#Kennedy compound

[deadpresidents]

President John F. Kennedy's secret nuclear bunker on Peanut Island, near JFK's "Winter White House, La Querida, in Palm Beach, Florida. Given the codename "Detachment Hotel", the bunker was constructed by U.S. Navy Seabees and could hold roughly 30 people for about 30 days. The bunker was disguised as a munitions depot near a Coast Guard station and wasn't officially acknowledged by the government until 1974, nearly 13 years after JFK was assassinated.

President Kennedy had a similar bunker on Nantucket Island, near the famous Kennedy Compound in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.

[onlythejaneway]

Okay, fellow amateur internet detectives, this is so random but… anyone who read Kate Mulgrew’s memoirs knows that her mother Joan attended school with, and became a lifelong friend of, Jean Kennedy Smith, spending many vacations at the family compound, and was even JFK’s personal secretary in the early days of his political career before she married Kate’s father.

Look at the above photo. Is it just me or is the woman on the right Kate’s mother?? The article is from Town and Country and lists her as an ‘Unidentified Woman’.

What do you think??

Unidentified Woman | Joan Mulgrew

(baby Kate with her mother Joan)

(Bonus pic with JFK for LoLs)

[jbrasseul]

Du Kennedy compound au Kennedy homestead

[youngromancemusic]

Midcentury Patio in San Francisco Large 1950s backyard concrete patio photo with a fire pit and no cover

[victusinveritas]

From Rebecca Solnit:

This is who we want our senators to be--and not just in exposing the dumpster fire/human trash that is RFK, though that is very nice and in the service of public health. Warren went on the news to say: "He can stand there, smile at you and say, 'anybody can vaccinate their kids who wants to,' but he literally could bankrupt the vaccine manufacturers with the power he will have. And since he's got a financial incentive to do that, we cannot trust him in that job."

Video of Warren here and Warnock here

It's hard for someone to disgrace the Kennedys even more than they've already soiled the family name and compound, but he manages.

[nasa]

Let's Explore a Metal-Rich Asteroid 🤘

Between Mars and Jupiter, there lies a unique, metal-rich asteroid named Psyche. Psyche’s special because it looks like it is part or all of the metallic interior of a planetesimal—an early planetary building block of our solar system. For the first time, we have the chance to visit a planetary core and possibly learn more about the turbulent history that created terrestrial planets.

Here are six things to know about the mission that’s a journey into the past: Psyche.

1. Psyche could help us learn more about the origins of our solar system.

After studying data from Earth-based radar and optical telescopes, scientists believe that Psyche collided with other large bodies in space and lost its outer rocky shell. This leads scientists to think that Psyche could have a metal-rich interior, which is a building block of a rocky planet. Since we can’t pierce the core of rocky planets like Mercury, Venus, Mars, and our home planet, Earth, Psyche offers us a window into how other planets are formed.

2. Psyche might be different than other objects in the solar system.

Rocks on Mars, Mercury, Venus, and Earth contain iron oxides. From afar, Psyche doesn’t seem to feature these chemical compounds, so it might have a different history of formation than other planets.

If the Psyche asteroid is leftover material from a planetary formation, scientists are excited to learn about the similarities and differences from other rocky planets. The asteroid might instead prove to be a never-before-seen solar system object. Either way, we’re prepared for the possibility of the unexpected!

3. Three science instruments and a gravity science investigation will be aboard the spacecraft.

The three instruments aboard will be a magnetometer, a gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer, and a multispectral imager. Here’s what each of them will do:

Magnetometer: Detect evidence of a magnetic field, which will tell us whether the asteroid formed from a planetary body

Gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer: Help us figure out what chemical elements Psyche is made of, and how it was formed

Multispectral imager: Gather and share information about the topography and mineral composition of Psyche

The gravity science investigation will allow scientists to determine the asteroid’s rotation, mass, and gravity field and to gain insight into the interior by analyzing the radio waves it communicates with. Then, scientists can measure how Psyche affects the spacecraft’s orbit.

4. The Psyche spacecraft will use a super-efficient propulsion system.

Psyche’s solar electric propulsion system harnesses energy from large solar arrays that convert sunlight into electricity, creating thrust. For the first time ever, we will be using Hall-effect thrusters in deep space.

5. This mission runs on collaboration.

To make this mission happen, we work together with universities, and industry and NASA to draw in resources and expertise.

NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory manages the mission and is responsible for system engineering, integration, and mission operations, while NASA’s Kennedy Space Center’s Launch Services Program manages launch operations and procured the SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket.

Working with Arizona State University (ASU) offers opportunities for students to train as future instrument or mission leads. Mission leader and Principal Investigator Lindy Elkins-Tanton is also based at ASU.

Finally, Maxar Technologies is a key commercial participant and delivered the main body of the spacecraft, as well as most of its engineering hardware systems.

6. You can be a part of the journey.

Everyone can find activities to get involved on the mission’s webpage. There's an annual internship to interpret the mission, capstone courses for undergraduate projects, and age-appropriate lessons, craft projects, and videos.

You can join us for a virtual launch experience, and, of course, you can watch the launch with us on Oct. 12, 2023, at 10:16 a.m. EDT!

For official news on the mission, follow us on social media and check out NASA’s and ASU’s Psyche websites.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[autisticadvocacy]

ASAN Disappointed by Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s Confirmation to Lead HHS

The Autistic Self Advocacy Network is disappointed by the confirmation of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services. Kennedy has a long record of spreading misinformation about autism in particular and public health in general. He is an unqualified and dangerous choice for this role. Autistic people, the disability community, and the nation’s public health are all placed at major risk as a result of this confirmation. 

Vaccines save lives. Disinformation kills.

RFK Jr. is the founder of Children’s Health Defense, a prominent anti-vaccine group. He has claimed that no vaccine has been proven safe and effective, that the recommended vaccine schedule for children is dangerous, and that “autism does come from vaccines.”  He has also fought against COVID-19 vaccination, falsely calling an early COVID vaccine “the deadliest vaccine ever made.”

Vaccines are safe and effective. Vaccines do not cause autism. The idea that the measles, mumps and rubella (MMR) vaccine is linked to autism comes from one fraudulent 1998 publication claiming that the vaccine had caused autistic traits in 12 children. Andrew Wakefield, who wrote this publication, used unethical methods and failed to disclose financial conflicts of interest. The paper did not give enough evidence for its claim that the MMR vaccine could cause autism. It was later removed by the journal that published it, and Wakefield had his medical license revoked.

Despite decades of replicable research proving that this is not true, some people, like Kennedy, continue to spread this lie. These lies do very real harm to the autistic community. Kennedy has described autistic people in insulting ways meant to inspire fear, saying that “their brain is gone” and that the purported effects of vaccination are “a Holocaust.” By working to prevent childhood vaccination, he effectively communicates the message that living as an autistic person is a worse fate than dying of measles or pertussis. 

Kennedy has also made false claims about COVID-19 vaccine trials and about the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System, blaming unrelated deaths on COVID vaccinations. Anti-vaccine misinformation like that promoted by Kennedy’s group has led to a reduced rate of childhood vaccinations in the United States since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.  

Kennedy’s lies about vaccines harm others as well. Kennedy and his nonprofit played an active role in a recent measles outbreak in Samoa, spreading vaccine misinformation until the vaccination rate dropped low enough that 5,700 people were infected with measles, and 83 people died. When he was asked about this outbreak during his confirmation hearing, Kennedy said that he didn’t believe the people who died had measles, a claim that the top health official for Samoa has called “a complete lie.”

Lies about autism

The anti-vaccine movement has led to a wave of fake “autism cures,” many of which have very real health risks. Kennedy recently promoted two of these fake cures when he accused the FDA of suppressing “hyperbaric therapies, chelating compounds.” Hyperbaric therapy, a treatment for decompression sickness in divers, has been promoted as a fake autism cure in spite of a complete lack of evidence and associated health risks. Chelation, a treatment for heavy metal poisoning, is another fake cure, and its off-label use for autism has been associated with at least one death. 

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and his allies claim that autistic people did not exist in his youth and that “I have never in my life seen a man my age with full-blown autism.” The idea that autistic people of Kennedy’s age (70) do not exist is not true. 

Autistic people have always been here, but before widespread autism diagnosis, we either went undiagnosed, or received different diagnoses than would be used today -- for example, the outdated diagnosis of “childhood schizophrenia” for autism, or diagnosing people who today would only have an autism diagnosis with intellectual disability. Autistic people in Kennedy’s generation were often institutionalized or incarcerated. Even if Kennedy did not see us, that does not mean we were not there. 

Lies about public health endanger everyone

Kennedy has taken other stances on public health, also based on misinformation, that disproportionately harm disabled people. He has opposed COVID-19 vaccination when people with intellectual and developmental disabilities (IDD) are at risk for worse outcomes if we get COVID. He wants to take fluoride out of drinking water, making everyone’s dental health worse, when people with IDD have worse dental health outcomes to begin with. 

He is against the use of medication for ADHD in spite of research demonstrating that these medications are safe and can prevent deaths among people who take them. He has falsely linked antidepressants, which for many people are life-saving medication, to mass shootings. None of these beliefs are based on evidence, and all of them would make terrible public health policy. 

Kennedy’s fringe beliefs have led him to propose some truly disturbing disability policies. He has discussed sending people who struggle with addiction or take psychiatric medications to “wellness farms,” where they could labor for several years and would be forbidden to use cell phones. In the autism community, we have seen farms promoted as a housing solution before, and we recognize this idea for what it is: a proposal to institutionalize the 16% of Americans who take psychiatric medication and the 16% of Americans who struggle with substance use. 

Kennedy’s commitment to spreading misinformation about public health extends beyond developmental disability. He claims that drinking raw milk has health benefits at a time when bird flu is spreading and foodborne diseases like listeria are becoming more common. He has suggested that AIDS may not be caused by HIV, and has participated in transphobic fear-mongering by claiming that chemicals in drinking water may change children’s gender identity. Once again, there is no evidence for any of these beliefs. 

We should never take “a break” from public health

At an anti-vaccine conference last year, Kennedy said that if he became President, he would tell the National Institutes of Health, “Thank you for public service. We’re going to give infectious disease a break for about eight years.” Instead, he pledged to focus NIH’s efforts entirely on chronic disease like diabetes. Pivoting government research away from infectious diseases during the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic would have disastrous consequences. And Kennedy’s claim that he will focus on chronic disease is short-sighted — chronic disease is often caused or worsened by infectious diseases like COVID. Diseases don’t take a break from threatening our lives and health, and we shouldn’t take a break from trying to prevent and mitigate diseases.

The worst public health harms in US history have been inflicted on marginalized communities when our public health systems “took a break” from protecting us. In the same way, marginalized communities would bear the brunt of a decision to abandon HHS’ responsibility to study infectious diseases.

We are dismayed by RFK Jr. becoming Secretary of HHS because the policies he supports will harm many people. This is especially true for autistic people. It is an embarrassment that our leaders chose to put RFK Jr. in a position to oversee public health given his rejection of science and his comments about autism. Our autistic lives are worth living. Our lives are worth saving. Our officials must recognize both.

Nothing about us, without us.

[venomvalley]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠;

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: After a chance meeting with the woman in red, Leon shows you why your insecurity is completely unwarranted.

words: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ only

notes: this is a mashup of two very similar requests.. have not written smut in months… cannot believe this man broke my dry spell

You feel sick. Nauseous. Something bitter and acrid—jealousy, you believe—poisons the aching well of your chest.

Ada Wong in the flesh. In that dress.

He looks at her like she controls gravity, like she wanes moontide, like nothing else matters. 

You feel sick. He chose you in the end. No, no, no—you thought he did. 

Years of radio silence, some unspoken no-contact rule torn to shreds. She’s back, a ghost in red, and she ensnares him. It’s over. You know it.

“How cute,” says the woman, in her high heels and manicured nails and styled hair. She drops from the windowsill and joins you inside the bedroom. Beautiful and dangerous and you fully understand her appeal. It’s why your hackles rise like you’ve been threatened. “I admit, I’m surprised to see you here. With another woman, no less.”

Leon steps back upon her approach, spares a glance your way before regarding her. “Why are you here?“

“I have my reasons.” Ada then turns to you, gaze razor-edged and calculating. “By the look on your face, I suppose my reputation precedes me.”

You imagine yourself bathed in insecurity, a smell thick enough to catch on the wind. She’s admirable to a painful degree—intelligent, mysterious, beautiful, witty. Traits compounded by the physicality of her presence.

She is your opposite.

She is everything you’ve always wanted to be.

He was hers once upon a time. 

And you hate her for that. 

“You’ve been mentioned once or twice,” you say, mirroring the guard of her own posture. A lot less elegant in practice. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“I promise, I came here to take one thing, and it isn’t Leon. This time, at least.”

At this, the mentioned man moves. Silent, if not for the thud of his boots upon the floor. He presses a hand to your shoulder, urges you back toward the door.

“Never again,” he says to her, and the gravel in his voice gives you pause. Skips your heart a few beats.

Ada feigns a grim frown, halfway to a pout. “You used to be fun.”

“I won’t play your game anymore. We’re done.”

“You always say that.” She turns to you one final time, sauntering backward toward the open window. “He always says that, dear.”

With a red-painted smile, she steps onto the balcony and disappears into a realm of blackhole shadow. 

Silence festers in her wake. The nausea returns tenfold. Leon jolts you back with a grip on your upper arm. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. We’ll finish this, and then we’ll talk.”

The serum is returned to one Chris Redfield at a BSAA base an hours’ drive away. The way Leon talks, he’s an important man, but you have more important things on the mind.

Things that you sift through at the paid-for hotel early into the night.

Leon returns some time between questioning your entire relationship and self-flagellation. He finds you stretched out beneath the sheets, in a bed too cold and empty to tolerate.

“I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” he says, perching upon the edge of the mattress to untie then toe off his shoes. “We just started talking and—“

“It’s fine.”

His boots thump to the floor. “You’re mad at me.”

“Not at you. Myself.”

“Why?”

Many reasons. Mainly, “I just… I don't feel good enough for you.”

His gear is already off, thrown carelessly to the end of the bed. He’s obviously tired, exhausted even, but your brain’s been half-eaten by dulcet words and every time you blink you see nothing but red. Red dress, red nails, red lips.

“Don’t let her do this,” he says, crawls across the sheets and plants himself at your side. Hovers over you by the brace of an elbow. “She’s good at what she does. I would know.”

“I’m sure.”

He huffs out a joyless laugh and curls a large hand about your neck. Your pulse drums against his palm. “Listen to me. There is nothing she could say to pull me away from you.”

“She’s everything I’m not.”

“I don’t give a shit. There’s no comparison, no competition. It’ll always be you. Do you understand that?”

You lean into his touch, close your eyes at the tender caress of his thumb over your jaw. “I know. I just—I second guess myself sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t.” His kiss warms your cheek, then he pulls away to sit up. “I’ll be right back. Gotta shower.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

He leaves to the adjacent bathroom, and the buzz of running water lulls you into a doze. 

When the door opens, he’s bare. Fluffing his hair with a towel. Sorting through a suitcase filled with folded clothes on the dresser, skin a golden glow from the lamplight’s cast. His back still drips wet, and you climb out of bed to finish what he started.

When you take the towel from his hand, he glances over his shoulder, smiles soft as you trail the fabric down his spine. 

Beautiful. Yours.

“You always forget your back,” you say, press an open-mouthed kiss between his shoulder blades.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Your arms circle around his waist, flesh warm and soft and sweet-smelling against your cheek. “I never can.”

“My point exactly.” He loosens your grip and turns, fits a hand beneath the hem of your shirt. Furrows his brow in thought, maybe worry. “What you said earlier. Feeling like you aren’t good enough.”

“What about it?”

“I’d like to prove you wrong. If you’ll let me.”

You would let him do anything he wanted. Not that you’d ever admit such a thing out loud. 

But the anticipation adds a heaviness to your breath and a surge of electricity to the pump of your blood.

Yes. Yes, absolutely, yes. 

“I would love that.”

He continues his ritual of stripping you. Shirt, sleep shorts, underwear. An act of reverence, soft in the way he coaxes you to bed, whispers against your skin, roams loving hands over curves and dimples and scars. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, back pressed to the sheets, head cradled by a fluffed-up pillow. 

He soothes a hand over your forehead, looks at you all low-lidded and delicate. “For what?”

“I had a moment of weakness. I know that—that she doesn’t mean anything to you now.”

He kisses you then, an appetizer of quick pecks, a palm rising over the swell of your ribcage. A simmering heat coils in the pit of your stomach, makes you fist a hand in his hair and dig fingers into the curve of his back.

His thighs move to bracket your hips, the change in angle folding your legs up toward your chest. He’s solid against you, all hard-won muscle and dizzying weight, taut in the legs to keep himself still. His length twitches against your lower belly, rests heavy and hot against your skin. 

“Leon,” you breathe, shifting your grip to just above his knee, a span of giving flesh that you can squeeze when you feel as if you might fly away.

He noses just beneath your jaw, trails open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck. Suckles at the skin, just shy of bruising damage. Gooseflesh rises, stands the hair at your nape on end, and you force a cheek into the pillow.

He pulls away, hovers over you. “What do you want?”

Your head whips around to glare at him, and you almost seethe upon witnessing the teasing grin on his face. “No. Fuck you, we’re not doing that right now.”

“Well, fucking you is kinda the end goal here. Gotta work up to it, though.”

You hate that his jesting cracks your irritated exterior. You hate it even more when your face begins to heat. You hate it even more when your lips bloom into a giddy smile.

“Fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You shove at his shoulder, and he takes the hint to roll onto his back. Splays out, bares himself for you. The lamp’s orange bloom subdues his features, and you gaze upon him, the hard—

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but you can do a lot more than stare.”

He reaches for you with a greedy hand, fingers sliding up the inside of your thigh, and a bolt of arousal twitches your hips toward his touch. Then he retreats, and you follow as if he’s leashed you. Throw a leg over his hip, seat yourself on his lower belly. 

“Higher,” he says, voice thick as honey, hands tight around the fat of your hips.

Your brain short-circuits a moment—all the blood’s been pooling between your legs—before you realize what he means. And you bite back a chest-deep groan. 

Sit on his face. 

The higher you climb, the further down he moves. Meeting you halfway, an anticipation that sends his hands shaking against the back of your thighs.

“Don’t do that hovering shit,” he says, a borderline groan, and you twitch as the heat of his breath fans between your legs. “I want you to sit. Got it?”

You’re fit to faint. He’s checking all your boxes and he looks so pretty beneath you. Hair a halo of spun gold upon the pillow, eyes dark and intense, lips pink and spitslick and perfectly inviting.

You card fingers through his hair, tug hard—hard enough that he groans, that his head tilts back at just the right angle. And you sit, just like he ordered you to. 

“Like this?” you huff. The wet heat of his tongue laves against you, over you in firm, long strokes.

His eyes close, brow knotting in focus, and a sharp squeeze to the top of your thighs serves well as his answer.

You understand now. What devotion looks like. The appeal of idolatry. He licks into you and keens so low your legs numb with static. You untangle your hand from his hair to balance yourself against the headboard, and thank fuck he truly meant ‘sit’ because your knees quickly give out in a white flag surrender to the eagerness of his mouth.

He lifts you easily, just enough to free his tongue, just enough for him to curl slick heat over the bud of your clit. His mouth begins to suckle, tongue shifts to flicking, and you almost drive your face through the headboard. 

“Oh god, fuck—“

Your breathing staccatos and your thighs shake and heat coils in the pit of your belly and he shows no sign of stopping—

Nonono not now. Wanna wait. Gotta have him inside you.

“Leon, stop.“ You push against the weight of his hands and he relents. Cushions your backward fall atop his chest. Pants deep and open-mouthed, soothes large, warm hands over the slope of your waist. He presses wet lips to the inside of your thigh and waits for your breathing to slow. For his own.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, scoot yourself down the line of his body and brace your hands on either side of his head. “Sometimes I forget that your mouth is good for other things besides getting on my nerves.”

He licks the slick from his lips and cups both hands over the curve of your ass. “One’s a job. The other’s a hobby.”

If not for the current state of your brain—utter mush—you would’ve shut him up. But he has you in a playful mood, and the sight if him all fucked-out and messy does very, very bad things to whatever braincells still survive between your ears.

“Which is which?”

“If you can’t tell, then I need more practice.”

The words force a laugh from you, and his responding smile gleams with pride. Reverence. Idolatry. You understand now.

“I love you.”

You lean forward to kiss him and taste yourself heady on his lips, smooth both hands over his chest, down the planes of his abdomen, reel back to fit yourself over the hard length of his cock. Hot and thick and fever-red at the tip. Your mouth waters, remembers the weight of him on your tongue, the breathy moans that wash over your skin when you tease the plush head. His taste.

“Later,” he says, groans deep in his chest as you grind against him until the steely flesh glistens wet. “Let me guess, you want me to beg.”

With a greedy smile, you cant your hips, catching your clit against the tip of his cock. Over and over and over again, and your head lolls back upon the approach of orgasm. The noisy schlick of each glide.

“What’ll it be?” you pant, gaze down at him through low-lidded eyes.

He wrestles with the difficulty of composure, face flushed, chest heaving, tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

A simple call of his name, a reminder of your offer, and he acts. Shoves you sideways off of him, onto your back, and pins you there with a hand pressed flat to your sternum.

“That’s not fair.” You frown in false upset, even though his precum leaks onto your belly and you part your thighs in invitation. One he gladly takes. 

“I thought I was supposed to be doing all the work.”

 “I was having fun.”

He presses a burning kiss to your lips, licks into your mouth and forces your head back into the plush of the pillow.

“Teasing’s only fun when you’re the one doing it.” His voice lowers to a grumble, a threat that twitches your hips. 

“So you get it now.”

“Trust me, I get it. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

He leans back on his haunches and smooths a hand over your belly, between the swell of your breasts, and curls thick fingers around your throat. A lingering pressure, a barely-there touch, a display of power. 

You shudder at the contact, meet the simmering shadow of his eyes, and welcome the seek of his hand between your legs. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, sinks two fingers into the wet clench of your heat. “Fuck. So perfect. So good for me, aren’t you?”

A strained noise chokes at the back of your throat, and you break eye contact to shut your eyes. The praise lances through you, rips your composure to shreds, and the perfect rhythm he fucks you with—god he knows just how you like it—leaves you whining each time he fills you up.

“Yeah. So good for you.”

“Then open your eyes.”

The hand about your neck tightens, just enough to catch your attention, enough to make you obey.

“I want you to say it. Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Another squeeze, a kiss of danger, toeing the threshold into lightheadedness. A touch that you lean into, welcome, embrace. His thumb rises to caress circles over your clit, and you can’t help but whine. Can’t help the impatient buck of your hips.

“Fuck, okay—anything. Anything.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and slicks them up and down his length. Fits the plush head against the entrance of your cunt. 

“Tell me you’re good enough.”

“Leon—“

“Tell me you’re good enough, and that nobody else matters, and that it’ll always be you.”

He’s serious. He’s serious and if you don’t say it he’ll leave you like this and you can’t let that happen. 

“I’m good enough, and nobody else matters, and it’ll always be me.”

“That’s my girl.”

An aching pressure as he slides into you, a slick heat that slackens your jaw. You reach for him, a need borne from comfort in consummation, and he fits a hand between the curve of your back and the sheets, presses firm atop you. He noses at your neck, right beneath your jaw, and begins a slow, deep rhythm with his hips.

“Love you so much,” you whisper, arms tight over his back, palms trailing the expanse of soft skin.

“Love you.”

He kisses your pulse. The pillow beneath your head shifts as he fists a hand in the fabric. Holding himself back. Allowing you time to adjust. 

It’s sweet and lovely and kind, but you need more. Always more of him. Whatever he wishes to give you.

“Leon, c’mon.”

He grumbles out his dissent but captures your lips and increases his pace, forcing a low moan from your throat.

“Was trying to be romantic,” he grits out, and you try to manage a response but the tip of his cock nudges at your cervix and the headboard rocks against the wall.

Besides, there’s nothing more romantic than getting your needs met. A good orgasm. Being worshiped by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

With one hand, you brace against the headboard, and the other draws tight circles over the slick swell of your clit.

You clench around him, and he gifts you his first moan of the night. A tight, throaty sound that leaves your belly pooling with heat.

“More of that, please,” you pant, and he laughs, breath fanning over your cheek.

The noisy glide of his cock, the weight of his body, the flowery smell of his hair—you’ve been consumed by him, by the state of your senses—all Leon, only him, always him.

The knot in your belly coils tighter, and your fingers circle faster, and your breath begins to heave, and he rises onto his hands to thrust harder, slide deeper and—

You’re gone.

His face twists up as your muscles tighten around him, and your ribs halt their breath as waves of pleasure lap over you. He fucks you through it with a choked-off moan, sliding wet through sensitive nerves, veleveteen flesh, pulsing muscles. There’s a messy gush to his thrusts, and you truly think that you might die via orgasm. A drawn-out, overwhelming affair, only ceasing when he drives in to the hilt and grips hard at your waist and whines long and low. 

He jerks inside you, curls in on himself, and you caress both hands down his tensed forearms to ease him through it. Run a hand through the softness of his hair.

Beautiful, so smart and lovely and strong and funny—yours.

Always yours.

He collapses onto his elbows, huffs out an exhausted sigh, and pulls out. Rolls onto his back beside you.

Both of you spend a worrying amount of time collecting yourself—steadying your breath, re-routing the blood to your limbs, lowering heart rates.

After a long few minutes of white noise silence, of his spend leaking onto the sheets, you sit up with a groan and turn to look at him. “Well, I think you proved your point.”

He smiles at you, a sunny gleam of teeth that tenders up your insides. Turns you soft, putty-like.

“I also have to shower again.” The roll of your eyes has him laughing and reaching for you, a hand that brushes pebbled sweat from your nose. “I’m joking.”

“You always know how to ruin the moment.”

“Maybe, but it makes you laugh.”

He’s right and you know it, and he knows you know it. Especially when a smile blooms on your face.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.”

He’s been right about a lot of things lately. His feelings for you, first off. The best way to validate his love. 

When you think of red, your blood doesn’t boil. Your throat doesn’t burn from bitterness.

You understand now. It’s in the past. She is. A piece of him, a memory that will always be there, but still, only a piece.

Nobody else matters. It’ll always be you. 

He rises from the bed and waves you over, helps you stand when your knees threaten to buckle. You glance back at the crumpled sheets, at an area darkened and wet.

“Hey, Leon?” He answers you from the bathroom, just before the shower turns on. “You’re sleeping in the wet spot tonight.”

[artbyblastweave]

So the project I'm working on may have arrived at a useful insight into resolving any lingering questions regards to the matter of the death of United States President John F. Kennedy. See, we've been working overtime to clone the man- at first I think we were planning on running some kind of quasi-Arthurian King-in-the-mountain-returns kind of scam to unify America behind a universally-appealing figurehead, and these days we're mostly just trying to figure up what was up with his hair. All that's a digression. The point is- and I'm willing to admit that the accelerated aging techniques we've been using to speed up production might be fudging this a bit, but what we've found, right, is that it probably doesn't matter who shot him because any individual sharing JFK's genetic code appears to be ontologically doomed to be killed in their biological forties by massive head trauma of some kind. It's just fate. Doesn't matter what we do, doesn't matter what measures we put in place, it just keeps happening. So far we've lost three to bog-standard out-of-the-blue aneurysms, four to shower accidents, two to horseplay, one to a secret handshake gone horribly wrong, three to baseball accidents, two to football accidents. One fatal Croquet incident, two fatal Crochet incidents. There was a thing with a falling sandbag when cohort 54z was doing their amateur production of Cats. Something really stupid happened last week that involved the compound dumbwaiter, I didn't even want to know the specifics. We took one birding and he brought the binoculars up to his eyes with too much force. We lost a dozen at once during a group trip to a travelling carnival, most of them to that strength-testing hammer game. One of them did a netti pot and there was exactly one single brain-eating amoeba in it. It never ends and it's super fucked. Honestly it's really good that we stopped teaching them what death is or else they'd be super fucking stressed all the time for no reason

[vintagedebutante]

Playing Rough

A JFK x Tomboy!Reader Fanfiction- 18+

Further Info: My first actual drabble, Kennedy Compound activities, YOU GET EATEN OUT OKAY

Word Count: 900+

A/N: I want to personally thank the numerous anons and folks who requested a fic loosely based on some hcs I wrote a little while back! I'm super proud of this one and hope you all enjoy it!

“That’s what you get for playing rough,” your neighbor, Jack, quipped through a wry smirk as his damp handkerchief made contact with the tender skin of your freshly scraped knee. You winced, but only briefly. God, his Boston accent was amusing--you could never be immune to Jack’s charm. He was right. If you had done the smart thing and not challenged your former boarding school football player neighbor to an impromptu wrestling match, you wouldn’t have been in such a position. One would have assumed you would have learned your lesson after many summers in Hyannis Port together--you’d watched Jack roughhouse with your two older brothers for years. But, this time, you wanted in on the action--which, in hindsight, you realized was a big mistake. 

“I guess so, Kennedy,” you laughed.

On a better day, you swore you could have taken Jack. As the youngest girl in a family of mostly boys, wrestling was routine for you. However, it seemed like the universe had other plans when you slipped on a wet patch of grass while trying to hook your arm around Jack’s sturdy neck, sending you both tumbling to the ground. While Jack got off scot-free, you were stuck with a nasty scrape, and less importantly, a stained skirt--which wasn’t a problem for you per se, but something your parents would certainly not have appreciated. You wanted to walk it off, but Jack insisted on carrying you to the steps of his family’s massive mansion’s wraparound porch. Normally, you would have found this humiliating. But, with everyone else currently inside, you didn’t see a problem. 

Jack knelt, dabbing your aching knee with a feather’s touch. He could be such a gentleman, you thought. Yet, you were certain that from this angle he must have had a clear view up your skirt--the thought of which brought color to your cheeks. You had always found Jack handsome, an impossible notion to verbalize in a house full of rowdy men. Showing any hint of interest in a friend of your brothers would have gotten you teased to no end. Even in their absence, you found yourself flooded with nerves.

Your train of thought halted when Jack pulled a long gauze bandage out of his left pocket--something he must have grabbed when he wet his handkerchief inside. 

“Here, can you move your leg?” Jack asked. 

You giggled coyly at his pronunciation of the word “here” as he nudged your legs apart with his rough, callused hands. Jack inched closer, wrapping your knee with the care and caution of a longtime friend. It was such a kind gesture, though, you noted your family would have been livid had they seen the position you were in. You couldn’t care less about etiquette or society’s expectations for young women of your financial standing, but, the sight of a man between a woman’s legs for any reason would have undoubtedly caused a scandal--especially the son of such a prominent family. You were thankful for the evening sky for hiding your rapidly reddening cheeks.

You watched intently as Jack tied the ends of the gauze into a neat bow at the base of your kneecap. The sensation of Jack’s hot breath on the soft skin of your thigh sent a waterfall of shivers down your spine. You had no choice but to let out a small, flustered moan, which you attempted to muffle with your hand to no success. Your eyes darted to the man before you. There was no way in hell he hadn’t heard... 

“Be quiet now,” Jack urged, slithering between your legs. You nodded in acceptance, unable to form words. You were in disbelief.

Hastily, Jack moved closer, pulling your underwear to the side just enough to fully expose you to the night air. You immediately felt a rush of cold--had you soaked through them already?

“Excited, are we?” Jack sounded amused--your question had been answered.

Jack clutched your hips and pressed the heft of his hot, wet tongue to your throbbing clit just enough to make you dizzy. You regretted agreeing to silence moments earlier, every fiber of your being longed to cry out in pleasure. You gripped your skirt tightly as Jack began to slowly circle your most sensitive place. The feeling was indescribable. It was as if a round of fireworks had been lit in your abdomen; white-hot, almost too much.

Jack’s tongue traveled, parting your lips to meet your growing wetness with vigorous licks. You noted how enjoyable the smooth sensation of Jack’s tongue against you was... He was voracious. His saliva mixed with your pleasure formed a small puddle beneath you. You bucked your hips in rhythm, eager for more. 

Swiftly, Jack moved his tongue back to your pulsating clit, repeating the same slow circular motion from moments earlier. You felt the fireworks return, stronger this time. You parted your lips anticipatorily, desperately trying to remain silent. Suddenly, you felt your abdomen contract, followed by a rapturous shower of euphoria. It was like being overtaken by a large wave--you nearly went cross-eyed as your toes curled inside your patent leather shoes. You began panting heavily in an attempt to catch your breath.

Jack came up for air, wiping the lower half of his face with the back of his hand. He looked so pleased with himself. 

“Don’t even think about telling my brothers,” you whispered half-jokingly, struggling to stand up. Jack offered you a hand.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jack laughed.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

♾️ Books for World Autism Month + Neurodiversity Celebration Week

♾️ The last week of March was Neurodiversity Celebration Week. My post is (obviously) late, but April is also World Autism Month (beginning with World Autism Awareness Day on April 2). To generate additional awareness, here are a few books by autistic authors and/or about autistic characters. First slide features books coming out later this year. On the last slide, you'll also find books with additional neurodiversity rep (including characters with ADHD, dyslexia, and OCD).

✨ The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester - Maya MacGregor ✨ Unbroken ed. - Marieke Nijkamp ✨ The Reanimator’s Heart - Kara Jorgensen ✨ An Unkindness of Ghosts - Rivers Solomon ✨ Failure to Communicate - Kaia Sønderby ✨ Hazelthorn - CG Drews ✨ Don’t Forget to Breathe - Brianna R. Shrum and Sara Waxelbaum ✨ Hollow - Taylor Grothe ✨ Compound Fracture - Andrew Joseph White ✨ To a Darker Shore - Leanne Schwartz ✨ The Problem with Gravity - Michelle Mohrweis ✨ Ellen Outside the Lines - A.J. Sass

✨ The Bride Test - Helen Hoang ✨ Daniel, Deconstructed - James Ramos ✨ Tonight We Rule the World - Zack Smedley ✨ Paige Not Found - Jen Wilde ✨ Something More - Jackie Khalilieh ✨ Uncomfortable Labels - Laura Kate Dale ✨ The Luis Ortega Survival Club - Sonora Reyes ✨ Margo Zimmerman Gets the Girl - Brianna R. Shrum and Sara Waxelbaum ✨ The Spirit Bares Its Teeth - Andrew Joseph White ✨ The Brightsiders - Jen Wilde ✨ The Boys in the Back Row - Mike Jung ✨ Hating Jesse Harmon - Robin Mimna

✨ Queens of Geek - Jen Wilde ✨ The Maid - Nita Prose ✨ The Heart Principle - Helen Hoang ✨ The Girl Who Played with Fire - Stieg Larsson ✨ Even If We Break - Marieke Nijkamp ✨ The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time - Mark Haddon ✨ Unseelie - Ivelisse Housman ✨ This Could Be Us - Kennedy Ryan ✨ Act Your Age, Eve Brown - Talia Hibbert ✨ The Kiss Quotient - Helen Hoang ✨ On the Edge of Gone - Corinne Duyvis ✨ Against the Stars - Christopher Hartland

✨ Tell Me How It Ends - Quinton Li ✨ Izzy at the End of the World - K.A. Reynolds ✨ Late Bloomer - Mazey Eddings ✨ Fake It Till You Bake It - Jamie Wesley ✨ Whatever Happens - Micalea Smeltzer ✨ Gimmicks and Glamour - Lauren Melissa Ellzey ✨ Last Call at the Local - Sarah Grunder Ruiz ✨ Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling - Elise Bryant ✨ The Charm Offensive - Alison Cochrun ✨ A Prayer for Vengeance - Leanne Schwartz ✨ Tilly in Technicolor - Mazey Eddings ✨ If Only You - Chloe Liese

✨ The Unbalancing - R.B. Lemberg ✨ The Outside by Ada Hoffmann ✨ Stars in the Daylight Sky - Maya MacGregor ✨ The Broposal - Sonora Reyes

[shedidntevenswear]

i do see the point of people being like "T is for Taylor, she's her own woman" like in a vacuum i would agree but this is world's #1 lovergirl. this is the woman that bought a house down the street from the Kennedy compound like three weeks into dating that kid. she's written sonnets about someone looking at her sideways since she was like twelve. it's not beyond the realm of possibility that SHE fully intended it as T being for Travis lol.

[withthecolorizedkennedys]

Robert F. Kennedy with his niece Caroline Kennedy at the family compound in Hyannis Port, 1964

colorized by me!

[melancholicstation]

and in a blink of a crinkling eye, i'm sinking, our fingers entwined, cheeks pink in the twinkling lights, tell me 'bout the first time you saw me!

thinking about being in a love triangle over one tumultuous yet very brief summer spent sailing the rocky shores of the cape and leading on flirting with both boys atop the bow of your families boat. think the lyric video for 'this love' by taylor swift, think tiny (yes, i may be straddling the fence of period appropriate costuming but c'est la vie) polyester cut-out one pieces such as this one, or this one, rum and butterscotch ice cream cones from the four seas shop... and maybe you stroll down to the kennedy compound with two extra peach flavoured cones... or forgot the second one entirely and make them work for the last cone, who knows! which leads to a very public outburst hours later between the brothers at the baxter's wharf...

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: the first time you meet coriolanus snow, you're unsure how to gauge him. but a conversation opens a new door for you politically. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: consumption of alcohol ⊹ word count: 3331 ⊹ author’s note: I'm so excited to finally post this hehe. I know everyone has been so hype about this series and I'm proud to introduce to you the first chapter. any feedback is welcome. ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

It’s a peculiarly warm day in New England despite traces of snow still blanketing the dead grass in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. A blizzard had blown through the night you arrived, and the remains of the storm are now melting away with each passing moment. A veil of mist hangs in the air by the ocean, the mixture of freezing sea water and balmy air still trickling in from the middle Atlantic lingers. You’re watching the thin fog swirl around in the cool breeze as you stand in front of the formal living room window. The Kennedy Compound is just far enough from the beach that you can see it clearly from the front of the main house where you currently reside. And though a part of you longs to be outside after being cooped up for days due to that nasty winter storm, you’d rather not be bombarded with the still fairly bitter and salty air. Thin, long sleeves cover your arms as they cross over your chest despite the warmth of the fire in the den nearby. The house is still and silent. Everyone seems to be off doing their own thing after dinner wrapped up not long ago.

At 18 years old and beginning your secondary education journey, you never would have believed that you’d be where you are a decade later. You’re now 28, working toward your dual-title doctorate in political science and history at Harvard University. You’re so close to finally graduating, and it’s almost bittersweet. You wish your parents were around to see it. You’re the first in your entire family to go to university, not to mention the first to go to Harvard. Going to such a pristine school is unheard of in your neighborhood. What’s more unheard of, is your privilege to closely study and research your chosen dissertation topic. You decided you would research the life and ongoing legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. 

Except for the amount of data and information you need, you have to interview and research extensively. Which means having to eventually meet the man himself. 18-year-old you also would never believe that you would meet the President and shake his hand. Or even get to know him past the facade he puts on for the world. But it doesn’t stop there. Due to the difficulty of getting ahold of John F. Kennedy after his passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1963 and the Interracial Marriage Act, a decision was ultimately made. The chaos of Capitol Hill and the citizens of the United States pushed John F. Kennedy to leave for the holidays much sooner than usual. After getting to know you well enough over a few months, the decision was made that John F. Kennedy would invite you to stay with him and his family in Hyannis Port. Just for a few weeks, through Christmas and New Year. It isn’t like you had anything else to do or anyone to spend it with. Besides, this will be your chance to get exclusive information about the man and his family for your dissertation. 

So here you are in the Kennedy family home. In the last week you’ve been here, you’ve gotten to know Jack and his family quite well. You had insisted on remaining professional and calling Jack by his real name, but he refused that. “All my friends call me Jack.”

You’ve gotten the inside scoop on Jack’s childhood and his chronic illness that has carried into adulthood. The military history in the family has also been spilled to you, and not a single detail has fallen on deaf ears. You’ve filled two notebooks already. When you aren’t scribbling down everything, you’re nose-deep in a book Jack has written. Currently, you’re reading Profiles in Courage and have found it quite interesting. You decide you’ve done enough staring out the window and that you’d join Bobby and Ted outside at the bonfire. Once you’re outside, they’re heading back indoors. But they offer to leave the fire going for you. Graciously, you accept their offer and take a seat by the warm flames, opening up Profiles in Courage.

You’re blissfully unaware of how much time has passed, your eyes eagerly scanning each word in each line as if they’d disappear any moment. You almost don’t notice the sound of snow crunching underneath someone’s approaching feet.

“Sorry to bother you, but Jack is asking for you inside.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of a man’s voice that you don’t recognize. You peer over your book at him and gauge that he must be safe, even if you don’t know who he is, considering the house is crawling with security.

“Alright, then,” you nod, putting your book down before standing up, stretching, and brushing yourself off. 

You look closer at the man before you as the orange flicker of the fire basks him in an angelic glow. His hair is a mess of stark blonde curls, and he’s in a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up his forearms.

“And who might you be, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head slightly in confusion.

“Excuse my lack of introduction. My name is Coriolanus Snow. Jack’s best friend.”

You quirk an eyebrow, exhaling a laugh, “But Lem is Jack’s best friend.”

The blonde man chuckles, taking a step closer to you, “Well, maybe there’s a lot about Jack you don’t know about just yet.”

You narrow your eyes at this Coriolanus Snow, not caring that your shoulder collides with him as you swerve around his tall figure. You walk briskly back to the main house, wondering how this mystery man has yet to be brought up. When you enter the front door, Jackie is holding John Jr. in the foyer. 

“I was just looking for you, dear,” she says, “Jack is asking for you.” 

“So I’ve heard,” you raise your eyebrows at Jackie, and John Jr. reaches for you. You poke the boy on the tip of his nose.

Jackie gives you a confused look, but you’re quick to explain, “Some man outside said that Jack was. He isn’t Secret Service.”

Realization crosses her soft features, “Ah, Coriolanus, I’m guessing?”

“You’d be correct.”

“He’s a long-time friend of Jack’s from Harvard. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. His father was a New York senator for years.”

“Can’t say I’m too familiar with the Snows,” you purse your lips together, “But if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see what Jack needs me for.”

Jackie lifts John Jr.’s hand to wave goodbye to you, and you give him a big smile, waving back. You walk through the den to the staircase, trodding up the stairs until you reach the landing. The office is immediately to your right, and when you approach the door, you knock. When you do, the slightly ajar door opens wide enough to see Jack laughing and conversing with someone in the room. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt-“ you begin as you step inside the office, but you still yourself quickly.

Your eyes meet Coriolanus Snow’s steely blue ones as he leans against Jack’s desk, his forearms bearing his weight. His head is turned to you, his face appearing as if he were shocked by your arrival. 

You clear your throat, fixing your gaze back onto your original point of interest, “But I was told you were requesting my presence?”

“Yes, I was,” Jack smiles at you from his spot in his desk chair, “I’d like you to meet Coriolanus Snow, a great friend and colleague of mine. We attended Harvard way back when.”

Coriolanus stands up, straightening himself out. You notice he has an air about him that oozes confidence and prestige. His presence and towering height would seem intimidating to some upon the first meeting. Not to you, however. With your life focus being on politics, you’re quite desensitized from men and their faux personas.

“Nice to meet you,” you bite back a remark about already meeting Jack’s friend and stick out a hand, face blank and expressionless, “I currently attend Harvard myself.”

“Coriolanus, this is the bright Ph.D. student I was telling you about. She will be here until the New Year,” Jack says, a prideful grin on his face as he motions to you, “Be nice to her, she’s known to hold her ground.”

“I can tell,” Coriolanus gives Jack a close-lipped smile, his eyes averting to you.

You stand by Jack almost protectively, unsure of how to feel about the blonde man before you. The fact he managed to beat you inside and upstairs when you left him outside first made you wonder. Coriolanus’s physique in itself is alluring and piques your interest. He also seems quick-witted and the type to be a few steps ahead of everyone. It’s not hard to gauge this just from a few exchanged words. You’ve been studying and shadowing long enough to know who you’re interacting with. You study political science, for crying out loud. You know a born and bred power-hungry man when you see one. But at the end of the day, they’re just flesh and blood like those outside of the game. That’s the historian part of you trying not to judge Coriolanus so hard. You don’t know all the facts yet. If Jack is friends with him, he may not be so bad, despite the dark vibe he gives off. But you want to figure out why he appears so stiff.

“Coriolanus will be staying with us until New Year,” Jack turns to you, patting your back as he notices your shift in mood, “You don’t mind some extra company, do ya?”

“Not at all,” you smile sweetly at your mentor before turning to Coriolanus, “Besides, there’s still a lot about you that I don’t know about just yet. And I’d love to hear all about it.”

Jack hums in agreement. Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at you, and you raise yours back. He clears his throat, standing up slightly straighter than previously.

“I can always pour us some wine, and we can discuss some lighthearted details before turning in,” Coriolanus offers you, “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“That sounds lovely. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must grab my belongings from outside, and then I’ll be available in the den, Coriolanus.”

Jack and Coriolanus watch as you leave the room, closing the door behind you. Jack feels fairly content and is proud of his esteemed shadow getting along with his best friend. Or, appearing to be, anyway. Coriolanus is silent and remains neutral in his facial expression. He carefully turns the idea of you over and over in his head. There’s something to your character that intrigues him. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t figure it out.

When Jack and Coriolanus wrap up their conversation, you’re getting settled in the den. You’re curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, continuing your book from earlier. You circle a sentence that catches your attention, gnawing on the tip of the pen as you think of what Jack could have meant by this specific statement. You’re ripped from your thoughts when a hand delicately holds a glass of blood-red wine in front of you.

You abruptly close your book, taking the glass of wine, “Thank you.”

You don’t look at Coriolanus as he sits down, and he does so quietly without breaking his eyes from you. He keeps his focus on you as he sips his wine, and you can feel him do so as you stare into the flames in front of the couch.

“So,” Coriolanus clears his throat, “How long have you known Jack?”

You pause, taking your time to swallow your wine before glancing over to Coriolanus with little to no expression. You flash him a closed-lip smile before setting your glass down on the table, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”

Coriolanus is taken aback, not showing it other than his raised brows before responding, “I see. And what makes you think I already know the answer to that?”

“Despite what society may think, a woman isn’t as daft as she appears to be. Given a man in her presence is smart enough to know that she isn’t, anyway,” you stare at him, unblinking, “No offense Senator Snow, but I know you’re a man of Harvard. And you know I’m a woman of Harvard, so let’s cut the chit-chat.”

Coriolanus slides his tongue across his teeth underneath his closed mouth before chuckling smartly, “I can see why Jack chose you. And you’re right, I did know the answer. But not every source is reliable.”

You lean down to retrieve your drink, “And why would Jack be an unreliable source?”

Coriolanus shrugs, “Well, as I’m sure you know, Jack knows his way around the ladies.”

“Am I supposed to be offended by this common knowledge, Mister Snow?” you swirl your wine around in the glass, peering up at him warningly.

“Of course not,” he furrows his brows, shaking his head in light disgust, “But you’re not unattractive by any means, miss.”

You scoff, “I’m very well aware. But your suggestion that I would entertain a superior I’m studying for one thing is pretty crass.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand, “You know how Jack is-”

“Yes, I do,” you say sternly, “However, I’d never involve myself in nonsense.”

“And why is that?”

You tilt your head at the man, laughing in awe at his brazenness, “For starters, he has a loving and caring wife. Someone I rather respect and admire, actually.”

Coriolanus nods, sipping his wine without a word. It’s not the only reason, of course. But it takes anyone with common sense to know why you wouldn’t so much as poke Jack with a ten-foot stick. Yet you still decide to take this friend of Jack’s by surprise.

“And besides,” you shrug, “I prefer blondes,” you say plainly, throwing back the remainder of your wine as Coriolanus fights to keep his jaw from dropping.

“Now,” you lean against your knee that’s crossed over your other leg, holding your empty glass out to Coriolanus, “I’m studying the man and have studied him for years already. So, how about you tell me something I don’t know, hm?”

It takes a little while for Coriolanus to warm up to your snarky attitude, given he is the reason you have one. But you also take some time to soften up yourself. You aren’t always so bitey- not unless deeply provoked. And all that Coriolanus Snow has done is provoke you as long as you’ve known him, which has only been a few hours. But the more the two of you talk and drink, the more you both begin to unravel. It takes about three glasses of vintage wine to make Coriolanus crack a genuine smile for the first time in front of you. Which, by all means, was not normal for him, especially around someone he just met. More so around a woman in general. However, just as you know there’s something to Coriolanus, he knows there’s something to you as well. And he has barely even scratched the surface.

“One night during his campaign, he had a little too much to drink at a dinner, and his accent was so thick I had to translate,” Coriolanus says, his chin resting in his hand. His arm is propped on the arm of the couch that you are perched on where he now also sits. Coriolanus is far enough from you to be civil but close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. For someone with such a cold demeanor, he could put the fireplace to shame.

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “That’s actually quite funny, considering how thick it is in general. I can’t imagine how it must sound while he’s a few sheets to the wind.”

“Exactly,” Coriolanus lifts his finger from his glass to point at you, “But in actuality, it was a test.”

You look at him confused as you pour a fourth glass for yourself, “How so?”

“Jack wanted to make sure I knew what to say to voters and donors,” Coriolanus says, finishing his wine.

You offer to pour him more, to which he accepts, “Why would that matter?”

“He knew I was planning to run this year.”

You set the bottle of wine down, “To run?” you repeat, openly laughing now, “For what? Cabinet?”

“No. President.”

The burn of alcohol shoots pitifully through your sinuses, nearly exiting your nose as you struggle to cover your obvious laugh. You sniff harshly, covering your mouth and nose with the back of your hand as you swallow the remainder of the wine, recovering the best you can before answering.

“Normally, I’d believe a senator who says that, but before today I had no idea who you were, Coriolanus,” you look at him incredulously, “The election is eleven months away now. You need to, and pardon me when I say this, light a fire under your ass.”

Now it’s Coriolanus’s turn to laugh, “Shocking you’ve never heard of me, considering you’re a political science guru.”

“Shocking that I’ve never heard of you, considering you’re a senator of the United States of America under John F. Kennedy and running for the thirty-sixth President of the United States,”  you bark in response, your initial disliking of this man rising back to the surface.

Coriolanus’s jaw jerks to the side before he looks down in his lap, nodding to himself, “No, you’re right. I do need to light a fire under my ass.”

You shrug, finishing your wine and not bothering for another glass.

“How about since you made me realize this, you can help me out.”

You set the empty glass on the table before sinking back into the couch, crossing your arms as you look straight at Coriolanus, “Help you out with what, exactly?”

“My campaign,” Coriolanus says.

“You’re terribly hilarious, you know. I have too much to worry about right now to help a grown man who should already have a plan if he truly wanted to win the election.”

Coriolanus goes to defend himself, but you interrupt, “Before you give me some sort of excuse, yes, I know you’re a grown man. Yes, I do have too much to worry about. I’m literally writing a book about a man and his entire life. Yes, you most definitely should already have a plan by now if you want to win.”

Coriolanus just stares at you, unsure of what to say, but again you give your two cents, “And yes, as much as I probably shouldn’t, I will help you. But you will owe me big time. Got it?”

It takes a moment for Coriolanus to realize you’ve agreed to help out, but when he does, there’s a slight glow of gratitude in his eyes, “Thank you. I know I’m seriously behind, but I know I can do this. Especially if someone as well-endowed as you is helping me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m well-endowed in more ways than one, but politics is just the icing on the cake, sweetheart. So, let’s continue this tomorrow before I fall asleep here.”

Standing up from the couch after numerous glasses of wine has proven tricky. Your head swims, and you sway slightly from side to side. Coriolanus has to rest a gentle hand on the small of your back in order for you to steady yourself. You glance at him, letting your eyes linger in silent thanks, before collecting yourself and walking out of the den into the hallway. After putting your book and notes away, you strip your clothing and curl up under the soft duvet on your bed. Hopefully, your craving for political experience and curiosity in your interest won’t land you into trouble with Coriolanus Snow. But you’re eager to find out. 

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover  @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove @ilikefictionalmen @etfrin @xyraphine @arzua10 @shadowolf993 @niki-is-a-thing @ashy-kit @snowsgames @impeterporker @randomgurl2326 @tspilled @tonixe @sammythecat7 @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0 @ebsmind

[dreamofstarlight]

Jean, Jackie, and Eunice on the Kennedy Compound in 1953