bidder tonight! Who will it be? Do I hear ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

Taehyung swung his head toward the first bidder and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tam Martin, one of your best friends and very gay. 

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

Taehyung was having trouble keeping up with all the bidders. His ears were starting to ring again and a strange unpleasant nausea was building in his stomach. 

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

At the sound of the last bidder’s voice, you noticeably paled. Your eyes flew to Taehyung’s and immediately he knew exactly who it was. 

Milo.

Before he could even react to the new information, another voice joined the fray. 

“Forty thousand.”

Min Yoongi smiled smugly from the other side of the room and even had the audacity to throw you a wink. 

You smiled shyly at the young heir’s boldness and Taehyung felt something downright unholy rise up in his chest. 

No. 

Milo was still bidding. 

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her. 

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine. 

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet. 

“One hundred thousand dollars!” 

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening. 

Tension charged the air like an electric current as the significance of the last hour weighed heavily between you. 

The spacious luxury vehicle allowed you to sit facing one another. Taehyung’s eyes were focused on his hands, but you were looking at him—letting your mind run wild with speculation. 

And hope. 

Part of you was still there, on the stage, watching him stand up and bid a fortune for the pleasure of your company. 

His gaze was so fierce when he spoke, like an ancient emperor calling out his decree for the people to obey. 

You dreamed about him bidding on you when you signed up for the auction (even before Jimin bullied him into accompanying you). You let yourself imagine him speaking out again and again till the others stepped back—

Yet you never dared hope for it. 

However, the last several days marked an unexpected turning point in your relationship. 

For years, you and he were like magnets with a too-similar charge, but something had shifted irrevocably between you, and somehow your stubborn similarities became opposites that could not resist their attraction. 

Kim Taehyung was one of the wealthiest men in the city…

But he didn’t need to buy your heart. 

It had always been his, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

He had claimed you tonight—and every single soul in that ballroom knew it. 

The next move was yours and you intended to make it. 

“Mmm,” you hissed a bit, bringing your hand to rest just below your breasts. 

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that scratch from the earring,” your fingers rubbed gingerly at the spot, drawing his focus to it, “it still stings.”

“Oh… I—” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Do you want to see?” 

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours. 

You watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he considered your words. Anticipation vibrated through your blood like notes struck on a piano—

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost. 

Trembling fingers slid the zipper down the side of your gown. The dress itself was a marvel of physics designed to support you without the need for a bra. 

Taehyung drew in an impossibly deep breath as the fabric drifted to your waist, baring the perfect mounds of your breasts to him entirely. 

“Here,” you whispered, pointing to a small red mark just under the curve of your left one. 

He bit back a moan. 

“I—I see. That looks… painful.” His fingers dug into the seat beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You nodded. 

“Kiss it better.”

Taehyung felt the air knock out of his lungs like a sucker punch. 

This must have been how Adam felt when Eve offered him the forbidden fruit all those millennia ago. 

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you. 

“Of course.”

You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He looked like a man possessed and you reveled in the power of it. 

It was for you. 

He wanted you. 

Your back arched up the slightest bit, beckoning to him—offering him a taste of what he was so desperately craving. 

Touch me… please. 

Large palms landed on either side of your thighs, bracing him on the seat beneath you. The tip of his nose teased the delicate line of your collar bone and he swore violently under his breath. 

Then his lips were on your skin and your mind went blank. 

“Taehyung—“ you moaned. 

Hot open-mouthed kisses spread over the soft swell of your breast and you gasped— shuddering helplessly as a fierce wave of pleasure tore through you.

Sweet merciful heavens. 

Over the years you imagined a moment like this thousands of times in your head—only to discover now that you had pitifully underestimated both his passion and his skill. 

You had dreamed of a quiet fire—but he had unleashed an inferno. 

The lewd sounds of his mouth nipping and sucking at your tender flesh filled the small space around you as he poured himself into each obscene contact—stopping briefly to flick his tongue over the taunt peak of your nipple. You trembled breathlessly at the sharp snap of sensation, letting your head fall back against the seat as you buried your fingers in his soft curls. 

“T-Tae—”

Finally his mouth fastened over the tiny scratch, and the kiss deepened. You knew what he was doing, what the result of his efforts would be—

He was marking you. 

And you wanted it. 

Oh how you wanted it. 

Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, causing Taehyung to lose his grip on the seat. His arms wrapped around your torso for balance, dragging you fully against him.

“Does it feel better, Angel?” he growled. 

You nodded frantically and he nipped at the underside of your breast. 

“Speak up.”  

“Yes, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it feels so much better.” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, brushing his mouth along the sensitive column of your neck. “Who knew you could be such a good girl?”

Then his hand came up to grip your chin, turning it so your lips were almost against his—

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

The driver’s voice cut over your senses like a shard of ice. 

Taehyung jerked backward and immediately buried his face in his hands. 

Your fingers hastily yanked your dress up and you stumbled out of the car in a daze, letting your feet carry you forward until you collapsed on top of your bed. 

Did we just...

You hadn’t even begun to collect your thoughts when your phone buzzed from inside your purse. 

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

I need to know you made it safely to your room. 

You grinned. 

Greedy boy. 

Back in the limousine, the boy in question was nervously tapping the corner of his phone against his chin as he waited for your reply. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Oh? But you saw me walk in… and I’m already in bed.

Taehyung growled in frustration. 

She would be a tease. 

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease. 

He shook his head. 

I have officially gone insane. 

The phone buzzed again. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we… 

Taehyung literally felt the whine tear out of him as he opened the picture. 

Your gorgeous body (the body he’d had his hands and mouth on for one glorious minute) was nestled decadently atop a pile of fluffy blue blankets and wrapped in nothing but a tiny silk robe. 

The neck gaped open just enough to show off the pretty red marks he left on the delectable curve of your breast. 

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

That's all I get after I made the pain go away? Good girls send real proof, Angel

The screen lit up again almost immediately. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Guess I’m not such a good girl after all...

Jimin came tearing through the Kim Manor front gate at precisely 7 AM—only to find Jungkook camped out at the entrance with several outdoor space heaters and a giant mug of hot chocolate.

“He told you not to let me in, didn’t he?”

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa. 

“I hope you don’t feel singled out, sir. I’m not allowed to let his mother in either.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Park, let me just pull up his schedule—”

“I need to talk to him now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Kim is booked solid for the morning.”

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“You’re welcome to climb the trellis and check. I promise not to stop you if you make it all the way up.”

“COME DOWN HERE AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!” Jimin shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink. 

“Might I inquire as to the reason for your visit today, sir?”

“The reason for my visit,” Jimin yanked out his phone and angrily began typing into the search bar, “is that your boss paid ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS for my sister at a date auction last night and I want to know what the hell is going on between them!”

The article Jimin pulled up (DEVILISH KIM TAEHYUNG BUYS HIMSELF A $100,000 ANGEL) featured an image of the two of you entering the Black and White Ball. Your head was thrown back in laughter and Taehyung was grinning down at you as if you’d personally hung all the stars in the sky for him. 

A genuine smile crept over Jungkook’s face as he studied the photograph. 

“That’s quite a headline.” He handed Jimin’s phone back. “Have you asked your sister about it?”

“No, I swung by earlier, but she wasn’t home so—” His eyes widened. “Oh my—is she—”

Jimin suddenly took off running for the trellis, and Jungkook scrambled out of his chair to chase him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG IF MY SISTER IS IN THAT ROOM—”

He was already three feet off the ground when Jungkook yanked him back. 

“I thought you said I could climb the trellis!”

“Yes,” Jungkook wheezed, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” That trellis is a hundred years old! A few more feet and I’d be scraping you off the antique brickwork!”

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms. 

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

“Normally yes, but Tae promised to double my Christmas bonus if I didn’t accept them today.”

Jimin continued to eye the trellis speculatively, clearly willing to take his chances. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“Mr. Park, I promise you… He came home alone last night. In fact, they both returned earlier than usual because your sister had a 7 AM finance meeting.” He paused significantly to glance at his watch. “Which is probably where she is right now.”

“Oh… Well.”

Jungkook bit his lip to hold back a snort and Jimin’s eyes narrowed. 

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

The young Park heir glanced toward Taehyung’s window again just in time to see the man in question dart back behind the curtains. 

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE, KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU PHILANDERING SLEAZE BAG!" 

Jimin made another jump for the trellis and this time Jungkook caught him in mid-air. 

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

“It’s not the maid! I’d know that raggedy mop of his anywhere!”

Jungkook was out of breath at this point. Park Jimin might be small, but he was fierce. 

“Perhaps it’s best if you took a moment to collect yourself,” he grunted. “There’s a lovely new spa down the street and they sent Taehyung two free deluxe packages.”

Jimin stopped struggling. 

“Oh?”

Five minutes later, Jungkook sighed deeply and fished his phone out of his back pocket. 

“He’s gone, sir.”

“Excellent work, Jungkook. I never doubted you for a second.”

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“Are you headed for a gala or the guillotine?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

The Kim heir tugged absently at the material of his absurdly expensive evening wear. 

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable? 

“Seriously, Tae… you seem,” the young aide searched for the right words, “unusually tense.”

Taehyung’s mind flashed back to three nights ago when he had his mouth wrapped around your breast. 

“Not at all,” he coughed, loosening the collar of his shirt. 

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

The cufflinks Taehyung was attempting to fasten suddenly went flying across the room and hit a lamp. 

Both men winced. 

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed. 

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

Jungkook nodded nonchalantly, trying to disguise the fact that he was internally frothing at the mouth for details. 

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped. 

“It started out rather innocently I suppose…” he cleared his throat, “but there may have been some suggestive photographs.”

“There may have been? Are you not sure?”

Taehyung colored guiltily. 

“Well—”

“Do you need me to check for you, sir? I have an art history degree.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Taehyung yanked his tie out of the younger man’s hand. 

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

It was everything Jungkook could do to maintain a straight face. 

“That’s… shocking.”

“Then why don’t you seem shocked?” Taehyung grumbled. 

A small smile played across Jungkook’s lips as he pointedly ignored the elder man’s observation.

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment. 

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.  

Taehyung wondered absently if this was how it would be from now on; if for the rest of his life just the sight of you would be enough to scatter his mind and his pulse and even the way he breathed. 

Your dress tonight was deadly. 

It was a decadent red satin halter that clung to every curve. The truly wicked detail, however, was a daring slit that ran the entire length of your leg. 

Taehyung was certain he was going to trip over his own tongue at some point if he looked directly at you for too long. 

Oh help. 

Memories of your previous encounter flooded his senses. Every second you were getting closer and he didn’t know what to do—what to say. 

So he didn’t say anything at all. 

Not a word when you reached the bottom of the stairs. Nothing but silence as he opened the door of the limo for you. More silence and no eye contact as he settled into the seat across from yours—

And you tolerated that for about three minutes. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when Kim Taehyung didn’t have a comment about something. Perhaps I should mark this down on my calendar.”

The words were lightly spoken, but you were shaking on the inside. The last time the two of you were alone together he had your dress around your waist and you were moaning his name. Now he wasn’t talking and you were torn between panic and irritation. 

Taehyung, however, latched onto your passive barb like a lifeline. 

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear from the benevolent Park Angel?” He grinned. “Surely not.”

“Red is not a particularly angelic color. Perhaps I’m feeling feisty today.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat and indulged himself in a thorough examination of your outfit. The urge to run his hands over the satin-covered lines of your body was nearly unbearable. He curled his fingers into fists to keep them from doing just that. 

She is definitely trying to kill me. 

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The Governor’s Winter Wonderland Gala was by far the most extravagant event of the holiday season. Tickets cost a small fortune and sold out almost immediately. 

But it was well worth the price of admission.

Thousands of lights sparkled overhead as you made your way through the great hall of Governor Kim’s mansion. 

It was like stepping into a fairytale. 

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sheer wonder in your expression was breathtaking. 

You were breathtaking.  

“Governor Kim, it is such an honor to finally meet you.”

The Governor was a handsome man in his early fifties with a smile that was every bit as lethal as it had been twenty-five years ago. 

“The honor is all mine, Ms. Park. I trust my nephew is treating you well.”

Your eyes widened. 

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged. 

“I don’t really talk about it much.” 

The Governor chuckled and you cleared your throat to cover your nervousness. 

“Yes, he’s been a very capable escort.”

“Is that so?” Governor Kim smiled charmingly. “Well if it doesn’t work out, my son Seokjin is still single—”

“Thank you, Uncle. It was lovely to see you as always.”

You squeaked as Taehyung placed his hand firmly on the curve of your back and practically dragged you away. 

The Governor just shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty. 

Whoever planned the gala this year had truly gone above and beyond. Surrounded on all sides by glittering trees and snowy vignettes, it was easy to be swept away in the festive magic of the evening. 

All in all (despite some initial awkwardness), you were having a fantastic time...

Until she showed up. 

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

Every single hair on your body stood on end, but before you could determine the source of the shrill squealing, you found yourself being nudged aside by a blinding golden gown and some very high heels. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung grunted as five-and-half feet of gorgeous wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine. “Long time no see.”

“Not since that vacation in Aspen,” she giggled. “We had quite a time, didn’t we Tae Tae!”

Suddenly you had the most unholy urge to slap the spray tan right off this woman. 

Instead, you plastered on a vibrant smile and placed your hand on Taehyung’s sleeve.

“Um. Excuse me, Tae Tae, perhaps you could introduce us?”

Taehyung looked as if he’d just been served raw fire ants for dinner. 

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

“Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine,” she interrupted with a smug little smirk. “Taehyung and I go way back.” Her expression grew just the slightest bit tighter. “And you are?”

“His date,” you deadpanned. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Park she’s—”

“Oh my goodness! You’re Jimin’s little sister aren't you!” Aubrey slapped her hand over his chest and he winced. “That is so precious of you to take her around like this!”

Your eyebrows raised right up into your hairline and Taehyung groaned. 

“Yes, he was kind enough to sign me out of the nursery for the evening.” You offered them both a painfully vacant nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see one of my play-dates near the buffet.”

Then you turned on your heel and sauntered off without another word. 

Taehyung moved to follow you, but Aubrey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm and pulled him back. 

“Oh let her go, Tae. You and I have so much catching up to do.”

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow. 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

Aubrey pouted prettily. 

“You’re not running off after her are you? She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

Taehyung crossed his arms and fixed her with a knowing look. 

“Funny... that’s not what you were implying a moment ago.”

“A moment ago I didn’t have you all to myself. Now I do.” She had the decency to blush. “Perhaps I got a bit jealous.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes continued to search the crowd for any sign of you. 

“It seems I had good reason to be,” she murmured quietly. 

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother Tae Tae. I’m petty, but I’ve never been pathetic.”

He grinned. 

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile. 

“You know what I don’t understand?”

You turn to find Min Yoongi leaning casually against a nearby column. He looked absurdly handsome as always, but his grin was just the slightest bit mischievous. 

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

The question was clearly a bait, but you were still fuming from your earlier encounter with Ms. St. Valentine and therefore desperately in need of a distraction. 

Yoongi pushed off the column and lazily made his way toward you.

“I don’t understand how a man pays a hundred thousand dollars for an evening with the most beautiful woman in the city, and then leaves her all by herself.” He leaned forward with a playful grin. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Oh he’s good. 

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that one.”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“Couldn’t be me.”

You laughed then. He really was a delightful man. In fact, if you still had your heart, you might have considered letting him take a shot at it. 

Alas. 

You tilted your head speculatively. 

Surely there was no need to brush away good company...

After all, no one else is interested in spending time with me. 

“Since my escort is otherwise occupied, perhaps you could join me for dinner?”

Yoongi held out his hand. 

“I’d be delighted.”

Taehyung wandered around the mansion for nearly forty-five minutes looking for his date.  

Panic was just starting to build in his chest when he finally spotted you

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi. 

It was everything he could do not to storm over and yank the other man out of his seat by the lapels. 

Alright, Angel. If this is the game you want to play… then let’s play. 

Taehyung felt his anger rise with every step, but he ruthlessly suppressed any sign of it and instead adopted a charming smile. 

“Min, I didn’t expect to find you here. What a… delightful surprise.”

Yoongi’s expression was just a shade too satisfied. Taehyung could already feel his blood pressure beginning to skyrocket. 

“Yes, Ms. Park believed that you were otherwise occupied and invited me to share the meal with her.”

“I see,” Taehyung practically snarled. “However,” his gaze landed heavily on you, “since I paid for this table, I hope you won’t mind if I join you as well?”

You avoided looking at him up to this point, but now you were choking on your wine

“Easy there, Angel,” Taehyung murmured as he pulled up a seat extremely close to yours—so close that your thighs were nearly touching. 

Oh boy. 

Over the next several minutes Yoongi continued to flirt openly and you continued to smile prettily and pretend Taehyung wasn’t there (which naturally infuriated him). 

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with such behavior so easily. 

This was Kim Taehyung, after all, and if there was anything that could be counted on when it came to your shared history, it was that one (or both) of you was always ready to escalate. 

You had just offered the young Min heir yet another flowery compliment when you felt Taehyung make his move. 

Two warm fingers slid under the silken slit of your dress, coming to rest possessively over the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink. 

Taehyung leaned forward in fake concern, wrapping his arm around you as if to offer aid. 

“Are you alright?”

His hand continued to move significantly beneath your gown, but his face was the picture of innocence. 

You glared. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

A slow grin crept across his features as he began to trace soft intimate patterns over your skin.  

On the other side of the table, Yoongi tilted his head in genuine solicitude. “Are you sure?”

You nodded sharply. 

Satisfied, he resumed speaking about whatever it was he’d been saying—though you couldn’t understand a word of it at this point because the torturous strokes Taehyung was leisurely drawing over your thighs were moving closer to your center with each passing second. 

Yet you made no move to stop him. 

You should have. 

You should have slapped his touch away—rebuked him for his boldness—

But you didn’t. 

So he just kept nodding and smiling while Yoongi spoke, even as his fingers teased you with the maddening persistence of a man who knew very well what he was doing. 

You gasped aloud when he finally brushed the pad of his thumb over the thin cotton of your panties. 

“T-Taehyung—” 

“Hmm?” he turned to you, seemingly surprised by your attention (it was—after all—the first time you’d addressed him since the beginning of the meal).

“Could you pass me the salt,” you sputtered (hoping to cover the fact that you moaned his name involuntarily). Unfortunately, Taehyung seemed wholly aware of your ruse, offering you the salt shaker with a superior smirk.

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork. 

However, before you could carry out any bloodthirsty plans, he pressed his fingers directly over your clit and your eyes rolled back in your head

“Oh my g—” you bit your lip stubbornly, “this lamb is just so good.” 

Sweet mother of macaroons, he is too skilled at this. 

You shoveled another bite into your mouth to cover your whine as Taehyung began to rub tight little circles over your sweet spot. 

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness. 

“Yes, I agree, the lamb is excellent—very tender.”

Taehyung took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip beneath the fabric of your undergarment. 

Your fork clattered to your plate and your hand came up to cover your mouth as he began running his fingers up and down your soaked slit.

It was everything you could do to hold back your depraved whimpering. 

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Taehyung replied, flicking your clit in a way that guaranteed he wasn’t referring to the lamb. 

At this point Yoongi seemed to notice you were in some sort of distress. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward. 

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

Taehyung chose that moment to sink his finger into the welcoming heat of your pussy. 

“Yes,” you almost sobbed, “I’m-I’m very well—thank you.”

“Excellent,” Yoongi smiled as he rose to his feet. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you could favor me with a dance?”

Several attendees were already making their way to the center of the floor and the orchestra was beginning to play.

Your entire body, however, was vibrating like a plucked harp string and Taehyung was still brushing back and forth against your clit, driving you toward a release that promised to be explosive. 

There was no way—simply no way—that you would be capable of hiding it. 

“Yes! I would love to dance with you,” you squeaked, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s wrist frantically. The feel of him pulling out of your sopping core was nearly enough to have you coming right there. 

Thankfully, Yoongi remained utterly oblivious to the debauchery unfolding beneath the table. He took your hand and helped you to your feet with an eager smile (and it was a good thing too because your legs were still shaking). 

When the two of you reached the dance floor, you turned back for the briefest instant—

just long enough to meet Taehyung’s heated gaze as his lips closed over the finger he buried in your cunt. 

Emotions were a funny thing. 

They impacted your judgement, affected your body, altered your behavior… 

And occasionally eroded your common sense. 

Sitting alone in the corner of the Governor’s ballroom, Kim Taehyung found himself experiencing a full spectrum of emotional side-effects. 

His hands clenched as he watched Min Yoongi spin you around the floor. 

His heart pounded every time he caught a flash of your shapely leg peeking through the slit in your gown. 

His blood boiled when you threw your head back and laughed at something the other man said. 

It was difficult to pinpoint which emotion was to blame for each of these reactions. There were certainly a number of them boiling over in his subconscious. 

Frustration—

I didn’t even want to talk to Aubrey! How are you acting like anything she said was my fault?!

Rage—  

Why is challenging people to duels illegal? I would fight Min Yoongi at dawn. I would fight Min Yoongi now. 

Jealousy—

You asked her to dance while my fingers were in her pussy. We are not the same. 

But perhaps the most persistent—the most overwhelming— emotion twisting through him was longing. 

You and Taehyung spent nearly four years apart, and he was so desperate to be near you—even then—that he resorted to childish pranks in order to remain a part of your life. 

He hadn’t recognized his actions or desires for what they were. He hadn’t realized what you meant to him...

But now, after spending the last several days with your hand on his arm and your laughter in his ear, he could no longer imagine spending another moment without you. 

Everything seemed to crystallize as he watched you laughing and dancing in the arms of another man. 

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple. 

And when he saw Min Yoongi’s hand slide dangerously close to the perfect swell of your backside—

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

It wasn’t a question really. Taehyung was already shouldering his rival out of the way and pulling you into his arms. 

“Taehyung,” you hissed, shooting the bewildered Yoongi an apologetic look over his shoulder, “what are you doing? This is so rude—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, sweeping you through the couples on the floor with practiced ease. “It is unpardonably rude to steal someone else’s date. He’s lucky all I did was steal you back.”

Your mouth dropped open. 

“Oh? So you finally remembered that I was your date?”

Taehyung’s grip on the curve of your waist became a shade rougher as he pulled you through the next turn. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” you stepped forward vigorously, nearly smashing your body into his, “—that you spent forty-five minutes with Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine when you were supposed to be having dinner with me!”

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him. 

“I spent forty-five minutes looking for you while you were giving away my table to Min Yoongi!”

The two of you sailed through the next several movements glaring at one another before you snapped again. 

“None of this would have happened if you had just told Aubrey St. Spray Tan that you were with me—”

“I did!”

“Instead, you let her call me a baby!”

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

“And—you stormed off before I could say anything, so how would you know what I let?”

“You didn’t come after me!”

“Yes actually I did—but she grabbed my arm!”

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become. 

People were staring—and not even discreetly— just full on staring with their mouths hanging open. 

Well that’s great. 

Taehyung’s hand closed around yours and you suddenly found yourself being marched across the dance floor at a breakneck pace.

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

“We can’t just go somewhere private in the Governor’s mansion!” you sputtered, struggling to keep up with his larger strides. 

“You mean in my uncle’s house? Yes—actually we can—and we will.”

Taehyung proved to be a man of his word, dragging you past two security guards and into the roped off section of the manor with nothing more than a nod. 

The residential wing of the Governor’s home was beautifully decorated with traditional Korean artistic touches—all of which you were unable to appreciate while Taehyung was speed walking you through the halls. 

After a surprising amount of turns and archways, he yanked open an ornate wooden door with the words Reflection Suite written on a plaque above it in beautiful calligraphy. 

You almost giggled when you got a look inside. 

On the surface it was a tastefully furnished guest room with a simple cherry wood desk and a cozy double bed set in an elegant matching frame.

However—

The ceiling and one full wall were nothing but massive mirrors. 

Reflection suite indeed. 

The door slammed shut and Taehyung rounded on you with a stormy expression—though you weren’t waiting on him to fire the first volley.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble.”

“I told you, I can go wherever I want in this house. It’s fine.”

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

“I was shouting?! You were shouting I just—”

Suddenly your back was against the wall and Taehyung’s mouth was on yours. 

He hadn’t brought you here for this. When he grabbed your hand, he was only trying to get away from the crowds. He told himself that he needed privacy so you could talk—so he could clarify things. 

But the minute the door closed and you flared up again in all your magnificent rage, he was lost. 

He had to kiss you then. 

You were so lovely. So fierce. So wildly irresistible and he was too utterly smitten to fight the need to be near you—to be with you in every way that he could—for a single second more. 

The shock of Kim Taehyung pressing his lips to yours lasted about two full seconds—and then there was nothing but ravenous insatiable need. 

Finally. 

Everything was him. 

Everything was this—this sweet indescribable ignition of a desire that spanned years. You moaned eagerly against his mouth in wanton delight. After a decade of sparks, you were more than ready to burn. 

“Taehyung—”

His name poured out of you like a prayer. You needed him everywhere and miraculously he seemed to understand—

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it. 

“Where’s that smart mouth now, Angel?” he growled, tangling his hands in your hair to expose the tender column of your throat. “Nothing to say?”

Your only answer was a desperate whine as he spread hot-open mouthed kisses down the soft skin of your neck all the way to your collarbone.

Now was not the time for patience. He would be tender with you later. You absolutely deserved soft sweet caresses and slow leisurely love making and he was absolutely going to give them to you—every day if you’d let him. 

But not today. 

The minute his mouth encountered the barrier of your dress, he gripped onto the sides and yanked it down to your waist.

“You knew just what you were doing in the back of that limo, you little brat,” he hissed, taking one swollen nipple into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue.

“Tae-ahhh!” Your back arched involuntarily in ruthless pleasure. 

“I spent hours—days even—wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits.” He licked the other nipple obscenely, squeezing the soft mound till it bulged through his fingers. “And you offered me the barest taste with that coy little grin, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—” 

He reared back and landed a firm slap on both breasts and you screamed.

It was so so good. 

“Look at them now,” he murmured, “so swollen and needy and mine.”

If any other man had said those words, you would have cut his heart out with a butter knife. 

But you had always belonged to this man body and soul, and to hear him acknowledge it so primitively felt like the sweetest vindication. 

“Yes!” you sobbed.

The affirmation only inflamed him further. He teased and fondled the tender flesh till you were shaking.

Your fingers curled into the soft waves of his hair as he indulged himself. He looked so ridiculously good sucking your nipple, moaning lewdly with his eyes pressed shut in cathartic bliss. 

“This is all your fault, Angel,” he groaned. “You just don’t know how to behave.”

His hands gripped the curve of your backside, lifting you right off the floor and into his arms. Your mouths fused together heatedly as he carried you to the bed, and you giggled against him when his words finally processed. 

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“It’s been true for years,” he muttered, pulling one of your legs up around him so he could grind against your cunt while you kissed. 

Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them off when they didn’t unhook fast enough. You waited too long to be with him like this to care about anything other than the feel of his skin against your own.

“Impatient, are we?” he chuckled, bringing his lips around to nip at your ear. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, yanking the ruined garment right off his shoulder just so you could sink your teeth into it. 

Taehyung moaned loudly, snapping his hips against yours with an involuntary jerk.

“You really are such a brat,” he hissed, fisting his hands in the satin length of your skirt. “Let’s see how fierce you are with my tongue in your pussy—”

His words were so filthy and raw, yet they stoked a frenzied need in your belly like nothing you had ever encountered. 

“This dress is evil,” he snarled, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before switching to a more destructive tactic. “It has tormented me all night and now it’s in my way.”

The stitching proved no match for his resolve, and—after a few vigorous tugs—he ripped it apart from the slit on up, leaving you covered in nothing but the thin cotton underwear he had breached earlier that evening. 

After disposing of your shredded gown, Taehyung paused for a moment just to take in the sight of you. 

“What a perfect little angel,” he taunted playfully, snapping the band of your lingerie against your hips with a cocky grin. 

Then he brushed his nose right up against the sopping fabric and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like heaven,” he growled before licking you right through the cloth, “and you taste even better.”

The sensations twisting through your body were merciless. You needed more or you were going to shake apart. 

“Taehyung please,” you whined, pressing against him shamelessly.

“Oh a please?” he chuckled, throwing your own words from the first night back at you. “Who knew you had manners?”

You would have screamed in frustration, but he cut you off with an open mouthed kiss right over the wettest part of your panties.

“Perhaps I can make a good girl of you yet,” he chuckled, as you opened yourself wider to encourage him. 

You nodded frantically, letting out another moan when he yanked the flimsy little scrap of lace down your legs—smearing a line of arousal over your thighs.

“So messy,” he tsked, tapping his finger right above your knee where the naughty little streak ended. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Then he pressed his tongue over the shiny trail of slick and licked it right off. 

You gasped loudly and his lascivious smirk was almost beautiful enough to make up for all of the shameless teasing. 

Almost. 

"You want my mouth, pretty Angel?” he whispered, letting the words brush maddeningly against your folds. “You want me to feed on this sweet little cunt?”

Every cell in your body cried out for release. He already edged you under the table at dinner and now he was determined to unravel you entirely. You would say anything—do anything. 

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?" 

Normally you met his arrogance with a cutting riposte, but an entire evening of methodical torment had left you beyond desperate. 

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily. 

He grinned. 

“That’s right, Angel. Kim Taehyung. Not Min Yoongi or any other pathetic trust fund prick that’s panting for a taste of this pussy.” His eyes fastened on yours significantly. “You belong to me.”

Then his tongue licked a flat stripe over your glistening slit and you sagged onto the bed in relief—only to be thrown back into oblivion when his lips closed over your clit. 

Your body arched involuntarily as a ruthless wave of pleasure tore through you. Your eyes and mouth flew open in a silent scream and it was in that moment you remembered exactly where you were. 

Underneath a giant mirror. 

The passionate woman staring down at you was nearly unrecognizable. Her body was littered with her lover’s marks. Her hands gripped feverishly into the sheets beneath her—-

And Kim Taehyung was kneeling between her thighs, suckling on her weeping cunt with obscene satisfaction. 

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your life. 

Your hands reached down to tangle in his hair, using it for leverage as you ground against his face. 

Then suddenly his grip on your legs tightened and his tongue plunged roughly into your trembling core. 

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

The sensation was so intense that your hips bucked violently. You could not keep still. You were charging towards an explosion and your body was shaking itself apart. 

The noises tearing from you were incoherent. Everything around you focused in on the juncture of your thighs where Taehyung was licking inside of you again and again until—

You shattered. 

And the force of it nearly bent your back in half. 

Delirious sobs poured from your lips as he worked you through it, letting the obscene flood of your cum soak his face. 

The sight of him slowly lapping at the release between your folds, was unspeakably erotic. He ran his hands in soothing circles over your skin while you twitched and fluttered back down from your high. 

Then he was kissing you again. 

It was softer this time, but you felt truly depraved—and instantly obsessed—with the taste of yourself in his mouth—on his skin.

You could barely understand this ravenous hunger. You’d just found relief, yet you were already reaching for more. 

Your hands snaked down and wrapped around his still covered cock and he hissed in ragged pleasure. 

“So eager,” he gasped, as you pushed him back against the headboard—but you didn’t have time to bother with his teasing.

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space. 

He bit his lip when you yanked down his pants and boxers together, freeing his arousal with stunning efficiency. 

It was almost unfair to discover that his cock was every bit as beautiful as he was.

“Of course,” you muttered. 

The sultry smirk he shot you in return had your cunt flooding all over again.

“You think Min Yoongi has a cock like mine?”

“I don’t think about Min Yoongi’s cock,” you retorted, wrapping your hand around his length, “you’ve always been the biggest dick I’ve ever met.” 

“I knew you thought about my dick,” he groaned as you began to work up and down the swollen shaft. 

After a moment, his hand slid over your chin to grip your hair, drawing you forward till your lips were almost touching. 

“I wonder what this pretty mouth can do,” he whispered. 

You gasped against him and he smiled. 

“Do you know how often I pictured your lips around my cock, Angel?”

You mewled shamelessly and he growled, cupping your cheek as your hands continued to service him. 

“Do you know how often I imagined this perfect throat stuffed full of my cum?” 

His palm slid down to lightly grip the soft flesh of your neck and you shuddered against him with a needy whimper. 

“I know you could suck me so good, Angel. I’ve wanted it for so so long...”

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation. 

The desire to be good for him—to give him whatever he asked for—consumed you. 

Taehyung let his head fall back against the headboard with a groan at the first brush of your lips along his shaft. His hips rutted involuntarily as your tongue wrapped around the tip and you hummed with pleasure at his enthusiastic response. 

After a moment you slid him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, taking him in as far as you could in one stroke. His jaw dropped open and his entire body jerked forward. 

“Yes, that’s it, Angel—feels so good.”

His praise was addictive. 

You loved that you could bring him to this. You loved to see the haughty Kim Taehyung coming apart as you sucked him. 

It made you feel beautiful—powerful even—and you reveled in every second of it. 

Your eyes were starting to tear. His length began to throb and pulse against your tongue and you knew he was close—so close you could almost taste him—

Yet suddenly he was pulling you back and you whined pitifully at the loss. 

Taehyung chuckled, dragging you toward him till your dripping core slid across his cock.

“I’m not coming before I get inside that pretty little pussy,” he swore, working your hips over his sex till it was drenched in arousal. 

The crass words filled you with the fiercest, most incredible want and you clenched reflexively against him in response. 

“Is that what you want?” Taehyung whispered as he bore you back into the mattress, pinning both your wrists above your head. “You want me to fill your empty little cunt?”

You did. 

You wanted it so so bad. 

“Please.”

Taehyung gently lowered himself closer to you, resting his forehead intimately against yours as he lined up his cock at your entrance. 

“Are you sure, Angel? Because there’s no going back after this... If you give yourself to me, then you’re mine—and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.”

“Taehyung, you idiot,”—a tender smile spread over your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck—“... I’ve always been yours.”

He swore violently—letting the slight tremble in his voice betray just how deeply your words affected him. 

Then his fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your hip and he filled you to the hilt with one delicious thrust. 

There was a moment—the smallest space in time—where your eyes locked together and everything seemed to suspend; a strange perfect calm before a monumental storm. 

Then your world caught fire. 

Taehyung drove himself into you with passionate fury, letting years of denial fuel the insatiable rhythm of his strokes. 

Every time he told himself no. Every time he held himself back—

Every bit of it burned away as you screamed his name. 

The feel of him was indescribable. 

You imagined it too many times to count, yet your dreams fell pitifully short of the visceral reality. 

He was bloomin’ magnificent. 

Your fingers clawed up and down his back, desperate to hold on to something while he pounded into your g-spot like an animal. 

“This tiny cunt is the tightest thing I’ve ever had around my cock,” he gasped and you whined needily at his praise. “Like it was made for me—” his hand came up to grip your breast, “like you were made for me.”

“Yes—”

Taehyung’s need seemed to amplify with every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. The feelings you sparked in him were fierce and unapologetically primitive.

He would go to war for you—build a fortress for you—fight a dragon if one dared come close. 

You were his. 

And he felt like a savage every time you cried out for more. 

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

He’d been so consumed with the extraordinary rush of claiming you that he’d forgotten—

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors. 

And now… he couldn’t look away. 

The sight of your bodies tangling together in headless bliss played out before him like a scene from his most debauched and forbidden fantasies. His reflection grinned back at him in fascinated ecstasy while his beloved nemesis lost herself in the pleasure of his cock.

Something dark and wild began to burn in his chest as he studied the lovers in the glass. 

“Look at you, Angel,” he whispered softly, “you really are perfect.”

Then he pulled out of your core and you whined bitterly in protest, chasing his body to rid yourself of the sudden unacceptable emptiness. 

“Still so needy,” he taunted, gripping your hips and flipping you on your stomach before you could even think to protest.

“I want you to watch that pretty angel in the mirror come on my cock,” he groaned, plunging back into you from behind. 

The new angle was somehow impossibly deeper and your body shook as another wave of pleasure overtook it. 

Your fingers clawed into the mattress for purchase as he pistoned into your trembling mound. 

Only Kim Taehyung could rail you like a whore while he worshiped you like a queen. 

He gave you a moment to adjust before drawing your body back against his chest. His arm wrapped over your stomach as he slowly eased your legs apart, unfolding the lewd tableau of your bodies joined together for the voyeuristic gaze of the glass.   

“Look at yourself, Angel,” he growled, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. “Look at how well you're taking me.” 

Then his fingers slid down to rub your clit and you screamed. 

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

The pleasure building within you now was violent. You were coiling too tightly, too fast—

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror for the briefest instant.

And then you flew apart. 

Taehyung threw his head back with a carnal moan as you clamped down around him. His body was hurtling toward its own release with reckless speed. 

“I’m close,” he panted, “where can I come?”

“Come inside me please,” you begged, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in frenzied lust. 

“That’s what you want? Huh?” his thrusts became rougher as he chased his relief, “You want me to fill this puffy little pussy with my cum?”

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed. 

“Sweet Angel,” he groaned, gripping at your breasts as he pulled you tighter against him. 

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again. 

“I want everything with you; a home—a family—your body in my arms every morning when I wake up—” his voice trembled, “I want it all.” 

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

“Tae,” you gasped softly, too overcome with joy to manage anything else. 

His mouth pressed hungrily against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his cock throbbing in your core as he bent you forward, pounding into your sex with exquisite precision. 

"Stay with me, Angel,” he whispered. His thrusts became erratic as he neared his high. “I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

The glorious thrill of his words tore over your senses with euphoric brutality. Your walls tightened greedily around his cock and the taunt cord of pleasure finally snapped. 

He came with a broken groan, flooding the welcoming heat of your womb with his release. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

The sound of his name being shouted by the absolute last person in the world whose voice he wanted to hear woke Taehyung from a dead sleep.  

His eyes widened in panic as he began yanking pillows and covers from all over the bed in a frenzied attempt to hide—

The doors to his bedroom flew open with a resounding crash. 

“Jimin,” he squeaked, trying to look as casual as possible next to a giant pile of bedding. “What uh—what brings you here at—” his eyes darted to the clock on the wall, “—7:30 in the morning?”

Then he frowned. 

“And how the hell did you get past Jungkook?”

Jimin’s murderous expression broke momentarily to allow for a smug grin. 

“Kendra.”

Kendra Jackson was Jimin’s executive aide. She was fierce, capable, intelligent—

And insanely gorgeous. 

Taehyung groaned. 

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, yet another newspaper landed on Taehyung’s lap.

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Underneath the headline was a picture of you and Taehyung (dressed in clothes you stole from Jin’s childhood bedroom) kissing passionately against the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion. 

One of your legs was wrapped around his waist and he was clearly grabbing your ass. 

“Ah… well you see the camera distorts everything from this angle—and-and the lighting is bad so it’s not really what it looks like—”

“Is that so? Cause it looks like you’ve got your tongue down my baby sister’s throat!”

“Okay—okay,” Taehyung massaged his forehead nervously, “so maybe it’s sort of what it looks like but—”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No wait—” he held up his hands to delay an already advancing Jimin. 

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

“—I trusted you with the most important person in the world to me—”

“The situation is just not that simple.” 

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence. 

Then your head popped out from the massive pile of bedding. 

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. 

Taehyung groaned again. 

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

“Of course I’m in love with you! What part of I want you to have my children did you not understand?!” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jimin choked. 

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. 

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes. 

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling. 

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. 

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day. 

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

[qqueenofhades]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[storiesofsvu]

"you're cute when you're jealous." + the duckie couple?

Heather Dunbar x Jackie Sharp.

Jackie didn't know how Heather did it, the other woman was always so eloquent and well put together, seamlessly weaving through the crowd, group by group while she made conversation. She was so confident that she could slip into any circle mid conversation and everyone would notice, and in the best way possible, she always knew what to say and it was always the right thing. She truly had been born for a career in politics and it showed on nights like tonight.

Nights like tonight were some of Jackie's least favorite. The galas, the schmoozing, the pretending to be friends and on the same page as everyone in the room just to make sure you got what you wanted and didn't end up with a figurative knife in your back. The main thing she did like about them was that Heather always took her shopping before them, letting her pick out the fanciest gowns, most luxurious jewels and usually even treated her to a spa day. Not to mention the lacy lingerie that would be laid out on their bed the day of, hinting that Jackie must be wearing it under whatever dress she'd ended up choosing. Jackie also knew as long as she behaved and kept a polite smile on her face and did her job, Heather would absolute ravish her when they got home.

Which is exactly why she was doing her best to uphold conversation with a senator from Georgia, pretending she agreed with anything he was saying. He eventually dove into a topic about military, finally something she could actually have a voice in, experience in and maybe there was something they saw eye to eye on. He commended her, thanking her for her service but was still condescending about it, teasing that someone as small and delicate as she was must've been a lot of help in the kitchen for those boys.

Her lips formed a pout around the rim of her glass and her gaze drifted across the room, catching a wide smile on Heather's face as she greeted Cathy Durant. Her eyes narrowed at the way she kissed her cheek, her lips lingering a little too long on the other woman's cheek as they embrace. Jackie crossed her arms over her chest and if you'd asked Heather, she would have said the brunette went as far as to stomp her foot. Heather could feel her love's eyes on her from across the room and glanced up, a laugh fading into a smirk as she winked at the other woman, nudging at Cathy who glanced over and gave Jackie a cheery wave. Jackie promptly put on a fake smile and raised her glass in a cheers before turning back to the senator. He was deep into a rant about the public school system so she rolled her eyes and managed to slip away undetected to make her way back up to the bar.

She drained her glass, passing it off to a bartender once it was empty and thanked them with a warm smile when they passed her a full one. She let out a small sigh, playing with her drink for a moment before she felt a hand on her waist and rolled her eyes, thinking it was someone trying t get handsy until Heather's lips hit her bare shoulder and she could smell her perfume.

"You're cute when you're jealous." She murmured and Jackie huffed, turning to face her while Heather grabbed a fresh drink.

"I'm not jealous."

"Yeah right." Heather laughed, "you're pouting like a toddler right now."

"I'm bored." She insisted.

"Well, Remy and Seth just went out for cigars, go shoot the shit with them for a bit while I do one last round and then we can go home."

"Promise?"

"Yes." Heather left a feather light kiss on the tip of her nose, "I know you hate nights like tonight." Her voice lowered, husking so only Jackie could hear her, "but you've been a very good girl for mommy and you'll be getting rewarded wonderfully once we get home." Jackie's eyes lit up as she glanced up to Heather, who chuckled darkly, fingers pinching at the other woman's chin as she leant in for a gentle kiss, "forty minutes top. I promise."

"Thank you." Jackie muttered back, a bright smile on her face as Heather disappeared into the crowd and she made her way outside to drop the political show and actually enjoy some time with Remy before leaving.

Yes, nights like tonight were dreadful, but as long as she had Heather, they would always finish in the greatest possible way.

@svulife-rl @naturalxselection @clarawatson @yesterdaysgone @hbkpop @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @nobody-important1212 @dead-of-niight @daddy-heather-dunbar @swimmingstudentchaos891

[leupagus]

Who’s your County Executive? and other steps to becoming a valuable pain in the ass

I fired off a tweet thread this morning, but I feel like a lot of folks here might benefit from this info, too. Which is: if you want anything to change, from police abolition to getting statues removed to passing local ordinances requiring masks to removing local legislation putting limits on abortion (just for some random examples), you need to get real familiar with your local reps. As in, you need to know who they are, what they do, how they’re elected/appointed, how long they’ve been doing that job, what their history is and how you can pressure them into doing what you want. Using hashtags and sharing links and signal boosting can only do so much. Talking to the people who are actually able to implement the change you want is a huge part that I don’t think gets discussed enough; and although it requires some preliminary work, once you get into the groove it’s surprisingly easy.

First, find out where you live! Which you may think is a stupid step, but —do you live in a city? Are you sure? I live in a city, for example, but I actually live in a township/suburb of that city, not the city proper. (Fortunately due to what I suspect is some white flight-related weirdness, I can still hassle the city proper.) There are entire towns inside of some cities, like West Hollywood and Los Angeles. Double-check; you might be surprised.

Then, find out who’s in charge of said place. There are quite a few people, actually. You probably have a mayor — but they might be called a supervisor. Or you may have a city manager, or executive, or clerk, or all three, or someone else entirely, who’s actually doing the day-to-day running of the place — for instance, while Austin has a mayor, it also has a city manager, and the city manager does WAY more than the mayor does. You also have people at the county/parish level — a county executive is I think the most common term, although sometimes it’s the county clerk, who can have entirely different duties depending on the county. Whatever way it works where you live, find out. While you’re at it, find out who’s in charge of your local elections. Sometimes that’s the county clerk (actually I think it’s almost always the country clerk, but sometimes it’s the county auditor or something weird like that); sometimes they’re elected and sometimes they’re appointed. Find out. Get names, put their contact info in your phone. (More on that later.)

Then, find out who represents you on the city/town council and the county legislature, or whatever they’re called where you are. Finding out what district you’re in can sometimes be hellaciously frustrating; when in doubt, an email to the county or city council can often get you an answer if you provide your address. Also bear in mind that different places have different ways of apportioning council members; sometimes they’re all “at large,” sometimes they’re elected according to districts, sometimes it’s a combination of both. Sometimes (not often I don’t think) they’re not elected at all but appointed by someone. Find out who! And don’t leave out things like school boards and zoning boards and community college boards and anything else you happen upon that has a representative you didn’t know existed. They exist, and I guarantee they’ve got power.

Note: find out who represents you state-wide, too. Often calling the governor isn’t that effective (at least for me, calling Cuomo ain’t gonna do much; if you live in Delaware or Montana or Iowa or somewhere relatively less populous, definitely get your governor’s information), but your state reps are usually pretty eager to talk to constituents, even — and this is really important these days — ones who aren’t of the same party. I’m represented by a GOP state senator, for example, but he ended up voting for this bill that just got signed into law. Most states are bicameral (except Nebraska, heyooo), so you likely have a state senator and a state rep/assemblyman/whatever. Make sure to get info for both. (Unless you live in Nebraska, in which case tell Ernie I said hi.)

Next, find out what the court system looks like where you are. Are your state/county/district/etc judges appointed? Elected? What are their terms? Who’s your District Attorney? Who’s in charge of your Public Defender’s office? (I actually haven’t bothered to look up that myself until today!) What courts handle which offenses in your area? Collect that information.

And what do you do with this info? You put it into your phone contacts, or whatever you use to keep your contacts organized, I dunno, maybe you still use your Wizard from 1992. No judgement. However you do it, put all of these contacts somewhere they’re all together — for example, if you have a letter in your directory that isn’t used much. I have a kind of weird method of organizing my contacts, which is that I put their first and last names (and their handles, if I know them online) in the Firstname field, then the Lastname field I use to say how I know them. So all of my New York-based friends are listed as “NYC, Holly Golightly/moonrivergoddess” or whatever. So for me personally, I just put all my political contacts under “Y” as in “Y do I have to keep pestering you to make you do the right thing.” So a county clerk would be listed like so:

Y, County Clerk Horace Vandergelder

In the “Company” field, I usually put their party and when/if they’re up for election next as well as term length, so Horace would be “Dem, 2020/2024.″ And then I might add any links I thought were helpful as well as notes about, say, what staffer I may’ve talked to or if there’s an important bill coming up etc.

And now you’ve got that information, it’s time to fuckin’ use it. Was there a protest that happened in your area that ended in arrests or violence? Call your mayor, register your displeasure. Call your DA, ask if anyone’s being charged. Call your city council member, ask them what legislation they’d support to end police violence. What do you know that you want them to know? Alternatively, was there a protest in your area that was really great and positive? Call these people; ask if they attended. If they did, offer support for them and say that you want them to follow up with actionable steps. If they didn’t, ask why. (BTW, it’s election season — look at the candidates, too! That state senator I mentioned earlier is retiring this year, and a pretty awesome Democrat is in a good position to get his seat; I’ve started volunteering for him in part because he’s got a history of agitating for police reform and has been regularly attending the protests here.) You can email, too; you’re welcome to c&p form emails, but once you have all these people’s contact info at your fingertips you’d be amazed how easy it’ll be to write something from you, that will be far more effective.

It’s also important to keep a record for yourself of who you’ve talked to, when you talked to them, what they said, if you want to follow up etc. I’ve got a little section of my planner for this; it has dates, names, topics, the works. It’s been really helpful to me over the past few weeks making sure I’m exerting pressure to a variety of people in a variety of positions, not just repeatedly calling one office and leaving the same message over and over again.

But if you really want to, as I put it on twitter, tighten the sphincter of local government, nothing beats face-to-face (or, these days, facetime-to-facetime). And here you’ve got a shitton of options. You can see if a particular politician/government office is taking virtual one-on-one meetings, where you can lobby either your politician or (more likely) one of their staffers to support legislation or policies or whatnot. This is, and I cannot stress it enough, HUGELY EFFECTIVE, especially if you are a demo they don’t often see (aka if you’re not a white Boomer). Local politicians are both desperate for and terrified of an engaged constituency; they want you to care but they’re very much aware that anyone showing up to an office (or a zoom meeting) could make their lives very, very difficult.

If one-on-one isn’t your style, there are also committee meetings, which... holy shit, you would not believe the number of committees there are. Committees for art festivals, committees for transportation, committees for public safety, committees for pretty much everything you can think of and a few I’ll bet you can’t. Noodle around on your councils’ and county’s websites, including their facebook page (nine times out of ten there will be more — and more up-to-date — info on the facebook page) to find out what committees meet when. And here is where your specific priorities will be important, because usually you can attend and in some cases even become part of these committees. Do you want to advocate for better public transportation? Find out when the transportation committee meets. Go to that meeting. If they have a Q&A, get some fuckin’ Qs ready and demand some fuckin’ As.

And then there’s the big kahunas of council meetings and state legislature sessions. Most city/town councils have a segment of their weekly/monthly meetings to hear from the public (this is different from a public hearing, FYI, although they too are really important and you should find out if there are any going on where you live and when). Do you have something you want to get in front of the whole council? Get your ass on the list! In Austin I think you had to call or email the council’s office by the day before; in my town you just roll up and get in line when it comes time. Then for state legislatures, often there will be specific bills on which they ask for “citizen input” or however else they describe it. This is less practical because we don’t all live in easy distance of our state capital, but if you do, consider getting involved there. (And right now with the pandemic, your state legislatures may have new rules about citizen participation that actually make it easier for you to get involved, for once.)

Mostly, though, this is about local involvement — find out who’s in control of your city, your county, your precinct and district and all the other ways your home is demarcated. Talk to these people, even if it makes you nervous; their power to make effective change comes with their responsibility to listen, and your power to make them listen comes with your responsibility to speak.

[dwellordream]

“...In early portraits Livia sports the nodus hairstyle, in which the hair rolls forward over the forehead and is then drawn back to form a distinctive topknot. This style was seen by Ovid as a useful corrective to a very round face. Generally in the heads of this group the face is a regular oval with broad cheekbones. The eyes are large and the brow above them arches slightly. The nose is large and aquiline, while the curving mouth and the chin are very small. The portraits project an image well suited to Livia—one of ageless and elegant beauty, calm and dignified, perhaps strangely emotionless.

The severity of the nodus style would be less appealing with age. Thus the hair in portraits of the Tiberian period generally has a centre parting, and falls from either side in waves. The head is still relatively youthful, given that Livia must have been now in her seventies, a tradition maintained by modern aging monarchs, whose images on stamps and coins tend to be frozen for several decades. It could be argued that the elusive issue of Livia’s appearance is irrelevant in a political biography. But it has some historical importance. The sources suggest that Augustus was drawn to Livia initially by basic sexual attraction. Some knowledge of her physical appearance would help us place that claim in a proper context. 

Whatever attributes Livia was granted by Nature she could enhance by Art. When it came to dress, Ovid attributes to Livia a surprisingly progressive attitude, that she was simply too busy to spend a lot of time on her appearance. The assertion has to be seen against the background of a large household and an enormous staff, whose task it would have been to pay attention to those details deemed unworthy of their mistress’s time and effort. The evidence for the wide range of functionaries operating within the household of Livia is dealt with in chapter 9.

At this point we can limit ourselves to noting the surprising number of helpers devoted to Livia’s personal appearance. Inevitably there were several ornatrices (dressers), as well as staff a veste/ad vestem, whose task it was to keep her clothes in good order. In addition, the ab ornamentis would have had responsibility for her ceremonial garments and accessories, along with a specialist who looked after those she wore as priestess of Augustus, a freedman ab ornamentis sacerdotalibus. Her calciator made her shoes. Augustus liked to boast that his clothes were made by his wife and sister. Perhaps, but they would have had help. Livia employed both lanipendi (wool weighers) and sarcinatores / sarcinatrices (sewing men / women). For her comfort she had an unctrix (masseuse). 

Perhaps most striking are the skilled craftsmen who would have been employed for the manufacture and maintenance of luxury items. Her aurifex (goldsmith) and inaurator (gilder) might have been occupied mainly with furniture, but the margaritarius (pearl setter) sounds like someone who would have been employed to work on her personal jewellery. Elizabeth Bartman has noted the absence of jewellery from the sculpted images of Livia, which she describes as ‘‘bordering on the ascetic.’’ This, of course, may have been a deliberate fabrication of Livia’s image in the sculptural prototypes that she allowed to be distributed. There was a tradition of Roman women making a sacrifice of luxury items for the good of the state, such as the women who donated their jewellery to help fund the war against Veii in the early republic. 

But it may be that Livia aimed for understated elegance, to be simplex munditiis, as Horace expressed the concept in his famous poem. This could explain why Augustus aroused amused disbelief among the senators when he held up Livia as an example of womanhood and, when pressed to explain, cited as evidence her appearance and dress and her exodoi (her public forays) as illustrations of moderation to be emulated. Augustus had the evidence of his own eyes, and he admired her for avoiding extravagance. But the senators perhaps may have seen a kind of elegant moderatio, the appearance of simplicity that only the best dressmakers, coiffeurs, and jewellers can produce, using the finest and most expensive material. 

Livia’s energies would have been channelled mainly into her role as wife of Augustus and as mother of Tiberius. We know little of her private interests, or of how she tried to relax. Only one scrap of evidence survives for anything remotely approaching frivolity. She seems to have competed inanely with Julia, the granddaughter of Augustus, over the record for owning the smallest dwarf. This was settled honourably, as Julia owned the smallest male, at two feet, one palm (about sixty-seven centimetres), but Livia could boast the smallest female dwarf, Andromeda, height not recorded. We might also detect perhaps a hint of a certain silliness when she was a young woman.

The story of her trying to foretell her child’s sex by means of a hen’s egg is noted in chapter 1. After Tiberius’ birth she seems to have consulted an astrologer (mathematicus), Scribonius. He was able to forecast that her son would govern, but without the trappings of monarchical rule, an especially impressive performance, because he anticipated this before the principate had been established and before Livia had even met Augustus. But this kind of behaviour should be viewed in the context of its age, and Livia was probably no more unsophisticated in such matters than the great mass of her contemporaries. 

Otherwise her interests are likely to have been more serious, and she seems to have been a literate and educated woman. At any rate, in one of his letters to her Augustus quotes frequently and extensively in Greek, presumably on the assumption that she would understand him. She did of course spend some time in the Greek world during the period of her first husband’s exile, but she would at that time have moved mainly in a Latin-speaking milieu. It is more than likely that she learned the language through formal tuition. Given her family background, we can assume that Livia would have been well educated as a child. Roman girls shared domestic tutors with their brothers before their marriage. There are many examples of the happy result of this practice. Pliny the Younger was flattered to find his young wife reading and memorizing his works, and setting his verses to music. Cornelia, the wife of Pompey, was educated in literature, music, and geometry, and enjoyed attending philosophical discussions. 

The existence of the highly educated woman, at least at a slightly later date, is confirmed by the caustic observations of the atrabilious Juvenal, who proclaims horror at females who speak with authority on literature, discuss ethical issues, quote lines of verse the rest of humanity has not even heard of, and even correct your mistakes of grammar. Apart from Livia’s knowledge of Greek, however, we have no concrete evidence of her intellectual pursuits, in contrast to her great-granddaughter Agrippina, whose memoirs survived and were read by Tacitus. But we do have some testimony about Livia’s intellectual sophistication. Philo was a contemporary and, though a resident of Alexandria, very familiar with Rome and the imperial house. 

For example, he met Caligula in person when he headed a delegation to Rome to represent the case of the Jews of his native town. In a speech that he attributes to Caligula’s Jewish friend Herod Agrippa, he has Agrippa cite the precedent of Livia, whom he represents as a woman of great mental ability and untypical of her sex, for he contended that women were generally incapable of grasping mental concepts (whether this is Agrippa’s or Philo’s prejudice is not made clear). Agrippa supposedly attributed Livia’s superiority in this sphere to her natural talents and to her education (paideia). Livia was well disposed to the Jews and generous to the Temple, and we might expect some gilding of the lily. But Philo’s characterization of her could clearly not have been absurdly wide of the mark, or the arguments attributed to Agrippa would have been discredited. 

The Corinthian poet Honestus describes Livia as fit company for the muses, a woman who saved the world by her wisdom. The inflated language traditional in such a dedicatory piece, however, means that it has little historical value. Apart from the uncertain case of Honestus, we have no other case of Livia’s supporting any cultural or intellectual endeavour, although she was an active patron in many other areas. In this sphere she was eclipsed by Augustus’ sister Octavia, who was a sponsor of the architect Vitruvius and to whom the Stoic philosopher Athenodorus of Tarsus dedicated a book of his work. Although Livia’s interest in fostering artistic and cultural undertakings might have been limited, there was one field in which her enthusiasm seems to have been boundless: the issue of healthy living, both physical and psychological. Despite her general reserve in most other matters, she seems to have been willing, even eager, to impart her views on the issue of how to live a long and robust life. 

She was ahead of her time in her use of what would now be called a grief counsellor. When her son Drusus died in 9 bc, she was devastated. That she managed to handle the situation with dignity was due to no small extent to the counselling given her by the philosopher Areus (or Areius) Didymus of Alexandria. Areus was basically a Stoic but kept an open mind to other schools and ideas, the kind of eclectic pragmatist that the Romans found appealing. He was clearly a man of great charm, and at the time of Actium, Octavian described him as his mentor and companion. Octavian reputedly spared all the Alexandrians after the battle and stated publicly that he did so because of the fame of Alexander the Great, the beauty of the city, and his regard for one of its citizens, Areus. In the event Alexandria did not emerge totally unscathed, for Octavian followed up his generous gesture by visiting the corpse of Alexander, where he behaved like the worst kind of bad tourist, touching the nose and breaking it off.

According to Seneca’s account, to which the author undoubtedly added his own imaginative touches, Areus, in giving his advice to Livia, described himself as an assiduus comes (constant companion) of her husband and claimed to know not only their public pronouncements but also the secretiores animorum vestrorum motus (the deeper emotions of the two of you). He clearly knew his patient well, and in the event proved a highly effective consultant. He gently observed that Livia had been in the habit of repressing her feelings and of being constantly on guard in public. He encouraged her to open up when dealing with the subject of Drusus, to speak to her friends about the death of her son, and to listen to others when they praised him. She should also dwell on the positive side of things, particularly the happiness that he brought her when he was still alive. The advice may have the shallow ring of the popular psychology handed out in the modern media, but it worked. 

Seneca observed how well Livia coped with her loss by following this advice, in contrast to the morbidly obsessive Octavia, sister of Augustus, who never ceased to be preoccupied with thoughts of her dead son Marcellus. Livia lived a long and, by her own description, healthy life, with only one serious illness recorded, when she was already eighty. Her formula for her robust constitution seems to have been proper diet and the use of ‘‘natural’’ remedies. She clearly had the irritating habit of healthy people who insist on inflicting on others their philosophy of wholesome living. For history this has proved fortunate, because some of her dietary recommendations are recorded. In her early eighties she anticipated a trend that was to reemerge almost two thousand years later, attributing her vigorous condition to her daily tipple. She drank exclusively the wine of Pucinum. This was a very select vintage, grown on a stony hill in the Gulf of Trieste, not far from the source of the Timavo, where the sea breezes ripen enough grapes to fill a few amphorae. Pliny confirms its medicinal value, which he suspects might long have been recognised, even by the Greeks.

It need not be thought that in following this regimen Livia had simply invented a formula for healthy living. In fact, she was echoing a nostrum that had become very trendy in her youth, and in doing so marked herself as an acolyte of one of the master-gurus of health-faddists, Asclepiades of Prousias. According to tradition, Asclepiades started as a poor professor of rhetoric before turning to medicine. During his career he acquired considerable fame (Pliny speaks of his summa fama) and provoked the animosity of other medical writers—he was still being attacked by Galen almost three hundred years after his death. The anger of his fellow healers is not hard to explain, because he turned ancient medicine on its head by distancing himself from dangerous pharmacological and surgical procedures, even describing traditional medicine as a ‘‘preparation for death.’’ Instead, he placed emphasis on more humane and agreeable treatments—diet, passive exercise, massages, bathing, even rocking beds. Pliny felt that he mainly used guesswork but was successful because he had a smooth patter. 

How effective he was cannot be gauged now. He is said to have recovered a ‘‘corpse’’ from a funeral procession and then to have successfully treated it. But famous doctors in antiquity routinely restored the dead to life. Perhaps more impressive, and more alarming to the medical profession, was Asclepiades’ pledge that by following his own prescriptions he could guarantee that he would never be ill, and that if he lapsed, he would retire from medicine. He was apparently never put to the test, and eventually died by accident, falling from a ladder. It is not hard to believe that Asclepiades might have exercised an influence on Livia, especially in that Pliny remarks that he almost brought the whole human race round to his point of view, and Elizabeth Rawson argues that a case can be made that he was the most influential Greek thinker at work in Rome in the first century bc. Pliny notes a dilemma that has a strangely contemporary ring—whether wine is more harmful or helpful to the health. 

As the champion of the latter belief Pliny cites Asclepiades, who wrote a book on wine’s benefits, based to some extent on the teaching of Cleophantus. Asclepiades received a familiar nickname oinodotes (wine giver), although to avoid being cast as someone who encouraged inebriation, he did advocate abstinence under certain circumstances. As Pliny words it, Asclepiades stated that the benefits of wine were not surpassed by the power of the gods, and the historian, like Livia, seems to have been won over, conceding that wine drunk in moderation benefitted the sinews and stomach, and made one happy, and could even be usefully applied to sores. Livia might have become acquainted with Asclepiades’ teaching while he was still alive (it is uncertain when he died), but in any case Pliny makes it clear that after his death his ideas took a firm hold on the population, and would still have been in circulation for many years after he made his ultimate precipitous descent from the ladder.

Apart from her views on the benefits of fine wines, Livia was known for other health tips. Pliny adds his personal recommendation for one of her fads, a daily dose of inula (elecampane). The elecampane, with its broad yellow petals, is a common plant throughout Europe, and its root has long been a popular medicine. Because it is bitter and can cause stomach upset if eaten alone, it is usually ground up, or marinated in vinegar and water, then mixed with fruit or honey. It was supposedly useful for weak digestion. Horace describes its popularity among gluttons, who could overdo safely by using elecampane afterwards. Then, as now, celebrity endorsements helped; Pliny observes that the use of the plant was given a considerable boost by Livia’s recommendation. In some modern quarters it is still promoted as an effective tonic and laxative.

…These curiosities do provide a possible context for one of the charges levelled against Livia, which the scholarly world generally agrees was groundless: that of using poison to remove those who blocked her ambitions. The accusation is one that powerful women in competitive political situations throughout antiquity and the middle ages found difficult to refute, because poison has traditionally been considered the woman’s weapon of choice. Because women took the primary responsibility for family well-being, they would have been the inevitable targets of suspicion if a person died of something brought on by gastric problems. If Livia had insisted on inflicting her home cures on members of her family, it is not difficult to imagine that a malign reputation could have arisen after a death that was advantageous to her. One also should not discount the possibility that the combination of birthwort and ash of swallows did more harm than good, and that she might indeed have helped despatch some of her patients, despite the very best of intentions. 

Allied to Livia’s preoccupation with herbal remedies is her passionate interest and regular involvement in various aspects of horticulture. The most vivid illustration of this comes from her villa at Primaporta . The highlight of the complex is the garden room, built and decorated around 20 bc in the form of a partially subterranean chamber nearly 12 metres long by 6 metres wide, perhaps a dining room intended for summer use. The most impressive feature of the room is the magnificent wall painting, unparalleled for its scale and detail. It creates an illusion of a pavilion within a magical garden, teeming with flowers and birds. Unusually for the Pompeian Second Style of painting, all structural supports have been dispensed with, even at the angles, although along the tops of the walls there is a rocky fringe, which conveys the impression of the mouth of a grotto. In the foreground stands a wicker fence. Behind that is a narrow grassy walk, set with small plants, bordered on its inner side by a low stone parapet. A small recess is set in the wall at intervals to accommodate a bush or tree. 

Behind it stands a rich tangled forest of carefully painted shrubs and trees, with various types of laurel predominating. The rich mass of foliage is framed at the top by a narrow band of sky. The painting is detailed and accurate, with flowers and fruit and birds perched on the branches or on the ground. The birds, of many species, range freely, with the exception of a single caged nightingale. Flowers and fruit of all seasons are mingled together. This rich extravaganza belonged clearly to an owner who exulted in the richness and variety of nature. But Livia’s horticultural interests went beyond a mere feast for the eye—she had a direct and practical interest in produce. She developed a distinctive type of fig that bore her name, the Liviana, mentioned by agricultural writers and recommended by Columella and Athenaeus, and which may have contributed to the tradition that she eliminated Augustus by specially treated figs grown in their villa at Nola.“

- Anthony A. Barrett, “The Private Livia.” in Livia: First Lady of Imperial Rome

[gatekeeper-watchman]

The News Media is Thriving These Days, But…

The news media is thriving these days, alive and well with its many commercials, political propaganda, gossip, sports, and, relatively speaking, minor news events—and, oh yes, commercials. From the very beginning, “Freedom of the Press” has been a major contribution to the safety, welfare, and protection of the people from the errors and sins of government, but real in-depth reporting is slowly disappearing from the scene. Daily news events are reported over and over, sometimes for days, while other important subjects are overlooked. We are majoring in minors and minoring in majors.

For example, where, today, are the pros and cons of single-payer healthcare being discussed? Certainly, this subject is being discussed superfluously, but where are the in-depth pro and con discussions? Most of what I hear about the subject is, to the effect, “No need to discuss this as it will never be approved anyway”. Oh well, healthcare is only 17.5 percent of our spending nationally, annually contributing to our national deficit and debt. No problem.

Ref: http://www.justfacts.com/healthcare.asp

The financial crisis of 2008 was triggered by derivatives, one of those new securities invented to allegedly provide insurance coverage to home mortgage holders, aka fish food for speculators in the financial markets. I don’t know how many dollars worth of these securities were in circulation in 2008. I have heard numbers like $400 Trillion. I have also heard numbers amounting to $900 Trillion. What are the numbers now, and when is our illustrious media going to reveal them to the people? The last time I heard anything in the mass media about derivative risk was an article by Peter Cohan, AOL.COM, Big Risk: $1.2 Quadrillion Derivatives Market Dwarfs World GDP. Folks! Do you know how much money $1.2 Quadrillion is? Let me tell you. It is $1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.00 or 1,000 times $1 Trillion. My gosh, folks, the world’s annual gross domestic product is only $50 to $60 trillion, and this article was written June 9, 2010—over six years ago. Oh well, that wasn’t important either. The public wouldn’t understand anyway.

Let’s get basic. It’s common knowledge that education in government, and civics has been lacking in our school systems in recent years. Yet our government from the president on down and the news media, when they address the people, they refer to members of the House of Representatives as Congressmen (or women). They are not Congressmen. Their titles are Representatives. If they are a Congressman, so also is a Senator by gum and by golly. Congress is the name given to our national legislature, a bicameral body made up of the House of Representatives, the lower house, and the Senate, the upper house. To be a Congressman, one would have to be both a Representative and a Senator at the same time. Duh… By the way, do you want to know why we have two houses? In short, the answer is the lower house, the House of Representatives represent the majority of the people, the masses who elect them. There are 435 members. The Senate, the upper house, represents the minority elite among us, in theory at least. There are 100 of them. I say elite. In our nation’s beginning, Senators were elected by the House of Representatives. Only later in the course of our history were they elected by the people as they now are. For further information:

http://www.sfgate.com/politics/article/Enduring-debate-elitism-versus-populism-3189454.php

To close, for now, our news media exists to serve our people. They have to earn income to pay their bills, i.e. salaries, insurance, rent, and return on investments to their investors, but their main purpose, their only purpose which, in the end, justifies their very existence is to serve the people with news which is the truth; and, in my view, they could do a much better job.

This is my view. What’s yours? From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ, Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Wednesday, May 17, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA, https://www.facebook.com/StevenParkerMillerQ Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman, https://www.tumblr.com/gatekeeper-watchman, https://www.pinterest.com/GatekeeperWatchman1/ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981