#Trump Really Liked His Boxes

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Exactly.

Wherever this Chris Christie has been for the last eight years, his re-emergence as a truth-telling ass kicker who isn’t afraid of other politicians is an interesting development in a party wholly defined by its intellectual and moral cowardice. Christie is the only GOP candidate who is not abjectly terrified of Trump and his mob. Every other candidate is terrified — and it shows.

Will the voters listen, or will a man with no regard for our safety, sovereignty, and freedom be given the power to destroy the American republic? Should the republic die, it will be from the neglect of citizens who didn’t care about their own freedom, and more disturbingly, that of their children. The cause of death will be apathy and an absence of love and gratitude.

All around the world there are Americans who are in harm’s way working to protect the United States. They are involved in dangerous and deadly work. It is their lives that Donald Trump was risking so cavalierly. It was also the pilots who would be called on to fly into Iranian or Chinese airspace. It was the submariners who provide the nuclear deterrent. It was the CIA officer in the back alley in a foreign land far from home. Trump betrayed every one of them.

Trump will have his days in court, and like every criminal defendant in the United States, he is presumed innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Yet, the indictment alone is enough as a matter of fact for the entire country to reach a verdict about Trump’s abject disregard, recklessness, and unfitness. More importantly, it provides a last and final opportunity for Republican officials who have been elected and sworn oaths to the US constitution to put the nation first for once, at long last. Why won’t any of them simply say enough already? Again, the diagnosis is plastered on each of their yellowed foreheads: cowardice. Trump is bigger than America to them. They are his stooges, and stooges cannot be patriots. They are the greatest collective disgrace in America’s political history, not counting the Confederacy. Shameful doesn’t begin to describe it.

[Steve Schmidt on Substack]

[ickadori]

++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio’s spouse winds up in prison. special treatment ensues.

[cws] gender neutral reader. fluff.

“What you did was incredibly stupid.”

“I’d like to think it was very brave, actually.” You quip back, lips pursed as you turn up your chin. “You should be proud of me, really.”

“I should be proud that you got yourself thrown in prison?” You don’t have to look up to know that Wriothesley is sporting an incredulous expression. “Did they knock your head around a bit before bringing you down here?”

“You’re acting like I murdered someone.” You finally meet his gaze, and you resist the urge to sink down into your seat at the clear disapproval in his eyes. “All I did was—”

“Break into the Opera Epiclese and destroy government property.”

“That’s such a trumped-up charge!” You huff and roughly cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing as you think back on the charges that had been slapped down onto you by that damned archon. “You trip in the dark and accidentally fall into the oratrice and all of a sudden you’re a criminal. Hmph!”

“Yeah, exactly. It also doesn’t help that you broke in—”

“—I left my bracelet in there after the trial! Was I just supposed to leave it behind and potentially lose it forever? The condition of the lost and found in that place is downright terrible—the guards pocket all the good stuff.”

“You could have bought another one.”

“Not like this one.” You look down to the gray bracelet encircling your wrist, and a warmth spreads in your chest as you gently twist it around, finger rubbing over the messily written engraving on the inside of it. “This was a gift.”

“Hardly.” He sighs, and your eyes flick up to watch as he runs his hands through his already messy hair. “It’s just scrap metal I bent up and welded because I couldn’t buy you proper jewelry back when I was a prisoner.” It’s his turn to look at the bracelet.

“You were so creative back then.” You smile a bit wider. “I remember you used to have something new made every time I came to visit you. What was that one thing you made? The one that we painted together?”

“The ballerina music box.” He groaned, looking a bit embarrassed, and you snapped your fingers.

“The ballerina music box!” The ballerina was a bit oddly shaped, and the box had sharp corners on one side and rounded on the other, and the song the box played was distorted and sounded more creepy than relaxing due to some disfigured cogs, but you loved it nonetheless, and had even sobbed in thanks when he had first presented the gift to you. “I love that little box.”

“It looks like a child made it.”

“A child in the throes of eleazar, yes,” you nod, and his mouth opens a bit in surprise before he huffs out a laugh. “But I still love it… because you made it.” You give him a sweet smile, and you can see him soften up before your very own eyes; broad shoulders losing that rigidness, lids lowering, crease between his dark, thick brows disappearing.

“You’re tryin’ to butter me up.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Is it working?”

“Not at all, jailbird.” He gives you a smile of his own, and despite the clear sarcasm in it, you can’t help the little flutter your heart does at the sight. “No special treatment for you.” So he says, yet he had placed a cup of tea down for you the moment you were brought to his office, and had even tried to inconspicuously nudge the basket of cookies in your direction, pretending not to notice when you reached for one. “Spouse or not.”

“What a mean man.” You slouch down in your seat. “I treasure the gifts that my lovely, amazing, strong, handsome, and so so so incredibly smart husband gives me and what do I get in return? A criminal record and unfair treatment! I’m suing the entire nation the moment I’m free!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand in the air as if fanning away the conversation, and now it’s your turn to huff. “For the few days that you’re here, you’ll be working directly with me in exchange for coupons.” He takes a slow sip of his tea, adams apple bobbing as he swallows, before gently setting the cup back down onto its small plate. “I’ll make your first job real easy to get you in the swing of things.”

“How kind of you.”

He just barely contains an amused smile. “Very. Now…” He shifts in his seat. “Give me a kiss.”

“I’m married, Your Grace.”

“I’m sure your husband won’t mind. Kiss. Now.” He taps a finger against his lips, and after a moment you stand up and round his desk, hands finding his shoulders as you bend at the waist so your noses brush.

“My husband is a very good fighter, by the way. When he finds out you twisted his spouses’s arm like this, he’ll pummel you.”

“I can handle him.” A hand snags you by the waist, forcing you down into his lap, and you only have time to let out a quiet yelp before Wriothesley’s lips are on yours. The kiss is slow, sensual, and it brings a warmth to your cheeks and covers you with a bashful cloak when he pulls back to let his eyes roam over your face. “I’ve gotta say… your husband is a real lucky guy to snatch up someone as cute as you.”

“Hmph. Seems like you’re trying to butter me up now.”

“Is it working?” He presses his face into your neck, his lips pulling into a smile against your skin, and you have to fight back one of your own.

“Not at all, jailbird.”

[luveline]

hiiii not sure if your requests are open but if they aren’t just ignore this😭

imagine getting into an argument with james, sirius, and remus because you brought a stray kitten or something home and you really don’t have the room for a kitten

“but look at him🥺”

“no”

“🥺”

“… no” *less convincingly*

You hold the kitten in your hand. Remus strokes her head, her little damp ears. “It's not about that, Remus, I just couldn't leave her there, the box was falling apart and… I thought that only happened in movies.” 

Sirius leans forward on his knees to give the kitten a stroke of his own. “She's lovely,” he murmurs, scratching under her chin and grinning when she moves into it for more. “It's too bad the flat's so small. Otherwise we could keep her.” 

She's tortoise shell with a white half circle around her mouth, eyes squinted closed as she shivers. You've wrapped her in a tea towel like a blanket. She is, without a doubt, that cutest and saddest creature you've ever seen. “Where is she supposed to go, Siri?” you ask gently. 

“People love cats.” Sirius puts his hand on Remus' thigh casually, giving it a loving squeeze as he settles in. “Everybody wants a kitten.” 

But not everyone will be nice to a kitten. She feels like your responsibility now; how can you leave her? She's burrowed into you from the moment you picked her up, shushing and murmuring, your knees sodden in the puddle of rainwater beneath you both. 

“We have to keep her, please,” you say. 

There's a mutual surprise. “Dove, we can't,” Remus says. “The bathroom barely fits the toilet, shower, and sink, we'd never be able to have a litter box.” 

“It wouldn't be fair,” Sirius agrees, “on us or the kitten, she'd have no room once she turns into a cat.” 

You bring the kitten close to your chest and show them her helpless face. “But look at her,” you say softly, widening your eyes gently, your brows bunched together in the beginnings of heartbreak. 

“No,” Remus says, shaking his head sympathetically. 

You frown at him and Sirius in turn, your bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. 

“No,” he says again, sounding unsure. 

Sirius rubs his leg. “Stay strong, my love.” 

“There's just not enough room.” 

You fear you may be losing this battle, and if they really don't want a cat, maybe you shouldn't force them. But then your trump card comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, shirtless, grey joggers low on his hips, and you know you still have a chance. 

“Wow, Jamie,” you say, not having to act very much to give your voice a hoarse rasp, “you might need to shower again.” 

His smile is magnetic. “Yeah?” he asks, immediately delighted by such a brazen comment. “How's the little sweetheart? Reckon we can leave her alone?” 

“She's cold still,” you say.

James visibly melts at your sad tone, while Remus rolls his eyes. “She's just trying to get you on her side, James. I've said we can't keep the cat and she's–” 

“Taking advantage of her feminine wiles?” Sirius suggests. 

“Cheating,” Remus finishes. 

James leans over the back of the sofa between your head and Remus to kiss behind your ear, a brief press of the lips. “Why should I care? Doesn't she deserve her own way?” 

“It's not as though I'm lying,” you say guiltily. 

James laughs and kisses your jaw. You bring your shoulder up to your chin and flush with heat at such a simple thing, trying your hardest not to jostle the kitten in your hand as he wraps an arm around your front, resting his face against yours. The wet curls of his hair are cold on your skin, and the straight line of his jaw digs in. “I know,” he says. 

“Catch on, Jamie,” Remus says. 

“Shan't, won't.” Another kiss to your cheek. 

“Please, Remus, I promise if you don't want her then I won't make you, but if it's about room, of course there's enough. The four of us manage to squeeze in, don't we?” You lean into James’ embrace, eyes melty-soft. You're practically batting your eyelashes at him. 

Sirius flops into Remus’ lap with a resigned sigh. “If you don't say yes, I will anyway. Look at her.” 

You don't know if he means the kitten or you, but you choose to believe it's you he's complimenting, and you react accordingly, your little smile pushing Remus completely over the edge. 

He sighs. “Yes, alright. Fine.” 

You pass James the little warm parcel of fur and use your freshly emptied hands to grab Remus by both arms. “Thank you! Aw, thank you, Remus. Sirius. I'll be so absolutely clean and if it does seem too small I promise, I won't make anyone suffer.” 

“I never thought you would,” he says. “If you really want to keep her, I can't stop you. I'm your boyfriend, not a prison warden.” 

“Well, we share a home–” 

“I know,” he says warmly, “it's alright. Keep your kitten, dove. Looks like you've found her for a reason.” 

You laugh happily and gather him up for a hug. “Oh, I love you.” 

“What shall we name her?” Sirius asks around you. 

“I'm not fussed. What do you like?” James asks. 

Sirius meets your eyes as you and Remus pull apart. “You always get your way, hmm? Why don't you name her?” 

Oh, you could hug him to death too. He looks comfortable where he is, his face on Remus thigh, hair fanned out over his joggers, and you don't want to disturb him (he's not quite as tactile as the others), so you stroke a curl from his cheek and offer him a cheeky smile. “Don't you have any ideas?” you ask. 

“About you, or the cat?” 

You laugh at his teasing. “Which one do you think?” 

Remus nudges you in the ribs. “Don't start. If we're keeping your cat, we need to go out, don't we? You'll have to go get dressed again.”

You give them all a glowing smile and clamber off of the sofa to find your shoes. 

[centrally-unplanned]

VOR: Henry Kissinger

Ugh, HUGELY overrated, Bismark has nothing on him. What, truly are his accomplishments? Oh, rapprochement with China? You mean the country that had just experienced a huge split with the Soviet Union, to the point where they were scared of military conflict, that was simultaneously backing North Vietnam in a war against the US? And so we opened doors to them and gave them literally everything they asked for, hanging Taiwan out to dry, and in return got absolutely nothing; China's aid to North Vietnam actually *increased* the year after? The corpse of a roadkill dog could have done that.

The "cease fire" with North Vietnam? That's just losing with coat of paint to poorly cover the shame! At least he had the self-respect to try to return his Nobel Peace prize. Ho Chi Minh handed him his ass on a platter and somehow that is a win on his ledger.

Accelerating arms sales to the Shah of Iran in order to back separatist fighters in Iraq? Whoops! Wow, that uh, wow what a call there. Really picked the right side.

Coup against Allende in Chile? That went well! Not to mention...he didn't. Chile coup'd Chile, Allende was a complete disaster imploding the country's economy. The Chilean military asked for permission as like a token gesture, we gave them support that didn't matter. Its like taking credit for a sports team win because you bought box seats, except at this game they dropped the opposing team's family out of a helicopter headfirst onto the pitch.

All the SALT treaty stuff started under Johnson, he continued it which is fine but is VORcel stuff. His grand "pivot to Europe" was trying to link trade policy to increases in defense spending from European partners...which didn't happen. They didn't increase them. We gave them trade deals anyway. Its fucking Trump without the memes.

On March 1, 1973, Kissinger stated, "The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy, and if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern.

Awww "I'm such a cool little edgy boy, look at me and my joke about the Holocaust when discussing systemic discrimination against Jews the Soviet Union, surely this will somehow score me Realpolitik points on the Big Board that I can cash in for prize money while shedding America's moral legitimacy because it makes my dick hard."

He is the academic definition of style over substance, snottily walking from fuck-up to disaster to status-quo free ride and putting a pithy quote about The Nature of Power over it to pretend he had any to begin with. Hurry up and die already so I can stop running into you haggling over hostess tips at overpriced Georgetown restaurants.

F-

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday! Could you continue the naruto daughter of the homage series?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Naruto doesn’t feel comfortable going back to the tower until the Suna kids have collected their scroll and arrived. Gaara had killed nine people – three teams total – in that time. None of them Konoha, thankfully, but that’s mostly due to her team and Itachi engaging in some creative luring and misdirection. The Konoha Twelve can be redirected outright by one of her clones, but the other leaf genin that she doesn’t know as well have to be lured rather than instructed. Getting their own scroll is more an afterthought than anything else.

They probably should have thinned the herd a little more. Now they’re having preliminary matches, which is just another chance for Gaara to kill one of her shinobi.

Great.

“Is that Orochimaru?” Sakura hisses, looking up at the spectator box. “Isn’t he a missing nin?”

Naruto flickers her glance upward, but she’d already known he was attending. What does surprise her are the two people by his side. “Yeah, but he’s also the Otokage, and one sort of trumps the other. Dad gave up on that one a long time ago, and Sarutobi still likes him besides. That’s not the interesting part.”

Jiraiya sends intelligence back to the village frequently enough, but she’s never thought she’d seen Tsunade back in the village.

~

Orochimaru is already bored.

He barely attends chunin exams when they’re in his own village. But Kabuto had given him an interesting report, and he hasn’t seen Minato in something like fifteen years, so he figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, Anko is proctoring a portion of the exam, and she always complains that he doesn’t visit.

Jiraiya found out, somehow, which was bad enough, but then the traitor told Tsunade, and the two idiots insisted on coming with him for some reason.

Probably because they were worried Minato might try to arrest him, which is frankly insulting. He can and will kick that kid’s ass if he has to.

Hm. Maybe that’s what they’re intending to prevent, on second thought.

Minato’s daughter has her father’s coloring and her mother’s bone structure.

“I’m surprised she’s made it this far,” Jiraiya murmurs.

Kushina throws him an irritated glance, but the white knuckled grip she has on her armrests seems to imply she agrees with him. Minato doesn’t look at either of them, not that he’s looked at Kushina at all. There’s really no point in them playing the part of happy couple in front of foreign ninja if they can’t commit to the deception.

“She’s got a solid stance,” Tsunade says. “Don’t need working chakra coils for that, I suppose.”

Minato’s lips thin, but he keeps his silence.

“Gaara of Suna versus Rock Lee!” shouts Hayate, pausing to cough halfway through.

Orochimaru leans forward now that something interesting is finally happening.

It’s not as immediate of a bloodbath as he thought it’d be. Lee holds out, demonstrating a mastery of taijutsu truly can make up for an awful lot. He fiddles with the weights on his wrist, but then he glances up. It seems as if he’s looking at his sensei, who’s shouting encouragement, but standing just to the left of them is Team Seven.

Naruto’s lips tug down at the side and she shakes her head just slightly, the movements so small thar Orochimaru wouldn’t notice them if he wasn’t focusing on her.

Lee’s shoulders droop even as he backflips to avoid another deadly arm of sand. He’s not even close to exhausted, and he’s lasted longer against Gaara than anyone else has, but he raises his arm and says, “I surrender.”

Everyone is stunned, an air of disbelief surrounding them.

Gaara acts like he hasn’t heard, more sand barreling for Lee. Hayate moves to interfere, but he’s a lot slower than that sand is.

There’s a smudge of yellow across the arena, there and gone, taking Lee with it.

Orochimaru turns, expecting to see Minato’s seat empty, but he’s still there, eyebrows raised.

He frowns, looking back down, and Naruto is back out of the arena, putting Lee back on his feet. “It seems you didn’t hear him!” she shouts, grin so wide her eyes are slits.

“I didn’t know you taught her the Flash,” Jiraiya says.

Kushina stares between her husband and her daughter, eyebrows pushed together.

“Yes,” Minato says stiffly, “well.”

Interesting.

It appears Kabuto’s report was accurate.

[norrizzandpia]

Masterlist 2

Lando Norris:

It’s Your Birthday. Of Course, I’m Here

It’s Lando’s birthday and Y/n can’t make it. Or so he thinks.

A Sign Of My Love

In which Lando chooses the most obvious way to declare his love for his best friend and she is the only one who doesn’t get it.

All He Needed Was Her

Following the Vegas ‘23 crash, Y/n and Adam find Lando in his hospital bed, yearning for the comfort of his girlfriend’s touch.

A Second Chance

Secrets are a hard thing to live with, they always come out in the end. When it comes to Y/n and Lando, their loved ones struggle to understand what occurred between the two when both of them refuse to discuss it. What happened that night that warranted two people so in love to separate? What triggered Lando to become so violent, so hostile? Why is there a lone engagement ring lingering in Lando’s apartment when it’s meant to rest on Y/n’s finger? What’s happened?

You Were Never What I Wanted, Pt. 2

Lando and Y/n have never liked each other and it’s only the distaste the world has for them when McLaren forces them to “put on a show for the public”. At first, a few hand holds and light, quick kisses seem to be tolerable, yet feather light touches turn into longing stares and, suddenly, they’re falling in love. Although, hatred is a powerful emotion. Can love really trump it?

Ski Trips and Smiles

A proposal on a snowy ski trip.

Showing You My Love

McLaren’s forced Lando into a PR stunt of a relationship and his girlfriend, Y/n, back into hiding just when she was ready to go public.

One-Sided Fake Dating Pt. 2

When Y/n has continuously been used for the image that has pristinely been constructed for her and the connections she has through relation to her parents, she has cultivated a dark image on the world, especially on love. However, when Lando comes into her life and shows her what it’s like to be wanted for who you are and not what you can provide, she begins to open up and she begins to explore what it’s like to be loved and to love. Although, nothing is permanent and what happens when the man she had thought to be better than everyone who had previously screwed her over turns out to be worse?

Love You the Way I Do

When Y/n starts to pull back, Lando knows exactly what to do.

When?

Apparently, to Lando, it is not a question of if he will marry Y/n, it is when.

Safe With Me, Love

When a man at a club makes Y/n uncomfortable, touching her, grabbing her, Lando’s the first to stop it.

The First Time

In the midst of the dirtiest act, Lando’s loose lips stall his impending orgasm.

Let Me Be Happy. Don’t Be Mean.

Y/n is not experienced in the realm of dating. For years, she has convinced herself that no man sees her as lovable. So, when a guy steps into the picture who checks off all the boxes, making her feel secure in his feelings towards her, she’s elated. However, when she goes to share in the excitement with her best friend, he ruins it all, along with it her happiness, by uttering three small words.

My Coat, Your Coat

Y/n is freezing. Lando is her boyfriend. There’s only one remedy.

Whatcha Readin’?

It was a good story, that was her only argument.

Look How Amazing You Are

After Lando’s disastrous qualifying in Qatar and redeeming podium just hours later, Y/n is there to remind Lando of where his worth truly lies.

Sparkling Eyes

When Y/n is distracted, Lando usually takes the opportunity to admire her. Although, this time, he has an audience.

She Calls Me Daddy Too

When Y/n and Lando are having dinner at her house with her parents, Y/n asks her father to pass the salt. Too bad she didn’t specify which one she was referring to.

His

When a fun pool party turns into a hurtful disaster, the only good thing to come from it is two confessions.

I’ve Got You

In the midst of the FIA determining whether his lap times will be deleted, Y/n finds her boyfriend sitting in front of multiple cameras, but that doesn’t matter, he’s upset and she’s got him.

Lala

When Y/n meets Lando’s family for the first time, Lando warns her about his niece who glues to his side whenever he’s around. What she isn’t expecting, however, is the heart melting nicknames he has been given. It prompts some interesting confessions.

My Name

Y/n and Lando have a painful past together. When they go their separate ways and are left to pick up the pieces, Lando realizes he can no longer hear the woman he loved’s name without feeling deeply ashamed.

We Can Be Kids For Right Now

When her week has tried to suffocate her, Lando turns up at her door and forces her to remember just how worthy she truly is.

Wrong Number, Right Person

A wrong number leads Lando right to Y/n, but even the beautiful love they find together struggles to stand a chance against Lando’s lie of identity.

HE WON! LAN WON!

A long awaited win warrants a shouting Y/n, the proud girlfriend of Lando Norris, 2024 Miami Grand Prix Race Winner. Not only that, but also a smiling Lando now ready for questions about their future.

Olive

After a massive loss, Lando and Y/n find themselves losing sight of the love they once shared. A ghost town in a house they once imprinted their love in is riddled in pain and grief. Right at the edge of the cliff, ready to give up and part ways, an anniversary pulls them back together and reunites them in what they once had.

What Died Didn’t Stay Dead

Y/n’s close to fatal car crash and the epiphanies that followed.

Can You See Me Using Everything To Hold Back

Lando and Y/n have always been as close as can be, but unresolved and disregarded feelings threaten everything they thought they once knew.

Oscar Piastri:

British v. American

In which Oscar tries to teach his girlfriend how to drive in England. The only catch? She’s never driven on the other side of the road. Oh, and she’s never driven anywhere else except for California.

Don’t Worry Everyone. I’m Alive.

The fans love her, so when they hear their favorite driver, her boyfriend, killed her, they aren’t happy.

Sleeping Buddies or Dating?

Oscar and Y/n love to sleep next to each other. They don’t love each other. That’s it.

Storms

Where Y/n hates thunder storms and Oscar’s the only person who can calm her down.

Let’s Have A Baby, Baby

There is nothing Oscar wants more than for Y/n to get pregnant with his kid, and everyone knows it.

When’s It My Turn

When Oscar can’t find Y/n and realizes she’s off with Logan, he gets possessive over how much time his girlfriend has to give.

Chuck a Uey

Blurb when Non-Australian!Reader misses a turn and Oscar tells her to “chuck a uey”. Long story short, she has absolutely no clue what that means.

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen

Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.

Just Benefits Right Now

It’s common knowledge they love each other. Just not to them - even when they’re sleeping together.

Y/n and the Piastri Sisters, the Piastri Sisters and Y/n

Oscar knew that Y/n and his sisters were close, but to wake up on a Saturday morning to find all of them gone, he wonders if he really underestimated how much the girls loved each other’s company.

[sirfrogsworth]

Grampa's Antique Fan (2015 vs 2024 Edit)

As a young man, after coming home from the Second World War, my grampa got a job as an electrician for Emerson Electric. He didn't work on the actual electrical products. He just maintained the electrical systems that power the tools to make electrical components.

It was a "I heard you need electricity for your electricity" type deals.

The company was founded in 1890 in nearby Ferguson, Missouri by John Wesley Emerson. He was a Union commander in the Civil War and a lawyer and then a judge and then an author and then a historian... so he was clearly qualified to run one of the first electronics companies. (This is currently referred to as the "Law of Elon".)

Emerson (the company, not the dude) specialized in electric motors and was the first to stick their motors in a fan and sell them.

As you can see by the 4 protective fan guard loopies, these were very safe for kids to be around.

I mean, the biggest thing you could shove in there is a baby arm, which is the least important part of a baby. No baby heads were chopped off—which was the bar for consumer safety during that era.

Fans are rated by the volume of air they can push over a period of time and your average box fan can push about 1400 cubic feet per minute or "CFM". When this Emerson (the fan, not the dude) was produced they actually used "CCH" or cubic cubits per hour. Emerson (the dude) loved using odd standards of measurement much to the chagrin of his engineers.

Due to the small surface area, weak angle of attack, and heavy metal blades, this electronic beast could only push a baker's dozen cubic cubits per baker's hour—which was a confusing metric of time because people were very superstitious and they refused to put the 13 on the baker's clocks. They just left a mysterious blank void after the 12 and apparently several people had existential crises during the baker's hour. Some were institutionalized for a rare condition called Time Delirium.

Thankfully Emerson Electric was able to provide the electroshock therapy devices that cured several patients. This was achieved by erasing the memory of the traumatic time delirium events along with a few other unimportant details like what they did last Tuesday and their mother's name and one engineering degree that the guy wasn't even using.

My dad actually got the fan working and let me tell you... that bad boy could really work up a gentle breeze...

...if you stood behind it and blew.

And that fine American-made electric fan motor was just as quiet as a leaf blower on Saturday morning.

Over the last century, Emerson was bought and sold and bought and sold.

And bought and sold and bought and sold.

Was that 7?

Eh, close enough. We'll call it a baker's 7.

They changed their product line countless times over their 130+ years of existence. After fans they pivoted and made electric meat grinders. To this day, no one know what inspired that decision.

Currently, they make radar avionics and are majority-owned by the private equity firm, Blackstone. Which is a totally non-evil sounding name they chose for their company-eating empire. Please ignore that the CEO was one of Trump's policy strategists. This is a non-evil company with a non-evil name run by non-evil people, okay?

Despite Emerson Electric having to settle a baker's gross of lawsuits involving a few lightly scalp'd babies, they maintain a Fortune 500 status and are still headquartered in Ferguson.

They occupy one of the most boring ass buildings ever constructed.

Just rectangles all the way down.

That architect told every angle to get rect.

Of course, I forgot all of this cool history and sold this fan in the estate auction. I suppose it is a good thing I got a nice photograph to help assuage my current feelings of guilt. I mean, it is not baby scalping, time delirium guilt—but I would feel better if I knew my gramp-gramp's fan was in a good home with 0 babies.

[hussyknee]

Libs are like, "YOU CAN'T LET TRUMP WIN JUST BECAUSE BIDEN IS COMMITTING A GENOCIDE! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR SINGLE-ISSUE VOTERS", when the fact is that people are already really fucking angry at him for funding two wars during a severe cost of living crisis. Biden's pet dog has already gotten Israel and the US embroiled in a steadily escalating conflict with Houthis and Hezbollah in Syria and Lebanon, and now Netanyahu is trying to ethnically cleanse two million Gazans by pushing them out of the country into Egypt, one of the countries the US gives billions of aid money to make nice with Israel and help them trap the Palestinians. Egypt is already mad about this (although Idk what they expected lol) and if Israel creates a border conflict with them, Iran might press their advantage and then the whole region descend into an all-out war in which the US is embroiled. At which point oil prices will jump, the US economy get even worse, more tax money funnelled into TWO wars, one of which is due to the genocide.

People might not care about Muslims living thousands of miles away, but they have some very strong opinions about putting food on the table. At this point there's a pretty significant shift in the Black community towards Trump because Biden has INCREASED funding for police, is supporting Cop City that someone DIED protesting, and hasn't made a dent in mass incarceration (the marijuana pardon was fucking hilarious in a depraved way). The right has also been weaponizing Black people's resentment against Latino "illegal aliens" and Biden's "concessions" towards them, when actually his immigration policies have barely been less draconian than Trump's all this time. The reason he's making those concessions is that he has to look more progressive than him, except he's also been slowly escalating ICE crackdowns, keeping kids in cages and building a border wall. So the Latin voters are entirely fed up with him too.

So far, he's lost the Muslim vote, the Latin vote, the Black vote, the youth vote (people of ages 18 to 35 are the most outraged at the genocide in Gaza), and they're hemorrhaging the working class votes. These are the extremely angry and betrayed people the liberals are currently working overtime screaming at about Trump "bringing the death of democracy", like democracy means anything to them compared to losing jobs, money, visas, family members, health (Biden's first and ongoing genocide is disabled people due to his COVID policies), social infrastructure and money.

Y'all said Blue Not Matter Who and elected a career racist and known incompetent who supported segregation, was an architect of mass incarceration, got Clarence Thomas elected to the Supreme Court and spewed rhetoric against Arabs so genocidal that motherfucking Menachem Begin was like "....bro." And you got exactly what you paid for. If Trump gets on the ticket next year he's going to win, and no amount of screaming at people online is going to change that. So I suggest you start organising now. The age of trying to create a revolution at the ballot box is over.

[jahnavisurenda-21]

Hazbin Hotel||Alastor X Reader||His Love Language

I love cozy scenarios. Fiction. And Chai.

Now, Alastor is very charming, he's the type of sinner demon who attracts everyone in the room, but since he's an aromatic and asexual it's almost uncommon for him to feel romantic attraction, so, that's why the moment he began spending time with you, he felt the world around him changing to something more uncertain and colorful.

New feelings he didn't know what to write about began spiraling out of his control.

But more than romantic attraction he finds himself fiercely protective about your wellbeing. If it's in hell he would probably not allow you to leave the hotel because he knows how messed up the place is, he'll bring you books if you like to read.

His love language is Acts of Service.

He's almost uncomfortable with physical touch, and you don't push it either, which is very appreciated.

He cooks for you, any dish you like, or if it's a foreign recipe all you need is to show him the cookbook, if you're feeling homesick and want to eat something you ate in your native, he'll cook that splendidly for you.

Since, he's so against refrigerated food, canned food, and lazy food in general he'll make sure you don't have to look into those options again, all you need to do is ask him to make something.

Since, your human he'll keep a water bottle full beside your bedside table at all times.

His voice is radio like, and it calms your anxious thoughts a lot, that's why you have a basket full of audios at all times, he's a sinner demon his usual broadcasts consist of souls being torn away.

But, if you want a comfort audio, or just a reminder of him when he goes for long periods of time, he'll gladly make them for you totally getting flattered.

He spoils you rotten since everything appears in a snap of his fingers he'll bring them over for you, if you just ask.

He's not completely against physical touch, there are moments where he'll stroke your hair, or let you lay against his frame as you find yourself in troublesome nights.

He's a wonderful listener, he'll listen to your rants, your thoughts, any experiences if you want to share, he'll listen to you patiently.

His patience makes you so comfortable around him, since he really cares for you, he won't ever yell or take his anger out on you.

His smiles are genuine around you, everything about you makes his sinner heart soften up like a warm blanket.

You will not ever need to worry about someone hurting you, this overlord literally gives all the sinners nightmares, it sends chills down their spine. He's very protective.

You won't believe that even in hell, Alastor can make you feel so comfortable, and cared for, everything about his actions won't make you doubt his authenticity. Because you're the only one he'll openly do these things for you, so welcoming. Without making any deals with you.

He'll even watch movies, in that 'noisy picture box' as he calls it, and sometimes even put you to sleep if you're that anxious.

He's a trump card you won't regret as your partner.

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (4) - i'll be your mirror

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: angst. talks of parental neglect. consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) roman and reader are 17 & 16 in this flashback authors note: we going down that memory lane again. this chapter is inspired by the velvet underground's song "i'll be your mirror". it's such a bittersweet song, something that i think perfectly sums up the relationship. word count: 3900 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade @gg-trini

roman didn't, and still doesn't have the burden of being an only child—thank God—and certainly not the burden of being an only child to such disagreeable parents. i love you, i hate you, and then that heavy  drowning silence to follow. and no, he's never seen your mother and KG fight, but the after affects of such tumultuous affairs are always evident. cleaner and more clear than a chrome finish. a force fed sort of isolation he can feel, even if such feelings are just, to him, a secondary burden. pain by association. and he hates to imagine the messiness of it, that mangled and tattered sort of hurt littered everywhere, but his imagination is all he has, because you never say much about it.  leaving the air as dry and brittle as they had. but maybe if you do ever say something, give the silence a soft solemn touch, he can restore it the rest of the way. or try to at least. he can do or say or be something, enough of whatever you need to remedy what he can. but even the idea of that is scary, a new desire the sixteen year old him that existed the year prior wouldn't have. lacking so much urgency about anything that wasn't him inspired. 'you need to grow up fast', he'd heard his mother say once. maybe this is what she meant. his seventeen year old sensibilities a little different. a little more urgent than easy, a little more ardently driven. 

priorities are funny though. a list constantly shifting. everything ever that he liked, maybe even loved—parties, bikes, parties, girls, his hair, his bike—trumped by the state of your emotional being. which was interesting. a tire skid of an abrupt shift. and not to mention your hair, and your eyes and your face. full lips that love to pout in time with their irritations. and how would he notice that unless he was lingering? his eyes there, trailing up and over, down and everywhere. a twist in his belly, hearing you call his name. he can't help but to like it. to crave that rushing energy of getting you to squirm, to smile. to have your eyes fix themselves on him.  

and if he didn't like you so damn much he'd probably hate you. his heart sinking into himself all the time now. a habitual falling that couldn't be stopped. regardless of how deep he breathed. self soothing be damned. so its nothing new to work through, when he gets to you—twisting open the door with a spare key he forced you to get made for him because he hated the idea of you being alone a lot at night —comfortable in your very empty house but not really. wrestling still with his body, because doesn't it know he has a coolness to maintain? an air? a quality? prince of pensacola and all that nice prestigious shit. but maybe that wasn't the point. maybe that wasn't supposed to exist with you. his fingers playing over the velvet box in the right pocket of his sweatpants.

but when roman says empty, he doesn't mean barren because your house is homey. comfortable. lived in. theres just no one here to indulge in it. to indulge in earth tones and splashes of green. plants and throw blankets. KG staining the place with pops of black leather jackets and silver things. little harley bikes and idle jewelry. no one but you. but whatever you've done, it leaves him hungry. the air warm and savory scented. tomatoes and garlic and bread and other fragrant little seasonings. 

roman's sneakers thud over hardwood floors. your voice carrying from the lit kitchen. music low and melodic under your words, just enough to fill in the emptiness of the house. "roman i swear if you don't have my ice cream, please turn your ass about face and exit stage left". 

he leads himself into the kitchen easy paced. overly familiar with the lay of the house. sliding into a too tiny for him kitchen island table high chair. his body half way off the seat. "you tryin to kick me out when i have a key is real backwards shit". 

and you pout. full lips down turning. brows pulling. it makes the tip of his fingers itch. his tongue working over the roof of his mouth. he'd thought about it, once or twice. your mouth. questioned how good mango lip balm tastes. 

you throw a balled up napkin his way. "the one little thing i ask for, you keep forgetting. its like you hate me". 

"first", he starts. eyeing the portion of food you've tonged onto a plate. "that lil market you want it from is out of my way", snagging a fork and dipping it into the heat of the plate. your hand sliding him a can of coke. "second, its expensive as hell. tryna have me travel damn near across country for a forgettable ass flavor". 

you gasp offended. full on dramatics that confirm just how spoiled you are. because KG and your mother were many things. complicated people he couldn't at times understand. but they always gave you things. whether it was wanted or needed. you always had it. 

"my needs are forgettable?" 

his eyes roll playfully. pulling his fork to watch the heat rise from it. "gimme a few days. i'll draft up a nice fat invoice for your pops. show him just how needy you are. spending all my money".

"money you let me spend!", you give. smiling. because you were right. there was never a moment where he let you buy things around him. not since the development of such abrupt, overwhelming feelings. harsh butterfly's and hard to quell desire making him do things he otherwise wouldn't think of. and he never saw his dad do it. never saw his mother reach into her wallet. your fingers pointing to the once upon a time crew neck band tee that you cut into a tank top. "your contributions paid for this top by the way. and my shorts", the neck of it slit into a v shape that gave him a view he didn't need to see. it wouldn't do much but excite things that didn't need exciting. ideas that didn't need encouragement. not now anyways. the biker shorts hitting mid thigh, soft brown skin left to the air. and you seem none the wiser to his examinations. cleaning out the contents of the fridge. your voice carrying over to him still. "the best thing you can do for a woman is open up that little wallet of yours". 

roman snorts. sips at his coke with a smile. "when this so called woman shows up, give her my number so we can chat". 

your teeth suck. throwing in a little mumble of "whatever", taking a towel to the fridge shelves. a diligent but bizarre work of your hands. because the house was already clean. already presentable. there was no reason for you to drench cloths in pine scented product. to work in a wipe down that left reflections rivaling the fresh chrome finish of his father's vintage cruiser. maybe that's why you've been on him about ice cream pick ups and late night last minute shopping mall trips for band tees and flannel shirts. everything a project. a process to pass the time. and his sudden willingness to say yes to everything didn't help. it only drew him in. manifesting itself in the form of a little black velvet box. one which sat in his pocket, waiting for some much needed exposure. exposure roman is sure won't be given tonight. not if his fears have anything to say about it. obnoxiously loud, heart thumping fears. seventeen isn't the age for rejection anyways. and he's seen it before, he can do well without that type of pain. 

and with all this passion filled anxiety, roman goes unaware. tunnel visioned by thoughts and the impression of that velvet box pressing into his leg. levels the good heap of food you've given him easily. growing boy and all that jazz.

your reaction is cute though, when you do finally face him again. a play at disgust. pretty brown eyes watching the roll his tongue takes over his lips to taste the remnants of flavor. and he can feel the exacting of them. a sensation over his mouth from your eyes. hesitant and curious. 

"y'know you could've chewed it right? it wasn't going nowhere"

roman stands. a finished plate in one hand and his unfinished coke in the other. shuffling to the sink. "the way you mindin my business is kinda crazy actually". 

"the way you eat is crazy actually. very much like a starved animal". 

and roman does a lesser by the day rare thing, slipping out of the hesitancy that comes with what if's and unknowns. the saucy mess of his plate in his right hand, body inching close, smooth and unashamed, till he's caging you in between his height and the sink. his eyes catching onto the slight hitch in your shoulders as you flush up against the counter. his head tilting, narrowing in on the surprise of your face. the stillness in your body that comes with unsure thoughts. mixed desire. or at least. thats what he hopes. this would be bad if you absolutely hated everything about what he was doing. but he kills that way of thinking. pushes it to a deeper, quieter corner. his blood racing. something in him wanting to see you thrash and break against the hold of your resolve for him. for him only. "all that jealous energy for a plate of food is unnecessary. i got enough attention to go around".

you gasp. catching his drift. his thigh nudging into yours. this teasing, faint knock in that has your hands rushing into him. a not so hard pushing away. "be so fuckin for real right now".

"starin me down, watchin me cause you like the way i eat", his emphasis on words, sharper on some than others. it makes your nose flare and the pulling in your brows deepen. his body rife with sweet satisfaction. he smiles, teasing, and the slip of it catches your eyes again. "it's ok to admit i make you feel something". his hand reaching down to dump the plate in the sink and sit down his can of coke. a maneuvering that gets him closer, deeper into the warmth of your space. "squirmin n'shit away from me like you don't like it". 

your eyes dilate. a black heat pushing against the sweet docile brown. something new and unknown pushing against something comfortable and old. telling him everything he needs to know.

you bristle. short of breath."roman shut the fuck up and-...", your teeth sucking as you push against him again. "...and make yourself useful". getting away from what he's sure is suffocating air. and no this isn't totally his ego, but he knows that the intoxication of such a new feeling is more than likely overwhelming, because roman isn't new to making girls melt. to having them go weak and silly eyed for him. he was and is who he is, and the aura is natural, comes to him as true as would a birthright to the firstborn son of ancient nobility. but its never left such a satisfaction in him as it does now. 

"need me to eat somethin else?"

your fist balls around a towel you've picked up. standing in front the light of the open fridge. you hurl it fast to hit him, approaching to have your hands push at his solid chest. so obviously overdone by whatever truths you're fighting to avoid. because why else would it bother you so much if it isn't true. if you don't feel the same way he does. 

"close this", your finger pointing as his mouth. "wash this", directed at his still saucy plate. 

eyes rolling for dramatic effect. to really sink home that overflowing of disgust. you fooled nobody. nobody but yourself. 

"not sure if you know this...", his hands soapy and wet as he starts to clean his plate. heart pounding in his chest. a giant step of words tumbling down off his tongue. heavy and thumping as they hit the air less implied than they've ever been. "...but we can't work if you're gonna be violent to me. it's gotta be fifty-fifty. give and take and all that good shit". 

you wipe mindless at another fridge shelf. from what he can see of your face, the gears turning slow and cautious. "and what exactly is supposed to be workin?"

"don't be dense". he throws a look your way. mocking and a little impatient. 

you wince. a slight hitch in your arms. like such a thing to hear was painful. "roman. stop saying that", you scold. his name leaving you violent and parental. 

and he feels an immediate failing in his chest. a stuttering that forms as the complete summation of every heavy bout and measly piece of anxiety since he's taken his first step past your front door. of course he didn't mean to be so wounding as to bring up in your eyes a more than mild detesting but there it is. brown and burning and heavy. a loathing born from the awful slip of his memory. too comfortable in his slip from caution to reign in the no go phrasing. because KG—as cool as roman thinks him to be—says not so nice things sometimes. 'don't be dense', as a way to inspire common sense from the other guys romans age. ones that hang around lazily. doing half ass jobs and wasting his—your fathers— time. but it doesn't mean you hate it any less, even if it never is directed at you. 

"sorry", he gives softly. "sorry".

and the silence after is agony. like his body is working through the painstaking process of drowning. a suffocation that makes him squirm. uncomfortable in his skin. soft music playing still, the only thing that attempts to fill in the deep well of quiet. his hands toweling dry, leaning up against the sink to watch you work. steeping further into a self directed annoyance. the banter at one point ok. teasing but never so much that it made you go quiet. because quiet, from you, means that roman can't access whatever you're thinking. he can't gauge whatever feelings exist. and he's never been so brainless about a thing before, so disconnected that his words make you mount with a displeasured heat that quickly. again, this care for all of your feelings all the time. happening so quickly. when the fuck did that start and how the hell is he going to catch up? 

he needs to fill the silence. the loudness of it nearly killing him. 

"how's your mom?"

because he hasn't seen her for a while. her always less than warm stare and short words. smiles that don't reach the eyes and tense, unsure hugs. it was better when you both were younger. she gave him more to work with then. always smiling and cooking and present. her eyes bright and warm and brown, similar to the ones you have now. they looked at him with less distance then. 

the circular wipe down of your hand falters for some seconds. picks back up as if nothing has happened. "she's fine", your voice flat. unenthused. "went up north to visit family". 

and he's heard his own mother and father talk about it before. hushed words when they think others don't know. a sadness to the syllables. to the air when they say things. he figures its an excuse. visiting family is an excuse for other things. 

the curiosity crushes into him. for the sake of wanting to do something. to have you not be so quiet about it. so alone in it. "how long has she been gone-"

"a few days", sighing out answers. seemingly exhausted with his prying. you stack things back into a clean—it was already fairly clean—fridge. dumping out not so old containers and ceramic dishes into the sink. "she'll be back whenever". 

"whenever?"

you give him a look. one that peers up from under your lashes. one that says to stop. to drop the subject. to let it go. but roman is compelled by his own needs to get closer. to be something more than whatever it is that exists now. he wants to be let in. 

"listen", picking his brain for words to say. anything that will properly stick. "...i'm here... if you wanna talk about it... you don't have to shutdown-"

you wipe out a tupper-ware bowl. old food and a nasty smell. disinterested. "don't really know what you want me to say". 

romans jaw clenches. "don't do that". 

"don't do what?"

"don't downplay shit", words toughing out harsher than he means them to. he sighs, tightening his eyes and going for a deeper breath. "i'm just trying to-", but you maneuver about him regardless. eyes not meeting and your fingers soapy and wet with too hot water. like he's not there. a twist in his gut performs well enough that he thinks somehow it'll bruise internally. his jaw clenching. "stop ignoring me-"

the dishes in your hand drop hard. but somehow not breaking. the fire in your eyes small but dangerous. "s'nothin to say...", you start. each word cutting out. "...because everybody knows. because it's very fuckin obvious. she gets tired, she goes to visit family", your tone playing patronizing. like a parent to a child. "he gets tired, he stays at the clubhouse". 

"...and they leave you here alone", he finishes. upset for you. upset alongside you. why is that so hard for you to see? 

"oh really roman?", sarcasm washing over. "i didn't notice. thanks for telling me". 

and he doesn't really know what to do now. what to say. to much of an abrupt turn back into the banter could make you grow more sour. but he doesn't want to leave you to quietness either. doesn't want you to stew in the heat of all this unaccounted for anger. he's lost. ill feeling. but finally at least coming to some resignation of just how deep the care for you is steadily staking its claim into him. and that insistent scrubbing you're doing, roughing your hand into hot soapy water, almost mindless the way your arm works. like maybe whatever it is you're not saying, you're bleeding into the motions of it. your lips between your teeth. biting in. he wishes you'd just say something. even if that thing is small.  

the ceramic dish breaks. a clacking sort of crack from too much heat and pressure. weak and overworked. the water it suffers under running red from the spill of blood. the skin on your hand lifted and pooling steadily. the pieces dropping to shatter more as you let them go. beads of blood pull up still past your skin but you don't dare to move. shocked maybe? the pain waiting to sink in. 

"shit", a full registration. roman running to your bathroom. rummaging for anything first aid. bandaids and alcohol and gauze and ointments. but the cut itself was easy enough to bandage. yeah no, his speed isn't for the cut. it's for distance coloring your eyes and the way your body refuses to react. the speed of his running is to get back to that. to help that. attempt at a bandaging for that. or maybe thats not something mendable by his hand. maybe not at all.

the kitchen water is running when he comes in. hands full of helpful things and eyes filled with worry. your hand under cold water. grimacing with pain. 

"here", he gives. stripping paper towels and pressing them into your hand. holding tight to pressure over. staring hard at sad eyes. 

your hand pulls from his. releasing him. "thank you", fragile. on the precipice of breaking. soft breaths and a firm standing in front of him. amongst a too clean house and a bloody hand. your eyes not meeting. your lip suffering under the tension of weary teeth. and roman aches but the tower of his body stands over you present and waiting. a comfortable patience. your head falling into his chest. a lean in that asks for the permission to gain relief. if not from pain than from the  carrying of a full burden. something that can be shared. and he takes it gracefully. his arms coming over and around till you're flushed into his chest. fingers spread and soothing. a pleasant caress. 

you sniffle. small like but he can hear you. and maybe in this moment, this is all you can give. a simple cry without the heavy complexity of words. but it's enough. for him it's enough. 

and your face is warm when you decide to shift away from tear staining his shirt. his fingers feeling the brunt of the heat as he thumbs the wet streaks along your cheeks. feeding his eyes into yours. no examinations or readings. just simple presence. an undefiled attention. here now, not so similar to before, he knows what to say. 

"i gotchu". a tender thumbing caress just under glassy pink eyes. 

everything about you here soft and abruptly undone. 

his eyes slip against the seam of your lips. yours doing the same for his. looking away quickly to your hand. 

"i got blood on your shirt", you say. his hands leaving the comfort of your face. looking up to him from under wet curled lashes. "sorry". 

"it's cool", smiling. fingering the fabric of his t-shirt before tugging easy at yours. smudges of blood on it pressed in from the impact of your embrace. "we gotta get you a new tank top though. time to open up my little wallet i guess". 

"that and my ice cream is the least you can do". 

and roman goes about the work of wrapping your hand patiently. a tenderness he's never really known existed in his till the first breaths of this moment. soft music that played before, playing still. his fingers steady as the gauze folds over and over to cover the wound against your palm. 

he can still feel the impression of the velvet box in his pocket. the pressure of it calling to him. heart thudding ill-controlled. with no mind to give him reprieve. 

his thumb runs over the wrapping of gauze against your hand. taking in just how much he towers over you easily. something like possession working into his blood. wanting to keep you safe. 

he does the lesser and lesser rare thing. slipping out of hesitancy. 

"can i show you something?"

you nod. "show me".

the velvet box gets its much needed exposure. after living so long in the shadows of such a deep pocket. his thumb opening it to reveal a pretty silver necklace. slim and simple. a heart at the center covered in diamonds. surprise takes you whole, pretty post-tear brown eyes full of questions. 

"you like it?"

you nod again. "its pretty".

"it's yours if you want it". 

his heart. if you want it, it's yours. 

your eyes trail to his lips again. his tongue licking sly over them, feeling the burden of such a sensation. you reach on your toes, lips planting delicate and shy. an unsure take to his mouth that burst' the ways of his seventeen year old heart. he clutches the necklace dearly, the slim silver of it nestled in his palm as it circles your waist. hugging you in as his lips slot. pursing to pull against yours. a hum of sweet satisfaction slipping up as he maneuvers your mouth gracefully. something tender and fleeting, like a moan, from your throat. breaths heavy as you part from him. his nose knocking gentle into yours. mango lip balm sugary and addicting as he pecks your mouth again. 

he latches the pretty heart to secure around your neck. thumbing your cheeks. his body urging him to go for more. pursing against your lips for another kiss. 

angst and fluff… theyre so sweet!! makes all the present animosity and tension better i think. let me know what you think!!

[yuesya]

You wrote in the Box Swap AU, canon jujutsu team is promptly horrified that instead of Gojo Satoru, they get an utterly unknown wisp of a girl who looks like Gojo Satoru but whom is not Gojo Satoru. They are, in fact, devastated. Their sole hope of defeating Sukuna and Kenjaku, just like that, trampled beneath the remains of Prison Realm. It must be a horrid joke of the universe. Their world is just doomed. (Meanwhile Kenjaku is over the moon.)

HOWEVER THIS MADE ME THINK!!!!

What is the Zenith jujutsu kaisen world thinking in this Box Swap AU?

Like, they know who Shiki is. They know she's terrifying, frightening, deadly, a sorcerer second only to Gojo Satoru. The rumoured Heir. The child who could kill special grades without collateral damage. The blade of the Honoured One. The holder of eyes similar to the Six Eyes. The Blessed Child.

They would be thrilled to have their blessed child back and ready to stab a few special grade curses.

Imagine going through all that effort of trying to get this Blessed Child out of the box (gods please let's just get shiki out of that seal, they really do need shiki to deal with their problems and she makes everything easier, but main reason is that gojo satoru is fucking insufferable) because while they do have Gojo Satoru, it's just not the same. Also, Shiki doesn't make them pay for collateral damage as much as Satoru does /j

They open the box, with full expectation of getting back Gojo Shiki and putting an end to their suffering of enduring a prissy, passive-aggressive Gojo Satoru whose off his rockers because his cousin is imprisoned (ok, they're all pretty mad too) and to get back one of their trump cards in the battle against Kenjaku and Sukuna.

Instead, they get another Gojo Satoru.

Zenith JJK: ...

Zenith JJK: wtf is this bullshit

-----

In short, it could be summed up like this:

Canon JJK is horrified they don't get Gojo Satoru.

Zenith JJK is horrified they don't get Gojo Shiki.

I thought it would be funny if both sides are similarly devastated they aren't getting what they wanted.

That's pretty much exactly what's going on in the box swap AU! Canon-Kenjaku is probably over the moon right up until the point Shiki pulls out a sword and starts killing things.

On the other side, the cast in zenith-verse is probably just about ready to throttle Gojo Satoru ("Why did we get another one of you? Where's Shiki??").

[lucystark12]

we might be witnessing something

obviously we all know how much i love byler, and what im about to say is going to sound like “gen z walking away from the white house on fire with hayloft by mother mother playing” but i have to speak my truth here- i think byler being canon will go FAR beyond the fandom and casual watchers of stranger things. we might literally be the early adopters of a pop cultural phenomenon that could go down in history as one of the most important moments in media history.

stranger things is a really bizarre phenomenon in the grand scheme of things, because it is SO famous. it’s popularity has been compared to shows like game of thrones, but it goes even beyond that, because EVERYONE watches it. i’ve been watching it since i was eleven. my mom watches it. my uncles watch it. my best friend watches it. my grandma watches it. it’s viewership is so wide because there are so many aspects of it that appeal to so many different people. the impact this show has sent a song released forty years ago to number one on the charts practically overnight and it STILL plays on the top 40 radio to this day.

think about american politics as they are right now- we’re bearing witness to one of (if not THE) most important election in american history. the difference between trump and kamala is the difference between potential dystopia and nuclear fallout and peace and progressiveness. if trump wins, he will pull all of our aid from ukraine, letting russia push forward into western europe, and we all know what happens when a country tries to push into western europe. trump’s agenda in project 2025 imposes potential laws that will take us back hundreds of years in lgbtq+ rights, rights for people of color, and women’s rights. this election has caused a huge amount of dread and fear in the american people especially as the days push on. and what do people historically cling to in moments of fear like this? art.

think about music during the vietnam war, movies like “red dawn” during the cold war, or mccarthyism during world war two. when people are afraid of the real world, they tend to turn to popular media for escapism. we’re already seeing it, as ridiculous as it sounds, in things like brat summer or the debate edits to chappell roan songs. it might not seem like it’s happening because everything about it is different today in the digital age versus sixty years ago when tvs were boxes, but it is. this is only the beginning. and with the release of the next stranger things season, it’s possible that it could only grow more.

picture this: it’s next july. trump has been sworn in as 47th president of the united states and is six months into his second term. there’s already talks of him overturning obergefell v. hodges (the supreme court ruling that gave us gay marriage), there’s now a nationwide abortion ban, and political opponents of his are slowly seeming to disappear and go inactive. but hey! the 2020’s most beloved tv show is airing its last season this week.. it’s an easy way for us all to feel nostalgia about a time (wether that be the 80s or summer 2019) when our country was progressing forward instead of so drastically backwards as it is now, or to just watch a cool sci-fi show with one of the highest viewerships of any show ever, second only to game of thrones. everyone is turning on their tvs at midnight to watch these new episodes and suddenly- the main couple consisting of the two main characters of the show breaks up, the boy leaving the girl for his childhood best friend, whom he has been in love with for years but been forced to ignore because of the way society views gay people?

and everyone is seeing this, even 40+ y/o homophobes who watch the show for the nostalgia factor and never suspected a thing. the public is outraged. fox news is going on about the gay agenda. but the shock of the news is turning heads. people are changing their minds because… people being gay actually hasn’t only been a thing for the last ten years??! gay people might not actually be lesser humans? ANYBODY CAN BE GAY? what is happening! we know everyone watches this, so people of all backgrounds all across the world and more specifically the country are reacting to this in different ways. but no matter how you look at it, everyone is talking about it. it’s all over everyone’s for you page, SNL is parodying it, anderson cooper is talking about it on CNN, trump is denouncing it on twitter, there’s a push for it to be banned in florida.

suddenly, the democrats are picking up on this, because isn’t this everything we’ve been fighting for this whole time put at the forefront of a mainstream show? this is forcing everyone to confront the implications of having a gay ship be the focal point of a show with the viewership of stranger things, and the democratic party and it’s supporters pick up on this, turning it into a symbol and essentially a martyr of the party as a whole. whatever song (and you know there will be a song) that’s used in the scene where byler becomes official is immediately topping the charts. people are walking around wearing t shirts with byler quotes on them like we’re seeing now with the kamala brat t shirts. hundreds of people are influenced by it and we may even see an increase in support for politicians who advocate specifically for gay rights or are gay themselves.

this all happens because when people who are being spotlighted by pop culture speak out, everybody hears it. it’s the same reasoning behind why an endorsement from taylor swift could outright win kamala this election. a huge part of our population has quiet beliefs that they’re just waiting to dive into until somebody in mainstream media tells them that it’s a good idea. in making byler cannon, stranger things could be changing the trajectory of popular culture and american politics as a whole for years to come. it’s all about the domino effect. if people see this, all it does is open a gateway for other stories and conversations to happen, because something so outrageous as making byler canon during the early stages of project 2025 will turn the heads of every politically inclined person in america, from every maga cap wearing trucker to every blue haired barista, and when heads are turned things are changed.

[aliensupersyn]

This is a short analysis of Sukuna's fighting habits, meant to explain why he will be using black box next chapter soon. I'll just skip right to the important stuff.

TLDR: Cleave and dismantle are not Sukuna's real cursed technique, but an aspect of it. They are his CTs for killing fodder. He saves black box as a trump card.

Cleave and Dismantle, Sukuna's usual invisible slash attacks. Cleave usually requires direct contact with the target, and Sukuna can unleash multiple dismantles back to back.

Sukuna's fight with Ryu demonstrates Sukuna's usual use of these two. Dismantles tear through targets at a distance, Cleaves do the same, but with more power in a closer range.

When Ryu survived dismantle, the weaker of the two slash attacks, Cleave was then more than enough to slice Ryu's heads in three.

Shibuya

Throughout his battle with Jogo, Sukuna used cleave and dismantle and overwhelmed him. Sukuna first used black box here because, as he states, Jogo intrigued him. As a sign of (dis)respect, Sukuna revealed he could match Jogo's fire.

"I won't cheat by revealing my cursed technique."

To make the point that Jogo earned his respect, Sukuna admitted to seeing Jogo's strength, which provides enough reason why Sukuna might have decided to use black box here.

In this same arc, Sukuna encountered Mahoraga for the first time. Maho was the first being in the story to see his ability, and Sukuna's surprise hints that very few have probably done so before.

Mahoraga adapted to "slash attacks" after Sukuna used Malevolent Shrine. Therefore, Sukuna had to use black box again to attack with something other than a slash attack. This also confirms c/d only to be aspects of some other kind of power.

Final Arc

Once Sukuna stole Ten Shadows, he used that as yet another CT to avoid using his own. Mahoraga allowed Sukuna to adapt to Limitless and create an anti-Gojo slash attack that avoids the six eyes. Simply, Gojo could not see world dismantle, and likely could not see regular c/d either.

Since Gojo's death, Sukuna has only used c/d to fight the remaining cast. Sukuna was fully prepared to battle all of jjh's forces. We know this because Kenjaku said so, and Sukuna had Heian form on standby in case Gojo ruined Megkuna's body. Therefore, I wager, Sukuna was only planning to use c/d to fodderize the entire cast.

Even against Yuta, Sukuna only used c/d, reflecting Uraume's taunts that Sukuna has not been in any real danger (even though that really is a stretch).

Run-Down on Sukuna's "Levels"

As shown with Ryu, he opens with a dismantle. If the target survives that, he then follows up with a cleave. When Sukuna can use neither, he switches to World Dismantle because it's the strongest of his slash attacks. It's the ace before the true trump card.

Above, Kusakabe used Simple Domain to weaken c/d (to a degree).

When Higuruma neutralized c/d with domain amplification, Sukuna then switched to using WD until Higuruma's DA had worn off. Sukuna then killed Higuruma with normal cleaves.

Maki has passed Sukuna's tests and dealt with all three slash attacks.

Maki quickly avoided dismantle.

Sukuna tried to grab her and bring her in for a cleave, but she overpowered and threw him.

Sukuna then tried his ace, but she effortlessly dodged that as well, even with her vision obscured and him whispering the chant.

Only Maki has survived all three and drawn Sukuna's interests. He's now going to get serious for the first time since Gojo.

Sukuna has followed the same tactics throughout the entire series. He tests an opponent with c/d, then saves black box as an ultimate trump card. Sadly, most of the cast dies before they can make it past c/d. With WD recently introduced, it's only another level added before the opponent can reach black box. Yuta healed through c/d, but was sliced open with WD.

With Sukuna's comment about Mahoraga, and reflecting on his fights thus far, one can clearly see that Sukuna views cleave and dismantle as his fodder killing CTs. His slash attacks are quick, adaptable, and invisible. The only way for a sorcerer to survive them would be healing or having a strong defense, but that's still not enough.

Thankfully, Maki's not a sorcerer. She's a monster. And now the two monsters will duke it out, with Sukuna using his real cursed technique for the first time since chapter 119.

Notes:

If Gojo could see cleave and dismantle, one of them would have commented on it. Gojo obviously could not see Mahoraga's dismantle either, and Sukuna used that as his model for world dismantle.

Higuruma was able to neutralize c/d, but Sukuna was still able to use world dismantle. Could someone explain if Higuruma's domain amplification had worn off, or should we understand that WD was simply too strong to be neutralized? This was answered above.

There's a narrative significance to Sukuna comparing Maki to Mahoraga (don't come at me with powerscaling bs). As I've argued in my last Maki post, she's exemplifies the ultimate anti-sorcerer, while Sukuna's the ultimate sorcerer. Mahoraga's an anti-sorcery curse, meant to adapt to any and all phenomena, so of course they'd be connected. Maki must adapt in her fights against sorcerers capable of any and all phenomena, and I think that's a hint for her upcoming duel against Sukuna.

[mariacallous]

If there is a depth to which U.S. presidential candidate Donald Trump cannot sink when attacking his opponents, we are yet to see it. His latest salvo came at the convention of the National Association of Black Journalists in July, when he asked of Vice President Kamala Harris, “Is she Indian or is she Black?” The gasps, reportedly, were audible.

His question was meant to undermine her authenticity, of course, and it deserved the opprobrium it received. But it also proved that even with President Joe Biden out of the running, age is still an issue in the upcoming election. Trump’s politics of categorization belongs to a time that younger Americans have never known, when the demographic landscape of the United States couldn’t have been more different.

Consider that Trump was born in 1946, two decades before the nationwide lifting of anti-miscegenation laws, which prohibited interracial marriage. In his formative years, Black Americans were living under Jim Crow policies. For the first half of the 20th century, immigration from Asia had been kept to a bare minimum, first under the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 and then the Immigration Act of 1924, both passed with an eye to maintaining the United States’ whiteness.

Trump was the product of  a time in which people really were expected to occupy fixed racial boxes, kept discrete by law, “when the walls of race were clear and straight,” as sociologist W. E. B. Du Bois put it. An American could be legally Black by virtue of a single Black great-grandparent. Never multiracial or racially ambiguous, as they might be in most other countries—only Black. So, when Trump demands of Harris that she be one or the other, Indian or Black (assuming that his question is sincere), perhaps it is beyond his imagination that anyone might be both.

Harris, on the other hand, reflects the United States as it is now: a tapestry of racial and ethnic diversity in which few can pretend that they are easily defined. She was born in 1964, a few months after the Civil Rights Act was passed. The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 would enable a substantial increase in Asian immigration in that same decade.

When Harris was a teenager, those of South Asian heritage living in the United States still numbered fewer than half a million. They were practically invisible to most other Americans. There was such uncertainty about their racial identity that in one national opinion poll conducted by the National Opinion Research Center in 1978, 15 percent of respondents believed that Indians were Black, and another 11 percent saw them as white. Today, though, Indians are the second-largest immigrant group in the United States, after Mexicans and just before Chinese. They have their own demographic checkbox in the census.

Far more significantly, Americans are less likely than ever to identify with a single race or ethnicity. In 2000, in response to demands to accommodate those of mixed heritage, the U.S. Census Bureau gave people the option to tick more than one racial box for the first time. That year, almost 7 million Americans reported belonging to more than one race (interestingly, 823 of these respondents claimed six races). A decade later, that number had gone up by almost a third.

In the most recent census, conducted in 2020, partly because of improvements to how data was collected, that number went up again—this time by 276 percent. Unsurprisingly, younger Americans are the most likely to report being multiracial.

So, with his obsession over categorization, Trump couldn’t sound more out of date. He is trying to force people into the kinds of boxes that defined lives when he was a child. He is telling Americans that there is only one way to be white, or Black, or Indian, when they already know this isn’t true. It is a politics that dares to put others in their place, yes, but also fails to see them as they are.

Coincidentally, his ill-judged remarks about Harris happened to come just days before the centenary of the birth of one of the United States’ most brilliant social critics, James Baldwin, who himself gloriously embodied the contradictions of identity. In his 1949 essay “Everybody’s Protest Novel”—as fresh now as the day it was written, in sharp contrast to Trump’s desperately tired ideas about race—Baldwin cautioned against succumbing to the fallacy that it is “categorization alone which is real and which cannot be transcended.”

It is perfectly possible to live within and between cultures and maintain an authentic sense of self. it is not just Harris who proves this, but the millions of Americans who have enriched the nation by mixing, marrying, and building a more integrated society. They have changed the country for the better.

When Trump casts aspersions on Harris’s racial background, he does the same to countless others. He questions the pluralistic society that the United States has become—one in which race has already come to matter less than it used to.

[caffiend-queen]

I'll Break Your Heart Before You Break Mine...

An Avengers - Loki Holidays In Hel story

I've been cleaning up and adding bits to my Holidays in Hel series because really, it's my favorite. I hope you enjoy, and thank you as always for reading!

In which Loki's courtship of Mina (refer to "The Christmas Party") hits a snag when his timid little darling suddenly decides to dump him on Valentine's Day.

I wrote this listening to the beautiful "Takeaway" from The Chainsmokers and Illenium. Have a listen here: https://youtu.be/lzkKzZmRZk8

The first time Loki had seen a Valentine, he approached it with the same look of disgust one would give a used litter box.

“What is this cloying monstrosity?” he queried, holding the little card up by his thumb and forefinger.

“Well…” Mina’s brow furrowed. “Oh, of course. This is your first Valentine’s Day on Ear- Midgard, isn’t it?” Her boyfriend (?) beau (?) Supreme Overlord of Sex (!) was by now lounging elegantly on his suede couch, arms stretched along the top of it and legs sprawled obscenely. As usual. "This is a Valentine, it's from my niece in Wisconsin."

One dark brow arched. "Explain?"

"Well, you create little cards and give them to people you care about, family, friends..." she coughed a little and added quickly, "boyfriends. They're usually heart-shaped, pink or red, and-"

"The human heart is not shaped like that," Loki interrupted, "I've torn them still beating from the chests of my enemies and they more resemble-"

"No trips down memory lane, brother!" Thor interrupted with perfect timing, which was extremely unusual. "We must make ready. There is a new mission.” He'd slammed open the door to Loki's suite, knowing it infuriated his brother every time.

With a sigh, Loki stood, waving one pale hand and was instantly clad in his dark green armor. "And who might we be engaging? More angry Dark Elves? The crossbred Jotunn ice bear? A blood witch from the Grievous Clan?" 

“No, Professor Snape, they’re … what did you call them, Thor?” Tony Stark rambled into the apartment, standing over Loki, who had reseated himself with an uncomfortable Mina on his lap. She’d tried to pop up when Thor casually broke in, but Loki’s arm came down like an iron bar to keep her in place.

Thor was nosing around the fresh-baked muffins on the counter. “They are Plesticites, do you remember battling them on the Wandering Moons of Alfheim, brother?”

Loki groaned audibly. The aforementioned creatures were multi-limbed monstrosities that spat secretions as thick as tar and vile as vomit. “And why are they here on Midgard?” he snarled, “Why did Heimdall not raise the alarm before these sacs of pus found a wormhole?”

Mouth full of muffin, his brother shrugged one giant shoulder. Stark, with that infuriating cheer he had only when interrupting someone else’s love life, clapped his hands together. “Chop chop, Asgardian supermodels, we’re off to kill the things that look like Donald Trump’s ass.”

“Darling,” Loki gently set her down on a cushion and rose, leaning over to capture a kiss. “I shall see you anon.”

It was a spectacular kiss, so it took Mina a moment to realize a case holding six of Loki’s best daggers was on the counter next to the muffins. Knowing he never went into battle without them, she tucked them under her arm and hoofed it for the roof, trying to catch him before the helicarrier took off. 

The team was still on the landing pad, and the wind carried their conversation back to her as she exited the elevator.

“- to celebrate the day with Lady Mina?” She knew Thor had Big Plans for Jane, especially after Darcy handed him a step-by-step list for what was required of a romantic boyfriend. Mina lingered for a moment around the corner, a little excited. Plans? Loki had plans for Valentine’s Day?

“You must be joking,” he sneered, “you believe I would stoop to celebrating a pathetic testament to retail excess? Debasing myself with the purchase of stuffed animals and mediocre flowers?”

Mina sighed and leaned against the elevator door. So, no Valentine’s Day, then.

“But your lady, she will expect it,” Thor said earnestly. “It is considered most important.”

“He’s right, you don’t want to screw this up.” Mina cocked her head. Was that Bucky?  “This stuff is important to women.” Loki didn’t cut the soldier off, as he’d done with his brother. She always found Loki’s - if not friendship, a comfortableness, an accord - with James Barnes intriguing. Mina had asked him about it one day, and he’d pinned her with that bleak, blue-gray gaze of his. “Loki knows what it’s like to be tortured. For decades.” She'd felt her heart splinter in that moment. For both of them.

“It is of no consequence,” Loki said dismissively, “by then, Mina and I will no longer be-” the roar of the helicarrier’s engines began and the rest of his statement was lost. Numbly taking the case of daggers back down to Loki’s apartment, Mina hesitated at the door. Would he have already revoked her access to his place?

But the door opened and she stepped in. It still smelled like Loki- sharp and clear, like pine and snow. She marched through his suite of rooms, picking up the few items she’d left there- a silk slip, her spare toothbrush, two books she’d loved and recommended to him. That was it. There were no photos of the two of them together, no tenderly written notes. It was so familiar, Mina thought bitterly, just like the last three times. 

What was it with her and Valentine’s Day? Who the fuck gets dumped three times on the most “romantic” day of the year? Stuffing everything in her bag, she could remember Kevin’s stupid face, "It's not me, babe. It's you." February 14th, 2017.

Milo, "I just feel that Valentine's Day is an excuse for women to siphon up free gifts, and I refuse to be manipulated by female greed." Pause. "Before I leave, did you get me anything?" February 14th, 2014.

And then there was Brian. "Yeah, I don't see a future with us, Mina. You're always busy at school and I need a woman who can commit." That turned out to be her best friend Marcia. Who was already married. February 14, 2019.

“And it’s happening again?” she gave a short, humorless chuckle, “At least this time, Loki’s not really my boyfriend. I’m not sure the word boyfriend could apply to a seven-foot-tall alien who looks like a supermodel and hands out orgasms like they’re penny candy. Fuck this.” 

Stomping into Jane’s lab on the 47th floor, Mina forced herself to smile. This was a new job and she couldn’t afford to break down. Of course, she had this new job because the thermodynamics lab fired her after the paparazzi storm from her night as Loki’s date at Stark’s disastrous Christmas Party. They wouldn’t leave her alone and one even burst into the ladies’ room as she was hitching her undies back up. And, her boss was just walking out of her stall as well. Fortunately, Jane immediately made the case to Tony that Mina would be very helpful in her research.

Unfortunately, Darcy was never shy about prying into everyone else’s personal lives. “Hey, Mina Mina Bo-bina, what does your sex god Asgardian have planned for Valentine’s Day?”

Jane didn’t look up from her microscope. “Thor is the God of Sex, actually.”

Without thinking, Mina shook her head. “No, Thor is the God of Fertility. Loki is the God of Lust.” They'd both been studying a book - The Royals Guide to Asgard together. Tossing her bag on her desk, she added under her breath, “Not that it matters.”

Darcy, who could under most circumstances be the poster child for Adderall, was remarkably single-minded when it came to heartbreak. Eyes narrowed behind her glasses, she pushed her face close to Mina’s. “You’ve been crying. Did Mr. Hot and Psycho do something?”

“Nope, that’s the point,” she said, “we’re doing nothing for Valentine’s Day because he’s dumping me.” 

“No!” Jane was shocked, “Thor says Loki is crazy about you!”

“I overheard him talking to Thor and Bucky when I went up to bring him his daggers for the mission,” Mina said bitterly. “He said that he and I would no longer be together.” Her shoulders slumped. “But I don’t think we ever were.”

It was not ten minutes later when Darcy had mercilessly bullied her into joining “Girl’s Night,” refusing to tell her where the herd of single women were migrating to. 

Three days later and no word from Loki, it settled into her with a despondent certainty that he would not be “courting her” (as he’d put it) anymore. She didn’t ask Jane if she’d heard from Thor, because the look of discomfort, then pity was more than she could bear. So Mina kept a cheerful smile and pretended everything was fine as bouquets started popping up on desktops, boxes of chocolate and heart-shaped cookies circulated and whispered conversations filled with giggles were all around her.

Screw Valentine’s Day. It sucked.

Nonetheless, she defiantly dressed for the girl’s “Cupid is Stupid” outing with Darcy in a short, saucy little emerald-colored dress she’d picked up on sale. She had been saving it to wear on a special occasion with Loki, but…. Angrily dashing away a tear before it ruined her cat’s-eye eyeliner, Mina straightened her shoulders. She would go have fun with Darcy and the girls. Then this day would be over, and-

The reality that she would eventually be seeing Loki in the halls, perhaps in the lab every now and then made her sink onto her couch. Would he be bringing new women to social events? Mina’s lips thinned and she stood up, seizing her bag and storming out the door. “It’s going to be a bit more difficult finding a date that doesn’t mind you kidnapping her off the street!” she hissed, halting at the appalled stare of nice Mrs. Wyscowski who lived next door in E16 as she got off the elevator. The woman was carrying a bouquet of roses. ‘Of course,’ Mina thought, ‘even my 73-year-old neighbor gets flowers.’ Instantly feeling guilty, she held the door for her. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. W. The roses are so pretty!”

“Thank you, dear. And what are you and Mr. Odinson doing this evening?” Mrs. Wyscowski loved Loki, of course. The charming bastard insisted on kissing her wrinkled hand every time he spotted her.

Mina’s smile faltered, but she stepped into the elevator. “Have a good night, Mrs. W.”

When her Uber pulled up to the address Darcy gave her, she audibly groaned. Seriously?

The driver laughed, looking in his rearview mirror. “Not what you were planning on?”

“Knowing my friend, I should have,” Mina sighed. Cherry’s Sexual Harassment Pub was bustling with giggling women lined up at the bar and guarding table space for their friends close to the stage. Passing by gigantic posters of bare-assed men with names like “Blaze,” and “Nitro,” she rolled her eyes. 

“Bitch!” Darcy shouted at the top of her considerable lungs, standing on her chair and waving at her like she was a one-winged sparrow, trying to take flight. But when one of the buff, shirtless waiters brought over a tray of Sex on the Beach shooters, Mina took two.

Just as Mina was throwing back her first shot, a bloody and exhausted crew was exiting the helicarrier, eager to shower off the genuinely disgusting mission and focus on something new: sex, booze, and for a few, even romance. Thor nudged his brother with one giant arm. “Have you reconsidered what to do for the Lady Mina? The night is young.” 

“I have told you, Thor,” Loki snarled, “I do not indulge in such plebian excess.”

Undeterred, his brother said, “Jane has mentioned that she has seemed quite despondent these last few days. Have she seemed so when she speaks with you?”

Loki shrugged. “I do not speak with Mina whilst on missions away. I’m sure she is fine. And most likely,” he said, his pace increasing as they exited onto their floor, “waiting for me in my chambers. So if you’ll excuse me…”

But Mina wasn’t. She’d been very good about showing up when he returned from missions, working here in the Tower in Jane’s lab gave her proximity and advance warning. In fact … as Loki strolled to the bedroom he noticed her absence, along with the few little things she’d left in his suite - including A Brief History of Time, a book he'd been rather enjoying. Where was the little minx? Sweeping a hand down his body to restore himself to spotlessness and into a fresh black suit, he set off for the labs, Mina was no doubt working late. 

Mina was laughing uncontrollably as Darcy had her legs looped around the back of a stripper who had his head buried in her considerable cleavage. He was still managing to swirl those agile hips to the beat of “Girls, Girls, Girls” by Motley Crew even as he was making motorboat noises. A sudden vision of Loki teaching her how to dance the tango on his terrace rose in her mind and she angrily shook her head. She was not going to be one of those single people on Valentine’s Day who got all drunk and weepy! Well … reaching for the champagne in the middle of the table, she drank right from the bottle. Not one of those single people who cry, anyway. Screw Loki. Screw Loki and his beautiful agile hips and those fingers and how he’d purr all those filthy things in her ear when she was coming. 

Ugh.

“Break his heart before he breaks mine,” she mumbled, nearly inaudible under the screaming of the other women. But someone was listening.

In fact, the Stark group had enjoyed VIP treatment all night - graciously escorted to the best table on the floor and several bottles of complimentary champagne delivered with "Compliments of the house, beautiful ladies." The shirtless blonde waiter - who was hilariously named "Thor," according to his nametag - wore impeccable white cuffs and collar and was most attentive, chuckling indulgently as his perfect, firm ass was groped more than once. "Thor" even leaned over invitingly by Mira as he'd brought more drinks, but she smiled nervously and scooted her chair over a bit.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he oozed, “is there something … special I can get you?” 

“Hell, yeah!” shouted Darcy, “Our girl just broke up with her boyfriend! Right before Valentine’s Day, can you believe it?” Mina cringed so hard she could feel her spine compress.

"Thor" took her hand, eyes wide in his most sincere sympathy. “He’s a fool to let you get away, baby. You need a man who knows how to appreciate a queen like you.”

‘Oh, gawd …’ she thought. “Oh, I broke up with him,” she nodded firmly, “so yeah, it’s all good. It’s fine. Really,” she emphasized, trying to yank her hand away from his. Her palm was tingling like crazy and she wiped it on her skirt several times, frowning at the odd burn.

But then the lights came up and the smarmy DJ’s voice bellowed out, “Heeeey, Ladies! Welcome to the Cupid is Stupid spectacular! We’re gonna give you pretty little things all the affection you deserve tonight! Up first, give a waaaaarm, wet welcome to Valentino!”

She was laughing, Mina just couldn’t help it. This was so fucking cheesy. What was she doing here?

What was she doing here? Looking around the room, she could tell she was the only one not totally invested in the web the strippers were weaving. Her forehead creased. That was a weird image. But all the girls were screaming, waving tens and twenties, glassy-eyed and utterly focused on the man on stage, currently undulating in a g-string. The waiters were circulating, putting down more drinks, running fingertips along a cheek, along a shoulder or down the neck and dipping into cleavage. And the girls all seemed to love it. Wiping her sweaty forehead, Mina blinked, looking at her phone. Just to check the time, that’s all.

Nothing from Loki. Of course.

Rising abruptly from her seat, she made her way through the crowd of rapturous women. Once in the bathroom, she splashed her face with cold water, forgetting about her careful makeup. Why was she so sweaty? Looking in the mirror and wiping away her streaked mascara, Mina sighed. This was worse than being at home watching While You Were Sleeping and weeping uncontrollably. “I’ll walk home,” she said to the grimy mirror. “Get some exercise. Yeah. You know, endorphins.”

Walking back to the table to grab her purse and bid Darcy goodnight, she stumbled to a stop.

Loki was dancing. More specifically, her ex-boyfriend (well, the gorgeous god she’d been dating) was stripping. And the screams rose at a pitch that could shatter crystal. His vivid jade eyes were fixed on her, a filthy, knowing smirk on his face. His body was art. All marble-sheened skin with flexing, lean muscle beneath. She’d always been amused when people assumed Loki wasn’t physically powerful, like his bulky brother. Oh, no… those perfectly tailored suits of his hid a body of exquisite grace, broad shoulders and a chest and arms banded thickly with muscle. His long, long legs were sculpted, and when he lifted her to straddle his thigh and rubbed her against the taut strands there … oh, god. What was he doing here! This couldn’t- 

“Loki?” she shouted, incredulous and trying to get closer to the stage. 

“Hello, love.” She could see Loki’s lips moving, but even over the howl of the music and shrieks from the women, it still sounded like he was talking right into her ear. “I thought I would give you a bit of a surprise. Then, I intend to take you backstage, hoist you upon the nearest level surface and fuck you until you beg for mercy. Which of course, I shall not give you.” There was never a time Mina was more aware that he was a god. So beautiful, even under those tawdry pink lights, his hips moving in erotic figure eights and dancing just for her. So intent on reaching him, Mina never noticed another of the waiters come up from behind her, slipping an arm around her waist.

Thor was just helping Jane on with her coat as Loki strode into the lab. “Where is Mina?” He knew his tone was sharp, but he was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency, a necessity to reach her- to find his girl before-

“She’s out with Darcy and the girls.” Jane’s tone was not friendly. “You know, since you dumped her, it’s really not any of your business.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

It was clear Loki was shocked, which was shocking in of itself since the god prided himself on no expression other than urbane amusement or profound boredom. “She went out with the girls?” Jane said less aggressively. 

“Where?” His tone was sharp, but the couple didn’t take offense. They could feel it too, that something was wrong here. Loki was never agitated like this, not even in the middle of battle.

“Um…” Jane consulted her phone. “It’s a strip club,” she looked at him apologetically, “called, ugh, now I know Darcy picked it! It’s called Cherry’s Sexual Harassment Pub.” Thor choked down a laugh as his brother and Jane glared at him.

“This…” Loki hesitated, another shocking departure for him. “There is something wrong. I cannot say, but I feel it.”

To his credit, Thor immediately stepped up. “I shall come with you brother. My dearest, would you mind putting off our evening for a few hours more?”

She nodded, “Of course. Should I come with you? You know, to wrangle Darcy?”

“We must go, please, stay here.” It was the 'please' that stopped her from protesting as Loki dragged off her boyfriend. Loki never said please.

Darcy was screaming herself hoarse. She didn’t know how this could have possibly happened, but this was the best fucking night of her life! How the fuck could Bucky have overcome his shyness to be stripping for all these women? The Winter Soldier stared at her, licking his full lips as his crotch jutted at her obscenely, thick thighs bending to lure her closer to the stage. His long hair fell into his eyes, glowing with need for her. Her hand reached out. There was just one more layer to peel off, just the tiniest scrap of spandex between her and what she was certain was the biggest cock in North America. Just one little yank on that strap and... She was still trying to surge forward when the arms came around her from behind, gripping her tightly and making her ribs compress against her lungs. It felt like the most brutal kind of suction, feeling like the blood was being pulled out of the pores in her skin, but all she could think of was to get to Bucky- that beautiful bastard, she knew he always wanted her he did and then she was coming legs twitching and rubbing together hands still reaching out touch him.

MaryBeth from Offshore Accounts was dreamily watching Steve Rogers bare all that perfect, golden skin and rippling muscle. He was clean-shaven, not that scruffy beard he’d been wearing and those patriotic blue eyes were lasered in on her, he was going to tear her clothes off and fuck her right on the table, she could hear him! So MaryBeth swept out an arm, knocking everything off the surface and climbing on, hauling her skirt up. “Right here, Steve honey! I AM SO READY!” Darleen McMasters from the table next to theirs was from Queens, married 22 years and just here to keep her best friend and current divorcee Carla company, sat up abruptly. “FRANK?” she shouted, jaw dropped, “What on EARTH are you doing!” Her husband looked down, giving her a rakish wink and an extra little thrust of his hips.

Interestingly, Carla was also watching Frank get naked on stage, unbuttoning her blouse and hoping he’d FINALLY notice how much nicer her breasts looked than Darlene's.

Theresa from Digital Media was dreamily enjoying the sight of Carol Danvers peeling off that gorgeous fucking bodysuit, to show even more gorgeous fucking curves, her blonde hair shining like a beacon and Theresa was ready to run her hands through it-

By the time Loki had apparated himself and Thor into the middle of the club, it was silent, the raucous music gone and only the bestial grunts and slavering of the things currently feeding on the women. 

“By the Nine…” gasped Thor, instantly calling Mjölnir to him as he went back to back with Loki, who’d been searching for Mina. He found her writhing furiously against the incubus grappling her from behind. The truly amusing miscalculation of Midgard mythology - he thought while sending twelve daggers sailing through the air at the demon - was believing that the Incubi were attractive and seductive. They were repellant, horrifying, a grisly amalgamation of sinew, rot and slimy, mottled skin. They actually made the Plesticites the Avengers slaughtered that day look appealing. This one’s maw opened, showing jagged, rotting fangs as it screamed in rage and agony, punctured by the dozen blades in a tidy, cross-shaped pattern and falling off Mina’s back like a sack of meat. 

Thor’s hammer tore through another of the creatures, making the woman holding it scream “Leonardo! Don’t leave me! I believe in your Nature Alliance!” before she collapsed. And then the battle was on. Over twenty of the Incubi, mouths dripping black blood that sizzled like acid on the floor stalked toward them. They were so. Fucking. Hungry. They had planned this Valentine’s Day massacre for a couple of decades and no upstart Asgardian royalty was going to take their feast from them. Complicating matters was that most of the demons were able to hold onto the image of whatever their victim was imagining, and for many of the girls - particularly MaryBeth from Offshore Accounts who had dreamed of getting into Captain America’s red, white and blue suit for years now - were unwilling to let go of the Incubi draining them to death.

Black blood and gnarled, twisted limbs torn from desiccated flesh flew through the smoky air as the princes of Asgard ripped their way through the thicket of demonic visitors, as he leaned back gracefully to avoid a spray of ichor, Loki watched Mina leap on to the back of the incubus currently finishing off an unconscious Darcy.  The foolish creature still wore a dreamy smile on her red-lipsticked mouth, and she slid gracelessly to the floor as her rescuer stabbed the creature in the back of the neck, shoving hard to get the razor-sharp blade through its hide. He spun in one more circle to finish off the fiend sneaking up on Thor before turning back to seize Mina. 

“You had to burst in here. Creating such a fuss.” The voice was beautiful, well-bred and slightly amused. The creature it belonged to was perfection, everything a man should be - blond, very tall with a tight, perfect ass and red, full lips. And in one long-fingered hand, it was gripping the throat of his Mina, easily holding her off the ground as she kicked and thrashed, clawing at his muscled forearm. “There are so very many pretty, lonely girls in this city, on this night of all nights. And yet, you insisted on bothering ussss.” The man hissed the last word and displayed a mouth full of alarmingly sharp, needle-like teeth. “Now, I shall consume this meaningless human in front of you. Its mouth opened horribly wide, like a snake’s dislodging its jaw and Loki’s hand came up again, inhumanly, impossibly fast and threw his last dagger, a gleaming silver blur that nicked Mina’s throat, sending a spray of blood into the open mouth of the demon behind her.

It let out a scream of agony, smoke pouring from its throat and slamming on to the filthy floor, writing and howling before abruptly disappearing in a puff of sulfurous smoke, along with the remains of the other incubi. 

From there, it was really just a matter of cleaning up and damage control. The little club was suddenly packed with SHIELD agents and, Loki noted sourly, Doctor Strange, who was attending to the women, briskly erasing their memories of the night and putting in a suggestion of a gas leak.

“How original,” Loki sneered.

Bucky walked up behind him. “And here I thought my night was the worst Valentine’s Day choice ever.” He patted him lightly on his expensively suited shoulder. “You okay? Mina, too?”

“Indeed,” Loki said approvingly, “she slew one of the creatures herself.” He looked at the soldier again and decided to do something he traditionally considered loathsome. A bit of matchmaking. “However, your help is needed immediately for Miss Lewis.” 

Bucky frowned, looking over at a pale Darcy, two paramedics still trying to bring her around. “What can I do?”

Thor was close enough to be eavesdropping shamelessly, and he leaned in. “An incubus bite can only be reversed in one way, my friend.”

Picking up the thread, Loki walked Bucky closer. “The incubus presents the vision of the person the victim desires most. It is why they are irresistible. As it happens, Miss Lewis believed she was watching you perform for her.”

“What?” Bucky choked, going a little pale himself.

“You must … attend to her in order to heal her, I am certain you know what we are saying,” Loki finished smoothly. When his friend leaned down to cautiously pick the girl up, he made a negligent gesture with one pale hand and send the two of them back to Barnes’ quarters in the Tower.

“Brother,” Thor boomed, “did I just see…? Was that a … good deed?”

In a flash, another of his brother’s daggers was at his throat. “Never say such a repugnant thing to me again!” Loki snarled, eyes narrowed as Thor backed away, chuckling. 

“I must return to Jane,” he said, picking up Mjölnir and turning to the door. “And I believe you have a beautiful woman of your own to attend to.”

Placing his hands in the pockets of his beautiful suit, Loki strolled to Mina, who was attempting to wipe some of the gore off her skin. “Oh, my god,” she gagged a little, “I smell like something that washed up on the beach. How is it that you look perfectly put together?”

A corner of his mouth turned up, just slightly. “I am a god.” Her pretty face fell and she went back to scrubbing futilely at her dress. “That was a rather fetching gown,” he offered.

“Was is the operative word here,” she sighed, giving up. “You’re bad luck for expensive dresses.”

“Perhaps if you’d been waiting in my rooms at the Tower like a good girl,” he said haughtily, “your dress would be intact.”

“What?” His usually sweet-natured, mild girl threw the filthy bar towel at him. “Seriously? So you could dump me in person? How nice of you! That’s just never going to-” With a sigh, Loki seized her around the waist and they were gone. 

“Geddoff me!” Mina was wiggling, trying to get loose from Loki’s steel grip.

“Such a bad girl,” he said disapprovingly, “I must seek you out in a club catering to male nudity, save you from the Incubi and this is your gratitude?”

“Gratitude! Gratitude?” Her eyes were furious slits and she was snarling like a feral cat. “You DUMPED me! You have no right to-” Releasing her abruptly, he smiled a bit to hear her startled scream and then the huge splash. Hitching his trousers, Loki seated himself on a rock outcropping, waiting for her to surface. Mina did, paddling and splashing furiously in a rather adorable fashion until she was calmer. Wiping the water out of her eyes, she glared up at him. “Where are we?”

“This is Valeria,” he said, settling more comfortably. “It is an undeveloped planet that Asgard holds in guardianship. It is one of the last pure places in the universe.” As she swam closer, his clothes disappeared and he joined her in the water.

Mina gritted back a simper as she watched him rise from the crystal water, the waves sluicing off his hard body as he smoothed his wet hair off his face. “If it’s undeveloped, why are we here?” A wicked little smile graced his lips and she groaned audibly.

“I keep a vacation cottage here,” he said, swimming around her in circles. “Just a humble abode when I require peace and quiet.”

“Then, why am I here?” she pursued.

“Because you long to travel and take a safari in a far-flung country, Africa, perhaps. You wish to see wild animals and places undefiled by man.”

Mina flushed. “You’ve been looking at my Pinterest account again!”

“Darling…” Loki drew her onto his lap in the water. “Valeria has over 1,930,000 species of animals that have never been seen anywhere but here. I shall take you all over this world tomorrow and show you creatures you never imagined. Animals no other human eye will ever see.”

Looping her arms around his smooth shoulders, Mina gave him a weak smile. “Was that what you meant when you told Thor that we would no longer be … something by Valentine’s Day?”

“Of course, foolish girl. I’d planned this off-world safari for you for some time-” Loki’s answer was cut off when she pressed her mouth to his.

“So you weren’t breaking up with me,” she mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

Loki pursed his mouth. “Will there ever be a time you do not doubt me, my Mina? Where you will not compare me to the utterly pedestrian fools you have been with before me?”

She did feel terrible. But warm and kind of glowing inside at the same time. So when her god leaned back against the warm rocks and spread his long legs with an utterly filthy leer, she slipped deeper into the heavenly water, swimming between his knees. “Allow me to make it up to you, my King,” Mina said in the sweetest of tones. Loki was fighting a smile, she could tell, but he nodded regally. Putting his perfect, thick cock into her mouth was never a hardship, she thought, sucking carefully on the tip and fluttering her tongue on the sensitive underside. Lunging to bring the length of him down her throat, she enjoyed the low growl that rattled through his chest. Carefully cupping his scrotum with one hand, she slid her finger along the sensitive flesh behind his sac. One hand came up to pet her wet hair as his hips thrust up before he pulled them back.

“Such a good girl,” he praised her, chest heaving. When she finally circled his anus with a questing finger, Loki regretfully pulled her off his painfully stiff cock. “Not this time, darling. I must make you wet and soft for me.” Mina let out a startled shriek as he simply lifted her by the waist and planted her pussy on his face.

“Oh, my god, Loki I’m going to smother you! Wait, just- Oh, godddd,” she moaned, back arching a little as she felt his cool tongue and lips play with her. She could hear the sound of birds chirping and the occasional rustle of leaves as if the animals here were creeping down to watch. 

Loki gently bit one of her swelling lips and held on as she tried to pull loose. “I require your attention to be focused upon me, feasting on this juicy cunt.” When she nodded a little randomly, he slid two fingers up her channel and attacked her again, sliding his tongue back and forth before latching onto her clit and sucking gently.

When he caught her startled gaze, he winked one jade-colored eye and scraped his teeth gently across the excruciatingly sensitive tissue of her pearl, enjoying her gasp and deliciously wanton moan as she came. Carefully rearranging her shaking arms and legs, he kneeled her on all fours and crawled behind her. “You present so beautifully for your alpha,” Loki purred, “just as a good little mate should. Now raise that lovely rump of your higher. I’m going to fuck you. Mate with you. Drive you into the ground.” He’d placed the reddened tip of his cock at her entrance, and then, he shoved himself up inside her, hard. “Force you to submit to me, beg for my come. You will yowl and cry out and moan, just like a saucy little female of this place would do.”

Mina was gripping the wet earth under her, trying to keep her balance as Loki drove into her with ferocity. She had a feeling he was still displeased - and perhaps the tiniest bit wounded? - by her willingness to believe he was casting her aside. And when his big hand came down on the soft cheeks of her ass with a thunderous “whap!” she was sure of it. Loki was so big in this position - filling her and spreading her so completely that it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. Everything inside her felt pressed aside for his driving cock and it was unimaginably good. He had one hand on her shoulder, shoving her back and forth on his cock, and the other pulling and stroking at her nipples. She could feel the shower of sparks move up her spine, so close to coming! And then the heartless, diabolical God of Lust grabbed her hair and pulled her head up, putting his lips to her ear. 

“Do you see them, pet?” She did - two gigantic creatures were perched on the cliffs across the pond from them, silent, but alert. They were awe-inspiring, something that looked like a cross between a tiger and a bird of prey, massive wings covered in a golden striped fur. Mina’s gasp died in her throat as she stared at the two pairs of golden eyes staring back. “They recognize us, a species dominant to them, higher on the food chain. So they will bear witness as we mate, they will not drink until we leave…” His fingers were moving faster on her breasts, squeezing and plucking at them until he felt her thighs begin to quiver. “Ah … there you are, lovely. You’re so close, aren’t you?” His thrusts were faster, shorter and sharper inside her and Mina was nearly knocked off her knees.

“Please, my King,” she moaned, “please allow me to come!”

He whispered one last, sibilant hiss in her ear. “Come. Now.” And she felt his teeth bite down into her shoulder and every last bit of sense left her, screaming and shaking, moaning as she heard him growl deep in his chest. A warning. A challenge. And the two huge creatures rose gracefully and disappeared back into the jungle as he picked his Mina up and brought her to his home. 

Long after, when Loki had meticulously bathed her limp form and smoothed a glorious-smelling lotion on her sore skin, had brushed her long hair dry and then hand-fed her bites of small and utterly delicious things, Mina finally forced enough brain cells back together to ask a question or two.

“What happened with the last incubus, the one that had me by the throat?” Loki had healed her as his first action when the demon disappeared.

Kissing each of her toes, he looked up at her slyly. “Your blood, lovely. An incubus cannot bear the essence of one pure at heart. Your blood nearly destroyed him, the monster had barely the strength to retreat back to Hel.”

Mina blinked. That was not what she’d been expecting. “I don’t- that’s ridiculous,” she said shyly, “I’m no pure thing.”

Her beautiful, infuriating Valentine gracefully moved over her, knees already between hers and spreading her wider. “Oh, my sweet Mina,” he said in a tone that could only be described as tender. “You are so very, very pure and good. You redeem me.” Loki smiled down as she blinked back tears. “And now, I shall attempt to defile you in a way that only a very, very good girl can be.”

I'm starting over with a vague memory of who might like my Loki and Avengers tales. If you would like on or off this list, please let me know! Thank you. Mwah!

@what-is-your-plan-today

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@the-soulofdevil

@americasass81

@mdemontespan1667

@sultry-rachael

@myoxisbroken

@gigglingtiggerv2

@notpedeka

@narnianarcher

@sylviefromneptune

@winterslove1917

@kimanne723

@hawkeyes-queen

@grymrayven

@stevihj

@lizette50

@jevans2

@wolfsmom1

@devikafernando

@wegingerangelica

@nildespirandum

@alexakeyloveloki

@thebatshitcrazyfangirl

@thehumming6ird

@archy3001

@iheartsebastianstan

@tomstinkerbell

@wolfpawn

@rayofdawnworld

@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

@dangertoozmanykids101

@alexakeyloveloki

@nuggsmum

@boredbrooder

@fairlightswiftly

@inkededucatednnerdy

@nonsensicalobsessions

@viv-annelore

@eleniblue

[contemplatingoutlander]

On Billionaires and "Tyrannical Freedom"

Another excellent commentary by Jamelle Bouie. As such, this is a gift🎁link that anyone can use to read the entire article, even if they do not subscribe to The New York Times. Below are some excerpts:

This week in Texas Monthly, I read a troubling profile of Tim Dunn, a 68-year-old billionaire Texas oilman and lavish financier for right-wing extremists in the state. “In the past two years,” Russell Gold writes, “Dunn has become the largest individual source of campaign money in the state by far.” He has spent, through his political action committee, millions of dollars targeting Republicans who don’t meet his ideological litmus tests of opposition to public schools, opposition to renewable energy and support for tax cuts and draconian anti-abortion laws. A pastor who once said that only Christians should hold leadership positions in government, Dunn sees himself as someone who is on a religious mission of sorts and has devoted his time and wealth to imposing his ultraconservative politics and fundamentalist beliefs on as many Texans as possible. [...] I was disturbed. There is his wealth and influence, yes. But there is also his worldview, captured in the opening scene of the piece. Dunn makes an unfavorable comparison between human societies and bee hives:

By itself, this passage reads as fairly innocuous. But when read with Dunn in mind — a straightforward Christian nationalist whose allies in Texas politics are leading the charge to ban books, suppress the rights of L.G.B.T.Q. Texans and restrict reproductive health care — it takes on a more ominous cast. The passage, in that context, seems to capture the perspective of a man who does not believe in democratic freedom — a freedom rooted in political and social equality — as much as he believes in the freedom of the master, which is to say the freedom to rule and subordinate others. It’s a tyrannical freedom, one that rests on the idea that the world is nothing but a set of overlapping hierarchies, and that if you do not sit at the top of one, then you must be made to serve those who do. You’ll find freedom within your role, and nowhere else. This is not a new or foreign conception of freedom — it is...one of the more dissonant notes in our collective heritage. The issue, today, is twofold. First, we have a powerful political movement, led by Donald Trump, that defines itself in terms of this freedom. And second, we’ve allowed such a grotesque accumulation of wealth that figures like Dunn can wield tremendous influence over the political system. I’ve written before that the fight to save American democracy will involve more than beating Trump at the ballot box. Finding ways to radically limit the political reach of the super wealthy is part of what I mean. [emphasis added]