#Trump praised dropped a knee

[artcalledpourbrush]

Did it work as wanted

It did within two pictures

Whoosh

Whooooah

Woah

Wahhhhhhhhhh!

That should be unlined red read

Underlined

You you you

Pay Attention

I’m talking to you

What’s C.C.U.A.R.S.

Can we answer bye Monday

Tuesday Rather

If Behind!

I’m talking too you

Talking to you

Talking at you

Screams rather than yells

I can…even growl

[sleepy-eclectic-dreaming-writer]

Zhongli x Neuvillette (part two)

CW: body worship, oral, minor spoilers, 18+ content mdni

Zhongli has . . . An aversion to most things regarding Hydro and of a particular texture. But Neuvillette is worth overcoming these feelings. In fact, he is really the only one Zhongli could ever imagine overcoming this aversion for. Neuvillette is just so cute when he brings a hand to his mouth, stifling the little grunts and gasps and whimpers. Truly the power of love trumps all in these kinds of situations.

So Zhongli will get to his knees and spend hours there. Hours, and hours, until one of them runs out of stamina (it's never him, though. It's always the sweet Chief Justice who pleads for mercy first, breathless and shaking and damn near drooling from the aftershocks of Zhongli's care.)

Still, if Neuvillette gave him permission, Zhongli would make his dearest treasure come undone a thousand times over and then keep going. Hydromancers, and the Hydro dragon especially, always somehow manage to stay particularly wet in these situations.

It doesn't matter the time or place either. Zhongli is a man with nothing but time on his hands. He'll drop anywhere, anytime, all for the sweet satisfaction of coaxing orgasm after orgasm from his precious gem. It gives him pleasure to see his sweet Neuvillette completely blissed out, fingers unable to even grip Zhongli's hair anymore, legs twitching, heart thumping, hips unable to rut pathetically upwards.

And Zhongli will praise him with kisses and caresses and gentle praises of "well done" and "you did marvellously" and "you are a sight to behold, my dearest."

He'll pick Neuvillette up and carry him to their next destination; usually the bed, or the bath. If in the Palais Mermonia, it's one of the plush sofas Neuvillette has in his office. If it's the Opera, he'll find a place behind the curtains to settle his love down for a rest. If somewhere perhaps more adventurous, it's to the softest patch of grass he can find, under the protective covering of a stone outcropping.

He has to stop himself from kissing Neuvillette into further overstimulation. His beautiful pale legs are just far too tempting, especially when they're marked up with Zhongli's love bites. And of course, if he is kissing his legs, he must kiss his hips. And if there, then his stomach, his abdomen, and well now he's already right here, might as well have another go. Surely the Hydro dragon doesn't mind another climax, does he?

Zhongli can be greedy. That, mixed with patience, mixed with his stamina and endurance can be quite the recipe for Neuvillette's undoing.

Oh, but how perfect that undoing will be.

Especially with the delicious view Zhongli gets from between those pretty thighs.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Kaili Joy Gray at Daily Kos:

Nikki Haley had a nice run as the anti-Trump candidate in the Republican primary. She was so good at it, she continued to get a big chunk of votes even after she dropped out. And she got so much praise for refusing to bow to the MAGA cult.

But that’s all over now because Haley has joined the bend-the-knee club and endorsed the candidate she called “unstable and unhinged.” During a conversation at the Hudson Institute on Wednesday, Haley claimed that despite everything she said about Trump, President Joe Biden is somehow worse. “So I will be voting for Trump,” she said. “Having said that, I stand by what I said in my suspension speech. Trump would be smart to reach out to the millions of people who voted for me and continue to support me and not assume that they’re just going to be with him. And I genuinely hope he does that.” [...] So what’s changed? Maybe it's just Haley's concerns for her own political future and a realization—rightly or wrongly—that the only way to have one is to, like the rest of the GOP cult, kiss the ring. The same ring she insisted in February she had no need to smooch.

Nikki Haley doing the cowardly act of backing Donald Trump in the general after calling him unstable and unhinged during the later stages of the primary in order to secure her GOP future.

[tomorrowusa]

Nikki Haley told the conservative Hudson Institute that she's voting for Donald Trump in November. She previously called him "unstable and unhinged". So is she voting for him because he's unstable and unhinged or despite his being unstable and unhinged? 🤨

Nikki Haley had a nice run as the anti-Trump candidate in the Republican primary. She was so good at it, she continued to get a big chunk of votes even after she dropped out. And she got so much praise for refusing to bow to the MAGA cult. But that’s all over now because Haley has joined the bend-the-knee club and endorsed the candidate she called “unstable and unhinged.” During a conversation at the Hudson Institute on Wednesday, Haley claimed that despite everything she said about Trump, President Joe Biden is somehow worse. “So I will be voting for Trump,” she said. “Having said that, I stand by what I said in my suspension speech."

This is all anybody needs to know about the craven GOP. Regardless of what they think of Trump, about 98% of them kiss his ass in the end.

The only way to prevent a second (and possibly third and fourth) Trump term is to vote for Joe Biden. Voting third party or writing in the name of some doofus does not help to defeat Trump.

If there's any possibility of ever purging the GOP of MAGA, it starts with the defeat of Trump this year. Republicans need to quit the bizarre thinking that they can oppose fascism and vote for Trump at the same time.

History will not be kind to lickspittles and hypocrites like Haley.

[libidomechanica]

“Who want took advantage”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

Our humble salve which I should that which was   to blame, for aught it not sleep she sped, is   most sweet odours to a shrink—what care of thine. Who want took advantage! The inherit, and Taste, is lying idle. I have   him smiles to the Skies, where on lattice edge   like death and too long the Lucius Junius Brutus of the amorous o’erflow. And the angels’ trumpet down tents. Love were   ingage, proves their happening ring, if ye gie   a woman’s horn, batt’ning men, she dead ride not to her bed, and ill. Easy to under fingers; th’ inestimately   thought, seemed too by your lovers like an   empty bee that our breath The name flowers they could flowers of the largeness of Lead?

               2

’ ‘My fault beeing to all one small: little hearse.   This explicit sadness. As many reason   be taught, and passions and Trumps the same fair she-world, on conditional and signal conversation. Giving and command   met her Heaven looked himselfe beleeue that they?   And in the white, that words of lighter the anger more! To say prayed, as Argus was gone out, and the flocke of the shine with weak   as everywhere! And sensuall eares and   bones to interpret God them back when some respects and then rent her Victim of her Force, from God made where he said One who mends   of bane: want my knee designs and make a   fish. Walls mount looks from the voice within the Sylphids, to stand, so little hair behind!

               3

Destined not that rubs its eclipse, and the   full consecrates have climax of his   Princess cramped understand—better fits himself had streets, after flight and flow: a hollow sky, she shadow of three horses that   has slave, those look’d about the forms go by,   and brave. To dust of helth. Too sopping; just as his lastly on earth and what longer; and the take Lodgings in Battel seize hairs   less in losing me in their Doom; and subside.   And therefore, Charms conceits your Chief th’ unequal Fight, while amid the number’d Throne. My scholar, and the individual   with Ribs of Whale. Hine oath, must thy   joes hae sent from all honour of the skie doth beating rage inside the other’s dart.

               4

And here so wonder and mean to labour   and torture at the fierce inscription waits   to Day. In sorrows, such as forehead’s smooth- sliding shade, glittering levin, that all; old I am desolate to Fate, thou   like an all he promise you and Infidels   adore. Glory the same sweet ecstasy complain, the fiddling both attends a bee circle and talk seem’d to dedicate   your flocks the first who, his presentful,   impatience. And sobbed us so, thus beguiles: she courteous, even a sprights my soul is every woman, she’sgane, and walk   upon thy gentler day; and lose convent,   studies as we once again, on every moment that keep your worthy bidden field.

               5

Grows here! To pluck the colors, all things, the   eye and build a bonny footsteps to flit   in a circling to him time to clear as human voice is to make the foremost faith, the score years fortitude, lest Glory of   my spirit’s plait then? Turn thee thou less   glorious Off’rings are fair days are more these just what: but like a lewde lust, may yet hangs freedom, wisdom, Better were engraved invite   so easy thing, with me and passions   fly, thy Eyes first and fine; brother: keeps chance in the accents of a nobler age; when I kiss dropped, and all thy charm that I have   done. Up-locked through windows of thine. Give me   here gratefulnesse the way to live. Night Militia of these were a little Booke.

               6

I weene the hallan, a child, and to thy   golden bow Oh, tis we, who made my Grandsire,   thou not! This Lock, this Morning I wrote should be alwaies free shallow rivers tost a barre again: find the woodmen hearth in   two should he, if I could not his face more,   far from the night as Vision sets us praised her country; no tears the enduring passed a dreame. The Sonne betray’d to rival   brine sleek Odalisques, or for buttondown,   and fame you go the heard grow to use. In mystic Vision of her stops of various dews began to those follows many   lies—the string? As yet lifts and dear delight,   while I am forst the trains may have been worships it. She sat in crystal Dome.

               7

To scorn Two Pages and elbowing thin!   Lifting to a slope of change and Absál   the Prize aspire them—sometimes of milk shalt win much morning passed over, and send the golden day. And leany knaues, tho’ Honour   of the gray barbarous isles of birth; and,   asleep: vainly no great master-hands, and have seen fanning better grant Steams she said, My life, I am tough Walebone. And   said she, now breaking each others could see   to spreads her hearth, and twenty summits old in skin like a key in skins, raw fresh wood and my breast, to say: That is not his peer.   ’Er thy ruling Spoil. And wins oh shame one   Spirit should not half his soul and on the day three Realms obey, dost someone elbows.

               8

Happy starv’d, ’mid a’ this my Mother-sisters   of his lip should yede, thou hast making   one, since she, and there he saw fair starv’d betwixt. Cried Misery, or under the If and Why I loved you. Their Insect-Wings unfold,   when not for the dusky strange Poet-   princely pow’r of mincing fire with the less: some thrid the cometh not, how hollow smoke … no, it’s hardly credible how it all   the gate is the world. You should be call? That   was wonder I seemed about hope all the people apart, but Homer’s keen beyond more I cry, less the Prize is my delicious   part, thou iollye shepheards were one who   expectation times, tongue aspire to the natural order festers, Stars, to die. Forsworn.

               9

And gold, upon thee I so belonging.   Slighted, a breath, whose words, were late the night,   nor wish is under the figured, and try to the rocks, seeing the lowe, and half for thy feete are sped; and also the Pythian   of thee from Psyche, Ah—Melissa—you!   Gossips wan they: alas that in the bar, a blank; it fall out you, when the other’s breast. That keep Cease, bright of him: when his know   she’d just behind he thatch upon the rope   that heart is she! All you can emeral insect the uncouth, twas really see, doe not with tender voice might all the giddy   Motion seat your sight, music driving words,   weep and on the night and well at cloud of him too, and forefingers brought in her kind.

               10

We pull; fair Tresses from the lawful things   were stars to the least encumbered winged reeds,   like a wafu’ man was. And we as right across the Course of Christian woman than Christ was as rich, after all, and thing of   the rest. Thunderous fond will be paid thou   less thy middle jimp wi’ a langer and they to where was uprights came: but live, performing bubbling never: our sin, nor the   one who under thing all the warm serge gown   master, Sirens thy Children—that might’st help to make these Eyes are wrong’d me, if one, including me,—That is not set you only   crueltie farre worship him, it is the church,   refusing is in thee—behold the mesh, their fasting the slouches on all the wind fall.

               11

Our telephone for very loud about   the sky, where this same film over, if you   like pale jessamine, for such as he light of succeeding on delight at you and my most beauteous Grief to face be to me!   And lodge such as charge to disrupt your   adventrous world’s bitter at lineaments, like breath. No witch, haunting lies, all morn before thanke, to recover of broken fence, and   the windchime into the expire, to blind   old man, womankind, I do change of thy right arbour, yet of hand is, the dear. And braes, wi’ hawthorns gray, that sun thine on her   the air this faire with gold; a belt of such   a wretched for Love’s Elysian ground, one Arm held in story, by thy soul at all.

               12

She said: “And she hurricane all night— ouf!   That the long retreats of roses fed, but   shepherds came invisible because I take Physick, other lips, nor can intent sane and many wished—our kirtle embroidered   all to Locks, and you feel the order   fill’d in man’s statues, musical of milk and why should I presume? Ladies still musical of monk, you still some lived with his   Tongues, which suns perisheth on the fair   philosophies th’ expressive Embleme. The dizzy proceeds, and funked; the thing down Armies in mockery of flesh, you   the two. Not by the window-panes; there was   more the shore, and in hell on Earth am rotten by name. He waters Matron’s Ears.

               13

That while night across the Gift away: they   did draw, rot inward clime, he touch solitude!   Wine wither. Fresh from side by side, that manacles for kisses breast. Of the balmy Rest. I tossed with Secretary Sis   to catch the hills bend there footless for wider   carnage taught of lost Lady Blanche. A breath sweet, scramble at the song oared a narrownes you knead me and many lies a   brother within the softer voice is but   fount, anxious Cause, you through Love’s stands upon thy aid, my flash, their laws, and weetles,—blind and equipp’d a Camel tumble down with   that he should kisse. Be done. As where’s naked   love must need thou Air, and loved so she well: and I said so dear the laughs at home!

[solo-fame]

What do you expect from someone who talked truth about trump then turn around dropped to her knees and praised him once he got in office and gave her a position. Like most politicians no damn integrity

Nikki isn't the brightest crayon in the box🤣🤣🤣

[jungxk]

just one (viii)

summary: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

notes: first of all i wanna thank the people who supported me and encouraged me through one of the worst writers blocks of my life. all the messages and comments are the reason why i finally managed to post this. special thanks to @whippedforkook for helping me with the monstrous tagging process as well as giving me so much praise. and also @lonelyending for cheering me on for a literal YEAR bc thats how long i cried over this fic! this story is so special to me. we’re in the home stretch now x

warnings: mentions of illegal drug use and distribution, swearing, brief smut.

genre: drama, romance, humour, college!au

wordcount: 8k

tagging: @cutechim @benz-biarritz @gyukult @bangulin @eatersanonymous @alyssa1926 @skivv1es @a-sucker-for-them-sappy-shit @moonights @jeymuffins @juuneaux @catsukiii @andreaisaac @whatheydontunderstand @sreveles @noruls619 @henryharios @just-a-fuxked-up-kid @befriendswithj @btsbesharam @poemsandpunani @taelha @misosoup-forthesoul @jikooksmut @heart-eyedmf @the-piano-woman @angrysunshine @chaoticpaperfanhoagie @jsungshine @ci-yen @faby-montana @shinypeanutsportshero @jooniestrivia @alucards-s @cynamyngirl @jiminie-angel @myskoova @jkshoneybuns @smokintae @remmykinsff @majinbuwu @jangx2manboongx2 @potatodogs @seul-queen @alpharyth @blenxxxg @plsky @th-singularity @bapbaptothetop @hermiones-enchantment @stomachfilledwithbutterflies @euphorora @supachloe94 @jiminxjimout @ggukkieland @just-another-fic-recs-blog @jalexad​

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

x

4 years ago

x

jimin hated yugyeom.

well, maybe hate was a strong word. he just didn't like talking to him, being around him, hearing his name or interacting with him on any level, social or otherwise. he really tried though, since he was one of jungkook's closest friends and still respectfully referred to him as hyung above all else. and if anything, jimin would always have a soft spot for jungkook, the kid he used to coddle when his own brother wasn't around. but having said that, there wasn't really much basis for not liking yugyeom. it was just a gut feeling jimin couldn't explain, a very subtle callousness about him only jimin could pick up on. for the most part he was just like very other mild mannered boy by day and party animal by night, but jimin still ducks when he sees him enter the library.

"fuck," he hisses under his breath, scooping up his laptop to stride behind a book shelf for good measure. because sometimes, contrary to popular belief, jimin wanted to be alone. he didn't want to make small talk or listen to someone tell him about how well they scored on their last paper or complain about their annoying girlfriend. sometimes jimin wanted to have no thoughts and listen to fleetwood mac as per his human rights. which is why he shoves into the first private study room he sees.

and not an empty one at that. there's a girl inside, sitting cross-legged in her chair at a desk with an array of dried up paint tubes and brushes surrounding open sketchbooks. you don't look annoyed or even that phased, just amused as you give him a once over before going back to painting. "on the run from solji?"

jimin blinks, back still pressed against the door. "huh?" he regards you properly. "i'm sorry, have we met before?"

"not really," you admit with a sheepish smile, which is when jimin suddenly realises that you're...attractive. "solji is in my stats class. you hooked up with her last week at some party and she told me about it."

"oh," jimin takes in your plethora of art supplies. "you don't look like a stem student."

there's a glimmer of something in your eyes, and though you hide it well jimin knows he's struck a nerve. "yeah, i get that a lot."

"it's not solji by the way," jimin clarifies. for some reason. "that i'm hiding from. just a bellend i don't have the energy for right now."

you smile. "it's fine. you don't owe me your life story."

"i do when i'm about to impose on your...study time," jimin peers through the window in the door, wincing when yugyeom enters the hallway. "what would it take for you to let me stay in here for a while?"

you pause for a second. "honestly? just be quiet and leave me alone. is that okay?"

jimin perks up, a weight leaving his chest. "perfect, actually."

x

x

x

[jungkook 11:42pm]: why does it say wings on it

[jungkook 11:42pm] where is it flying

[you: 11:43pm] ffs kook

[you: 11:44pm] im still on the toilet can u just hurry up

[you 11:44pm] grab some tampons too pls

[jungkook 11:46pm] fine what size pussy do u wear

[you 11:46pm] i hate u

[jungkook 11:53pm] ???? ? ? well? ????

[you 11:54pm] REGULAR 

jungkook giggles at his phone, already having left the women's sanitary aisle to grab some chocolate. months later and teasing you was still bundles of fun. he knew for a fact that you were sat there with that angry pout on your face, nose crinkled. he had never bought anything like this before, but jungkook had enough brain cells to know that chocolate was another necessity for that time of the month. after grabbing a large hazelnut bar, he pauses beside the oreos before grabbing a packet of those too. just for good measure. he strides to the self checkout - because even he wasn't man enough for the cashier yet - nearly dropping his array of sanitary products and confectionary when somebody calls out his name from behind the queue.

"kook!" the voice is unmistakably yugyeom's, confirmed by the hand that clamps jungkook over the shoulder and swivels him round before he could think about hiding his socially compromising shopping items. it takes a second for yugyeom to notice, doing a double take at the pads atop his small tower of goods. he holds back a laugh, balancing a bottle of gin in one hand while he waves back at some friends to continue. they were clearly making their pit stop before a night out, probably pre's if they still start as late as jungkook remembers. with his hair styled and expensive cologne lingering, jungkook almost forgets he probably looks unrecognisable in his sweats and cotton-fresh hoodie. friday nights weren't for cuddling. still, yugyeom's smile is welcoming and familiar. "got the munchies? and maybe also a uterus?"

"shut up," jungkook grumbles, averting his eyes. he shifts to his other foot uncomfortably. "my friend just needed a favour, that's all."

"uh huh," yugyeom gives him a teasing look. "is this friend the reason why i barely saw you at jin's the other week?"

jungkook blinks back at him. "wait, you were at that party? i had no idea!" a boyish smile breaks over his face. "why didn't you call me? i haven't seen you since-"

"minseok-hyung's new years eve party," yugyeom throws his head back with a laugh. "remember how we ended up on a boat after the ball dropped and-"

"spent all of new years day detained by the coast guard!" jungkook finishes with a mischievous cackle of his own, nearly dropping the tampons in the process. "fuck, that was so much fun! we need to meet up again, i haven't been out with the guys in so long."

"well no wonder," he quips a brow at jungkook's shopping again. "word got out you're a family man but i didn't believe it. until now, that is."

jungkook's smile falls. "what do you mean?"

yugyeom looks at him for a second, confused by jungkook's surprise. yugyeom was never quite as diplomatic as namjoon or yoongi, to put it lightly. and definitely nowhere near as accomodating as jimin. which is why his next words make jungkook's back stiffen. "bro, look at yourself. you got dairy milk in one hand and tampax in the other. on a friday night. the next time i see you i wouldn't be shocked if you had a baby buggy and a mortgage." still, yugyeom throws him an apologetic look. like a mouse caught in a trap. "face it, kook. you're old news."

"what? that's not true," his brows furrow unhappily. "i don't know what you're talking about. it's not like she's my..."

he can't say the word, but it hangs between them like a dead weight.

"yeah, right," the condescending look on yugyeom's face was starting to agitate him. "you totally blanked us at jin's after she showed up. not even just jin's..." he thinks twice about holding his tongue, but as always, decides against it. "i don't know you, jungkook. whoever this new jungkook is. it's been months. you used to hit us up and be independent and spontaneous and wild and now you're just...someone's boyfriend.

"stop fucking saying that," jungkook snaps, all visible signs of friendliness gone.

"why?" a beat. "do you even use a wrap with her anymore?"

jungkook splutters, heat rushing to his ears and hands in a stinging combination of anger and embarrassment. "how is that any of your business? the fuck are you asking me something like that, as if you-"

"thought so," yugyeom looks away from him with a sigh. if anything, yugyeom knew never to overstay his welcome but that clearly backfired tonight. "whatever, jungkook," he looks over his shoulder at him. "guess you're the last one to find out you're officially married."

"you're ridiculous," jungkook scoffs. "all this over condoms? grow up, yugyeom."

"only couples do it raw," yugyeom turns away from him, alcohol in tow as he waves a hand over his shoulder to join his friends like jungkook was nothing but a lost cause. "you would remember that if you still had game."

jungkook stands there, dumbfounded while the group of boys exit the store noisily but he can't hear a thing. the siren that had been itching the back of his mind all this time was suddenly there at full force, right between his eyes. the glaring truth that yugyeom might be right makes his knees buckle. all those rules jungkook once had, all those measures he kept in place to protect his liberty, to prevent this very occurence - where were they? what happened to them? as the sweet and accommodating counterpart to jimin, why had you never complied? though, the blame wasn't on your hands alone. he got complacent, comfortable. lenient. and now without even realising he was here, a scene from a romcom in the middle of the night, with nothing to say for himself but fuck. the realisations wouldn't stop racing, one after another on the conveyer belt of his anxiety.

the photos on his phone; mostly you. time spent, usually with you. the portfolio for his latest photography module also had some resemblance to your interests. charcoal pencils, night drives, orchids. like the ones you always drew on any scrap of paper lying around. now that he thinks about it, he's seen nothing but your orchids for months. and not just that - you wore his clothes sometimes too. his bathroom had your toothbrush, contraceptive pills and coconut shampoo. his closest friends, his hyungs...not one of them was devoid of affection for you. he wasn't even confident that if the choice was presented, they would still pick him over you.

by the time jungkook finishes paying and practically sprints to his truck in a daze, he can hardly keep himself from shaking. he palms the wheel compulsively, he could feel the sweat in his sideburns, hoodie suddenly suffocating him. it smelled of you.

and then, like a final curtain call: was he just your latest fixer-upper project? some good girl wet dream to play out in the wake of your emotionally traumatic past? a slap in the face to seokjin, maybe, and nothing more? when you were done, when he was out of your system, when you knew his taste by heart and had nothing new left to try - would you stay? did you even know how to?

did he?

jungkook starts the engine. he drives to your door, drops your bag of snacks and pads on the porch, and texts you before leaving. he does not go inside.

x

x

x

"you sure you'll be okay with just the boys?"

you scoff at seulgi when she pins you with a worrying look, taking some of her clothes out of her bag to re-fold them just so you had something to do with your hands. jisoo had already left for the long weekend with her family, so there was no one there to fill up the empty space between your awakward reply. you didn't know how to tell the girls that jungkook hadn't contacted you in nearly a month. and even though he was a notable flight risk from the beginning, you couldn't help but feel like there was hostility there. every now and again he'd at least send a nude or have a quick phone call when he was drunk or high at three in the morning, but you hadn't heard a peep from him. you couldn't stand the idea of someone you cared about harbouring comtempt for you, but the fear of reaching out and somehow making the situation worse outweighed it tenfold. 

you look up to see seulgi still staring at you with concern. "of course i'll be fine! they're boys, not piranhas."

"at least piranhas contribute our ecosystem. boys just cause problems for the hell of it," seulgi lays a hand on the crown of your head like a berating big sister, swivelling you to look at her in your fit of giggles. the urge to nestle you under blankets like a baby bird made her chest heave, and you could tell. "i'm serious. if jimin tries anything, call me immediately okay?"

"jimin?" you snort. "out of a room full of delinquents, my ex, and taehyung, you're worried about jimin of all people?"

seulgi wrinkles her nose. "god, when you say it like that its like i'm throwing you to the dogs." she pauses. "something's up with jimin. i don't know what it is, but he's...off."

you tilt your head innocently, remembering the brief interaction you had with hobi at seokjin's party. you had been so caught up in jungkook - or lack thereof - you hadn't thought to press him about it afterwards. in truth, jimin remained as...jimin as ever. if he was acting differently you certainly couldn't tell. "you think so?"

"mmm," she leans on the lip of the open suitcase thoughtfully. "but maybe with jungkook there, he'll behave himself."

you gulp, fiddling with his watch on your wrist anxiously. "maybe."

x

x

x

you nearly yelp when you feel a big hand swivel around your waist, bucking into the kitchen counter reflexively. jungkook always did this before rubbing his boner against your ass, but the light scent of citrus and short squeeze lets you know immediately that its taehyung. hoseok, jimin, namjoon and yoongi were still in the living room playing video games, giving taehyung the perfect opening to intercept you. namjoon and yoongi had insisted that you come over to their place after finding out you'd be alone for the weekend, and you had completely refused before taehyung's coaxing. and of course, jimin's persuasive nudging. even though you felt safe and relaxed here, it felt wrong to be in jungkook's friends' place without him. almost like a breaching of an unspoken boundary.

and clearly, taehyung picked up on your discomfort by the way he stared at you so softly. his back was to the sink, his sillhouette particularly long and lean this evening. "you need to lighten up, princess. you keep looking over your shoulder so much it's making me nervous!"

your visibly droop with a sigh. "i'm sorry tae. i've had a lot on my mind lately, and..."

he claps his hands on your shoulders, teeth peeking through his grin. "you're not doing anything illegal by being here without jungkook."

you wince at his name. "have you always been able to read my mind like this?"

"absolutely," taehyung's brown eyes look so rich up close. "you're allowed to have friends that are also his friends, because - and try to stick with me on this - relationships between people are allowed to be independant from the primary circles they met in. mind boggling concept, i know."

you wack him on the chest until he laughs. "stop making fun of my anxious thought processes! its called mental illness, sherlock! i can't help it!"

his nose scrunches cutely, enjoying your first fiery outburst of the day. "whatever. i call it not getting laid for a month and losing critical thinking abilities from it."

you gape at him indignantly while taehyung roars with laughter. "you're such a dickhead," you hiss through gritted teeth, yanking his hair and jabbing your fingers in his sides the way you would with jimin during a tickle fight. "whores have feelings too, taehyung! whores have feelings too!"

you both fall about with laughter, knocking over half the snacks on the counter in the process which only makes the pair of you laugh even more. it's such childish chaos trying to clean up the mess on the tiny kitchen floor that neither of you notice the front door open, or the gust of metaphorical and literal wind that follows. watching taehyung trying to salvage a bag of broken crisps is just so funny that the presence of an another voice in the living room goes unregistered, as do the footsteps leading up the hallway to the kitchen, so you have no time to brace yourself or properly pull yourself together with you see-

"...jungkook."

yours and taehyung's heads snap to the doorway. jungkook stands there with almost complete lack of emotion on his face to the pair of you kneeling in crumbs and napkins. there's a brief pause where the tension in your eye contact alone was so strong that it felt wrong to breathe. but it is shortlived. jungkook tiptoes over you like spilled milk, reaching for a glass of water. you and taehyung lock eyes while the tap runs in the awkward silence. "hey. you okay?"

"um," you're not sure whether to stand up, hug him, look at him, or even face him. "yeah! yeah, i'm fine."

he nods politely. "hyung?"

even taehyung looks visibly uncomfortable. "i'm good."

"cool. see you later," he says, downing the glass impressively fast before leaving the room just as fast as he entered it.

you and taehyung stare at each other again, not understanding why you both feel like kids caught eating cake before dinner. you could feel the sweat pricking at your back from the realisation. jungkook had no idea you'd be here, and given that interaction he'd probably want to leave now. there was always the inkling woven between his radio silence that he was done with you, but you never let yourself take it seriously out of logic. because how could months of passion and tenderness and honesty be undone so irrevocably like that? it didn't make sense. you hadn't changed. you were the same girl he hit on relentlessly and chased against all odds. so what was different now?

"____," taehyung calls your name gently, and it's only then you realise you're already up and trailing after jungkook into the living room. when you walk in he's already putting his shoes on to leave again, barely making eye contact with you while he chats absently to his hyungs so he can look busy. the four boys on the large sofa can only reply wearily, eyes darting between the pair of you like a firework was about to blow to soon. and it was.

you could feel it in your throat, under your breast bone, bubbling up your stomach. "wait, jungkook. um...h-how have you been? i haven't heard from you in-"

"i've been good," he keeps tying and re-tying his laces without looking up. "super busy. you know how it is."

his curtness makes you flinch. this same time last month jungkook used to kiss you senseless before he had both feet in the door. he'd ring the doorbell incessantly like a child and greet you with the biggest, toothiest grin you had ever seen. he'd make fun of your bed head and squeeze your cheeks until you'd snap at him. and now when he looked at you he hated every second of it. your mother had the same look. your eyes start to burn involuntarily. "yeah, i do. how is uni? your final project is due soon, right? what theme did you pick in the end?"

"the one i told you about," he stands up abruptly. "sorry, noona. something came up. i'll see you arou-"

"something came up?" you step closer to him. "something came up the second you saw my face? or did you really just trek all the way to your hyungs' place for a glass of water, jungkook?"

jungkook stiffens, but is determined not to lose face. and it's difficult to do under your big, accusatory eyes and jimin's death stare at his back. the whole room was waiting for his response, so he just shoves his hands in his pockets resolutely. "i needed to see yoongi hyung, but i can come another time."

you fold your arms. "well it's clearly important, and you're here now. so don't let me stop you."

"but you will stop me," jungkook snaps. "that's the problem."

"kook-ah," yoongi warns quietly, but he took one look at your face and knew the damage was done. jimin was already standing up, circling around the back of the sofa towards you. the red lights were all there; your watery eyes, your trembling hands. every breath you took looked difficult for you to complete and only jimin noticed.

"what are you talking about?" you squint. it takes you a second to understand; yoongi's guilty expression, jungkook's indifference. "oh, you're fucking kidding me." your resolve breaks for a second turning away only to glare back at jungkook with so much fire you can hardly stand it. "you're selling again? are you insane, jungkook?"

"see," jungkook's eyes are stony. "i knew you'd get this way."

"what other way am i supposed to get?" his lack of response only infuriates you more. it felt disrespectful. "jungkook, you're not a kid anymore. if you get caught with drugs the consequences are serious! forget the potential jail time, you could get kicked out of university, it would go on your record forever and-"

"stop talking to me like i'm a kid!"

"then stop acting like one!" you hate raising your voice, but it keeps climbing without your approval. "did you think about this for even five minutes? this isn't like just going to juvie like before and being done with it jungkook. your hyungs can't bail you out of everything."

"this is a lot of talk for someone who lapped up those fancy paints without a second thought," jungkook says darkly. his eyes aren't like you remember, his face solemn and near unrecognisable. "or did you think that getting that kind of money overnight is only something that's possible through daddy's credit card?"

dread blooms like a garden inside you. "that's...that's how you bought the paint set?"

"welcome to the real world," he quips. "as if selling overpriced weed to a bunch of pick-me-freshmans is considered a crime against humanity to anyone but you."

"you think that's why i'm yelling at you right now?" your voice was growing hoarse, desperate. "you think that's the problem i have with you being literal drug dealer, jungkook?"

he hates it. the sweltering silence, the judgmental eyes digging into his back, the slow realisation that the tears in your eyes were not at him but for him. jungkook's ears ring enough to make him sway on the spot if his feet weren't planted so firmly on the dingy carpet, this metaphorical ground. he couldn't shake the feeling that his lifestyle was only an issue now because of you, how he never felt a shred of guilt about any of this shit until he met you. and if there was anything that jungkook never responded well to, it was pity. and he could feel it from every person in the room, all people that that once cherished and coddled him until you came along. he swallows, throat dry from the way he couldn't look at you knowing what he was going to say next.

"you're embarrassing yourself, noona. you're not my girlfriend and you never were, so stop acting like it."

cotton. it's very faint, under the layers of conflicting cologne and beer and smoke, but jungkook still smelled of cotton while he spat acid. nobody could speak, even though jungkook never raised his voice let alone a hand to you, it still hit like a slap in the face. it sunk into the walls, your clothes, suddenly every hair on your body felt heavy with it. dirty. the shame came first, the humiliation next. and then the sorrow, the dread, and finally the defeat. you knew the stages well by now, and they were cycling through you like clockwork. how foolish you were, to make the same mistake again. nobody dared to move, everyone but jungkook staring at you in denial and horror. they couldn't believe their eyes when you nod steadily, bowing your head to the floor.

jimin is already slotting himself between you, his jaw tight. "that's enough, kook. just leave already."

"no," you stop him, unnervingly resigned. that single word cuts through all six men with ease. "he's right." you step around jimin, closing the space between you and jungkook. for a brief moment he wonders if you'll actually hit him, but somehow watching you unclasp his watch from your wrist and drop it on the coffee table in front of him is far worse. the sound seems to ring like church bells, definitive and umistakable. "you're right, i'm not your girlfriend. you win jungkook."

they all watch you leave in dismay, listen to the door closing softly behind you. within a second jimin sprints after you, calling your name, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. jungkook's stare could bore a hole into the abandoned watch on the table, still ticking away like nothing changed. like his eyes weren't burning, lightheaded at the realisation that he would never wear a watch again let alone the one he put on you.

x

x

x

to an outsider, you looked like you were coping well considering you just got dumped in front of all your friends. but jimin knew that face. your stony eyes, lips pulled thin as if to seal inside the collapse of a monument. you took the tea he offered, and then his arms, your face finding his chest with ease. muscle memory. his torso was a tad shorter than jungkook's, his heart closer to your mouth as if the steady thumps were asking for a kiss of acknowledgement. every time you close your eyes you could see jungkooks face, hard and unforgiving and nothing like the man you trusted all this time. but it wasn't a new expression; you parents looked at you similarly the last time you saw them. it was the look of someone who had no regrets cutting all ties. and now, jungkook was behind them in a lost list of people who chose to be strangers over loving you.

jimin sighs when you cry into his chest, brushing the back of your head gently. he had been ready for this for months, but he still hated to see you this way. again. it made his bones itch, his skin crawl uncomfortably every time you weeped. the only time he considered violence was when you were crying. but he knew what to do, laying down across the sofa so you could curl up into a ball next him, head on his bicep and face smushed into the crook of his shoulder. you used to cry like this for hours and hours, his arm familiar with the prickle of pins and needles. but it was the only place you felt safe. tucked into jimin's side is where you would always belong, and that truth was more glaringly obvious than ever now.

"lets get something to eat," he offers eventually, hand craddling the crown of your head like a child. jimin's other hand on your hip is warm and heavy when he pats you soothingly. in your episodes, you responded well to touch. "what about thai food?"

"not hungry," you grumble against him.

"we could make something together?" he peers down at your lack of response. "come on, babe. you gotta eat something. you didn't even have breakfast-"

"why am i so stupid?" you whisper, a fresh bout of tears welling up.

jimin rubs your thigh. "it's not your fault."

"yes it is. jungkook gave me plenty of red flags, and i ignored all of them-"

"oh, i meant you being stupid."

you scoff. "cheers."

"what?" jimin cocks a brow when you lift your head to look up at him. he wets his lips and you follow the swipe of his tongue thoughtlessly, distracted enough by his touch and proximity that you take a second to digest his words. "it's not like any of this exactly came as a surprise. you ignored me, remember? wanted to flex your big girl pants."

you pull away from him and sit up, forcibly shutting out the daze that jimin routinely puts you under. "what's wrong with you? can't you be polite and wait for a couple hours before laying into me like a normal person? jesus, jimin."

"so let me get this straight," jimin sits up, watching your back as you sit away from him. "you're mad because i'm not telling you what you want to hear?"

"no," you say, head shaking. "i'm not mad. i'm upset because i came here to be comforted by my friend and you're just making me feel worse."

"what do you want me to say, ____? that i had high hopes from the start?" jimin pushes his hair back, brows now at a sharp incline from frustration. "i told you starting something with jungkook was trouble but you didn't listen. why should i feed your victim complex when all i've done is try to help you?"

"victim complex?" you repeat, standing up slowly. the sudden steadiness of your voice causes jimin to panic.

"not like that. don't take it like that, it's just," he's suddenly before you, his warm hands palming up your arms warmly. "i didn't wanna see you get like this and it happened anyway, is all i'm saying." he sighs when your scowl doesn't let up. "if hobi hyung hadn't have given up so easy, then maybe…maybe this would never have happened. maybe if i had been harsher with him then you would have-"

"what are you talking about?" you ask quietly, searching jimin's face. "give up so easy? what's that supposed to mean?"

he looks away, hands slipping off you. "it's nothing."

"jimin."

he struggles to look at you, tongue in cheek. his lips purse for a moment, pink like roses. he's wearing that navy jumper you like. "look, it's not a big deal. he wasn't supposed to fuck you or anything, just take you out for a while. get your mind off kookie, show you a nice time."

your blood runs cold. "what?"

jimin's expression softens. "it's not as bad as it sounds-"

"really?" your voice is sharp, sharper than he's ever heard it. you recoil as if you had been struck for the second time today. "because it sounds like you asked some guy to keep me occupied like i'm a fucking dog. all because you can't stand the idea of me being within a meter of jungkook-"

he steps in, but you step back. "you know that's not true, _."

"don't i?" you scoff, covering your face in disbelief. "jimin, you've been hellbent against me even looking at the guy since day fucking one."

"because i didn't want you to get hurt!" jimin counters, eyes downcast. "i know, okay? i know how much of a dick it makes me sound, but its not like it hurt you when you had no idea! hoseok broke it off before you even knew about it so why-"

"because it's worse," you turn away from him. "you tried to control me. choose what's best for me because you think you know better than i do. sound familiar?"

his jaw sets, and it's like you can hear the twine snap in his head, the percussion of his heartbeat above yours even though he doesn't close the space between you. jimin stares at you for a long minute before drawing in a thin breath. "fine," he steps in, and you can't look away. "you want me to say it? fine. i'll say it."

suddenly the air is lace thin around you as you stare at him, waiting. jimin looks off somewhere else, somewhere you can't reach. "don't tell me you haven't thought about it, because i know you have. if i have you must have too. and lately its all i can think about - being with you, holding you, being the one who gets to touch you. and yeah, maybe it took having to see you with jungkook for me to realise how much i want all that, i put my hands up. but you have no idea what's it like to watch the person you love most get toyed around with by a time bomb like that. i've seen jungkook go through girls like underwear and i love him, god i love him, but even the idea of you being one of those wasted girls sitting outside a party crying over his sorry ass makes my fucking ears ring."

"j-jimin…" you whisper, but you have nothing to say. your hands shake.

"you deserve more than that, ____. you deserve more than waiting around for booty calls or living up to what the next guy wants. from jungkook, hoseok, anyone. you deserve someone's devotion and yeah, maybe all this time i've been too much of a pussy to give it. maybe all this time i was tiptoeing around my feelings for you because i knew if i admitted to myself that i loved you - if i admitted i was just like every other guy - i'd actually set the bar for something other than disappointment. id actually have to step up, and i didn't know if i could do it. i still don't. but if it has to be someone…it should be me."

suddenly he's holding your hands, calming the tremble that rattles them. his words bunch up together in your ears, the meaning lost amidst your awe. "jimin….jimin what are you saying? where is all this coming from, i don't...i don't understand wh-"

"i'm saying," he cups your face. "choose me." he pulls you in. so, so close. "choose me, not jungkook. not anyone else. me."

and there's a part of you that has already caved. that's already kissing him, melting into his arms like you've wanted to for so, so long. you're falling back onto the couch with him in a fit of giggles, curling back into his chest to hide your watery eyes, asking him why the fuck he took so long. you chat together between teasing kisses, pour your hearts out, maybe cry a little. later you would make tea and order pad thai and watch the office all night and fall asleep together in the living room well past dawn and then-

you close your eyes. "i can't."

"you can," jimin says, so passionately you shudder. his brown eyes are teaming with too much determination and ardour for his own good, and you both know it. its difficult to grapple with how huge a risk he's taking, because jimin never takes risks. it made the whole situation seem dire. "you know you can, ____. it's us. there's no one like us."

you don't know how you're not crying yet. you only have jimin to hold onto, hands balled in his shirt without knowing if you're about to push him away or pull him in forever. "maybe back then. maybe if you'd have said all this before," you feel empty, the beat of your pulse suddenly strong in your fingertips. "but it doesn't matter anymore."

he shakes his head in denial, his determination palpable. "of course it does-"

"i'm in love with him," you say. to jimin. to yourself. to the world, finally. "i'm in love with jungkook." holding jimin's stare isn't as difficult as you thought it'd be. "you know if you'd have done all this a few months ago…if you'd have just...i was always yours without question, jimin. and you knew it." it's his turn to bristle under the strain of your voice. "jungkook isn't perfect. i'll be the first one to admit that. he's made me cry, he fucks up, he makes mistakes. but he's never lied to me. he never made decisions for me. he never passed judgement on what i should or shouldn't do with my life. something that i never thought i wouldn't able to say about you, too."

there's a brief moment where everything stops. neither of you can believe what you just said. jimin watches you, frozen in his place as you take your bag, eyes glittering with tears when he calls for you. suddenly he's the time bomb he feared becoming, the panic in his eyes lighting them up like fire crackers. for the first time in his life, he stumbles over his words, and then his feet when you reach for the door, all composure lost. he was unravelling like a tapestry in front of you, never to be repaired, and he could feel it. "____. ____, please," jimin chokes, his cheeks blotchy. "i wanted to protect you, i was just trying to help. don't go. please don't go. i was trying to help you."

"no. you were trying to have me." you say, closing the door behind you.

x

x

x

you have no idea what time it is when you hear the bell ring incessantly.

it had been hours since you'd returned home from jimin's, but there was no way for you to keep track when your only priority was just keeping yourself afloat. you turned your phone off, drew the curtains, and resolved to alternate between sitting in seulgi and jisoo's rooms until they came back. you didn't know what else to do. when you weren't crying you were hyperventilating, and when that stopped the absence of emotion was so powerful you could barely keep your eyes open. you were exhausted but could not sleep. starving but could not eat. it was a miracle you even made it down the stairs, using what little strength you had to yank it open without even thinking about who could be on the other side in the middle of the fucking night. but at this point, you would gladly take a serial killer over jimin or jungkook.

"taehyung," you breathe when you take in his face, relieved. you must look like absolute shit because he scans your face and winces. 

"jimin told me," he says, the apology in his voice and expression was almost painful to register. "he told me everything. ____, i'm so sorry. i should have told you about the hoseok thing, i just thought it would be worse coming from me, and then i tried to force jimin into confessing but then he didn't because he's jimin, and now-"

"you're only allowed to come inside if you stop apologising," you say weakly, voice haggered from the hours of crying.

taehyung's pouty expression almost makes you smile with how cute he looks, gingerly stepping over the threshhold. "i really am sorry though."

"for what," you say monotonously, closing the door behind him while he takes off his shoes. "my inexplicably terrible taste in men? my uncanny ability to get manipulated by literally anyone who shows me a scrap of affection? or my absolutey shredded-to-shit attachment style thats barely intact let alone functioning healthily? after hoppping between the first two for a few hours i'd personally go for the latter. but whatever."

"please shut up," taehyung sighs, bringing you into his arms before you could have a second thought about it. "you need to amp up the misandry in this context. a lot of this had nothing to do with you and everything to do jimin and jungkook."

you're too tired to open your eyes, snuggling into the softness of taehyung's chest. you’re too exhausted to argue. "where did you learn the word misandry? have you been reading?"

"yeah," you can hear his big, pleased grin. "i know you and the girls have been calling me a himbo behind my back."

"affectionately," you add, peering up at him. he wipes the wetness off your cheeks, moving upstairs to your room with your hand in his. he fetches you a glass of water before putting you into bed like he's paid to do it. taehyung was the cuddliest person you had ever met, but you had rarely seen him dote on anyone. "girls love himbos. it's a compliment."

"not all girls," he mutters when he returns from the bathroom with a glass of water. "drink this, would you? you look so dry it's making me itchy."

you do as he says with a roll of your eyes. "what do you mean?" you finish your water with a big gulp. "jisoo loves dumb guys, what are you talking about?"

taehyung looks away from you, bottom lip rolling up under his teeth so fast you barely catch it. he pulls up your desk chair next to your bed, thinking long and hard before meeting your eyes again. "i don't mean jisoo."

you don't understand at first, but after staring at his face for a long minute your stomach drops. "don't. don't you fucking dare," another beat of silence. you rip the covers off you to scamble to your knees, grab your pillow and hurl it at taehyung's head. "taehyung, please don't tell me that the one remaining, healthy relationship i have with a man has also been shot to shit because i swear to god i'm gonna-"

"it's not a big deal," he says firmly, and he really does mean it. taehyung catches your wrists when you lunge at him, effectively ending your outburst before it can begin. he keeps hold of them while he stares into your eyes, watching the way they fill up with a fresh bout of tears. "i've had a crush on you for a while, so what? it's not anyone's business but mine so don't worry about it."

you try not to scream at him. "how long?"

"...since the start." he shrugs. "it's not like i could have done anything anyway. with jimin around. he’d never have it."

"but...! but..." you splutter, the highlight reel of your friendship suddenly marred before your eyes. "but you let me talk to you about boys! you gave me advice with hobi and jimin and jungkook and...! you encouraged jimin to confess to me. and the whole thing with jisoo?"

he wets his lips guiltily. "jisoo is a nice girl. i like her, but...not like you. i've always liked you."

you shake your head in horror, your face crumpling. bile rose in your throat. "so all of that...playing with my friend like that. was just to get to me?"

"listen to me," taehyung says firmly, gripping your wrists to make you look at him again. he's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on yours, and you never realised how large taehyung's torso was compared to yours before. he could have smothered you, but he didn't. in all senses. "the way jimin and jungkook handled their feelings is on them, just like how this is on me. it doesn't matter if i'm fucking you or not, you're my friend and i'll always want people to do right by you. and that includes me."

there was nothing else to say, so taehyung wordlessly wipes your face again and fetches you more water before retreating to sleep on the couch downstairs. all the while you sat there in your bed, confused and bewildered and thoughtful. the same bed jungkook fucked you on. the same bed jimin held you in. out of all the men in your life, taehyung was the only one who treated his feelings for you with reverence. there wasn't one interaction you could think of where he made his feelings clear, where he even hinted towards wanting something more. if he hadn't have said anything tonight, in the wake of one of the most emotionally tumultuous days of your life, you would still be in the dark about it all. and that was the scariest part. you didn't know anyone else who hadn't let their feelings for you effect how they treated you. so ultimately, it was possible.

and jimin and jungkook chose not to do that. but taehyung did.

taehyung did.

when you finally pad downstairs after hours of ruminating, jisoo's bedroom door is wide open. and that's who you should be thinking about now - your friend and sister jisoo - as the sky begins to lighten with the signs of morning. you hadn't slept for over twenty four hours, you were hungry and thirsty, delirious from the whirlwind of losing the two most important men in your life in one day. but still, you are drawn to taehyung. taehyung, who never asked anything of you. taehyung, who was as silent as he was selfless this whole time. taehyung who routinely put what he wanted aside in favour of what was best for you. taehyung, who protected you without needing credit or recognition for it. taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung-

"taehyung," you whisper scraping your nails through his hair. his eyes fluttered open, twisting his head to face you as you hovered above him. he could barely see you in the darkness. "taehyung, wake up."

"what is it?" he croaks, sitting up with half-lidded eyes and a yawn. he doesn't know how to read the expression on your face. he swings his legs off the sofa in a sitting position, wearing nothing but his boxers and tee, visibly alarmed. "what happened? are you okay?"

you take his face in your hands and kiss him. 

taehyung stiffens against you, breath drawn thin. you pull away to gauge his expression, desperately searching his eyes in the darkness. for discomfort, disapproval, anything negative at all. the absolute ardour you find instead could knock you down if taehyung didn't reach for your neck, kissing you again. you whine at the feel of his tongue, having no idea where such sudden and intense arousal was coming from. when you pull away with shaky limbs, you climb onto his thick thighs so he can feel your wetness through his boxers. taehyung grunts at the sensation, and again when you kiss him passionately and without abandon. the sweet girl every guy he knew was agonising over, suddenly in his lap. he's barely had his tongue down your throat for ten minutes and you're already rocking into him, his erection betraying his resolve.

it's better than he dreamed. 

"taehyung," you gasp, palming him now. he groans when he pulls away to look at your mouth, glistening with his saliva when you take his hand and guide it down to your arousal. "please."

[oneirataxiahiraeth]

Peter parker smut?

All Mine

Pairings : fem!reader x PeterParker

Warnings : Language, smut, slight praise kink, jealous!peter,

Summary : after a bad day at school Peter decides to take it out on his girlfriend

Word Count : 1560

His soft heated lips traveled over the sensitive skin on my neck, nipping and sucking at wherever he earned a noise from my lips. His fingers working diligently as he undid my jeans, discarding them somewhere across the room. I hadn’t even had the chance to tell Friday to fuck off before he decided to attack me with his lips.

Of course, I didn’t mind the sudden affection. A hello certainly would’ve been appreciated, though.

Not that this isn’t.

My fingers hid in his soft curls, enjoying the light vibrations he sent through my body as he groaned into my skin.

Peter was never a needy person.... at least not to the point where he couldn’t hold a decent conversation. If he ever wanted something from me he always just asked, and I’m always willingly to help him out. But this...? This was new. This was aggressive, lustful, and honestly so fucking hot I didn’t even have the mind to question it at first.

“Take this off, now.” He murmured against my neck, lifting his head from my skin. He tugged my shirt over my head, his hands moving behind my back, undoing my bra clasps before pushing my back flat against the bed again.

His usual sweet chocolate brown eyes turned black with lust as he looked over me. The longer I got to study his eyes the more odd the suddenly became. Different. Angry.

That darkness in his eyes was of greed and lust, but it definitely held a bit of anger too.

“W-wait,” I hummed, sitting up on both of my elbows, ignoring the loose bra straps sliding down my shoulders. “What’s wrong, babe?” I asked, my lips turning into a small pout.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” His tone was cold, annoyed, like he was sick of my voice even though I hadn’t really spoken all that much since he walked in. “Just missed you today.” He say up on his knees, stripping himself down as he dismissed me well deserved concern.

“You’re upset.” I raised an eyebrow, leaning back out of habit as he continued to climb over top of me.

“Drop it.” I could see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes at me.

“I will... when you tell me what’s got you so riled up.” I replied.

“Can’t I just want to come home and fuck my girlfriend without it turning into a therapy session?” He scoffed, lowering his head to press another hungry kiss to my collarbone.

Peter was fairly easy to read. He was gentle soul, in and out of bed, and this aggression just seemed not to like him. He hated the term ‘fucking’ because it didn’t sound as intimate as just ‘having sex�� with me. He never just comes into my room without saying hi either, whenever he wants to have sex he always just butters me up to the idea of it first.

And as much as I wanted to figure out who had pissed him off so much where he’d use such explicit language, I slowly started to succumb to his touch. My mind slowly slipping away from the dark angry look in his eyes, and getting into how hot my skin suddenly felt under his.

His lips pressed against mine as he shifted on one hand to hold him up over me. The other hands moving to the loose bra straps on my arms, pulling off the piece of clothing and tossing it across the room. Out of habit, I tried to cover myself with my own arm, but the idea was completely shut down when Peter stopped his every movement to grab both of my arms and pinned them above my head.

“Don’t.” He growled, and I felt the raging butterflies circling around my body.

His lips came down upon my breast, his tongue flat against the skin. Sucking and kissing as my back arched, pressing me further into him. He licked a stripe up in between my boobs, blowing lightly on the trail he left, sending a cool sensation through my already burning skin. I was practically already shaking, begging for him to touch me where I actually needed him.

“Please pete-”

“Please what, Princess?” He hummed, his lips floated over my skin until he reached my ear. “Where do you want me, baby?”

My hips grinding up into his, earning a smirk from the brown haired boy. He brought a hand down on my body, ghosting over my warm skin with his cold skin. He usually tried to refrain from using his inhuman strength in bed, but apparently not this time. With barely any force the light fabric of my underwear was ripped from my body and his fingers pressing directly on my clit. I moaned out in the air, watching as his smirk faded into pure concentration.

“I’d love to keep playing, but I really need to feel you right now.” He mumbled, taking his hand away from my heat, and bringing it into his own body.

He reached into his boxers, pulling out his length as he prepared himself for me. I took my chance, pressing soft kisses along the side of his face and down his neck until he was ready. My legs spreading open just for him, as I felt his line himself up with my entrance.

“Good?” He asked and I nodded, slipping himself into slowly with the confirmation.

I moaned as I felt him bottom out, reaching a spot inside me I’m not sure anyone else would ever be able to. He let out a shaky breath, allowing me to adjust to him before rocking his hips into me at a steady pace.

“God your so fucking tight, Princess.” He moaned, his hot breath tickling my skin.

“You feel so good in me baby.” I moaned out, gasping at how his hips snap right into place.

My heart racing as his our bodies collided. My mouth hung open, enjoying the euphoria he sent through me as I felt the heat already beginning to build in the pit of my stomach.

“Oh my fuck, harder, baby.” I hummed, my arm wrapping around him as he wasted absolutely no time.

It almost hurt with how hard he was going, but the pleasure trumped all the pain. Peter was almost physically incapable of actually hurting me, which made this all the more enjoyable.

“Right there,” I noticed as his jaw clenched at my words, his eyes trained down on me as if i was a question on his homework. “S-so goo I squealed out, his hand moving to the headboard. His other gripping onto my leg, hiking it up his side as he tried to find a deeper angle.

“All mine.” He grumbled, and I didn’t even think to question it.

“All y-yours baby.”

“You like that?” He asks, his breathing heavy, as I tried to form sounds other than moans. “Like when I’m rough with you?”

“I f-fucking love it, pete.” I whined. “You feel s-so good.” My bottom lip caught in the between my teeth as his hand leaves the steady headboard.

His hands moved to gripping onto my legs, pushing them as far apart as he could as he fucked into me. The moans I let out louder than I intended then to come out, definitely going to get us into trouble if anyone would’ve heard. He felt so good fucking into me, my walls clenching around him as I raced closer to the edge.

“Say my name.”

I didn’t catch it the first time, so I didn’t respond. My mind was too busy on the feeling of bliss rushing through me to comprehend what he had said the first time.

“Say my name, or you won’t be cumming for a long while.” He spat. “I know you’re close too, aren’t you?” His voice was cold, but a trace of amusement hidden as my jaw hung open.

“Fuck- Peter.” I moaned out, his thrusts quickening, making me cry out his name again.

“Louder.”

“God, Peter!”

There was no way someone didn’t hear that.

“Can’t hear you Princess, whose fucking you like this?” He hummed, narcissism placed in his breathy tone. It was enough to make me want to cum right here.

“Peter- ah, your fucking me so good!” I growl through my teeth as loud as I could.

“Damn fucking right.” He murmured, slipping himself out, and before I could protest flipping me over onto my knees, slamming himself back in.

I let out a pleasure cry at the difference in angles, my hands gripping at what was my nicely made bed. I was close, oh so fucking close, his hand holding me up by my waist so I wouldn’t fall flat on my stomach.

“Fuck pete- ah, I’m gonna cum.” I moaned out, my eyes rolling back at his pace just continued.

“Cum for me Princess, I’m right behind you.” He groaned, moving one of his hands to my clit, his finger circling as he tried to get me to fall apart before him.

My moans were loud and uncontrollable, my body nearly limp and my cunt aching around him as he brought me over the edge, fucking into me until I was shaking under him, clenching enough to have him pull out and release everything onto my back.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he breathed out, flipping my over yet again. “I’ve had a long day.” He sighed.

“Tell me about it?”

“Later.” He mumbled, spreading my legs the way he had them before. “Kinda busy right now.”

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Bolsonaro is making Brazil kneel before Putin

Even his own ministers are trying to stop the Brazilian leader from going on a visit to Moscow at this tense time when a war between Russia and Ukraine could break out at any moment

[Image description: Russia's Vladimir Putin and Brazil's Jair Bolsonaro at the 2019 BRICS summit in Brasilia.]

The announcement that Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro will be meeting with Russian President Vladimir Putin next week has proved controversial both inside and outside the Brazilian government. The prevailing view is that a visit to Moscow would not be diplomatically prudent at this tense time when a war between Russia and Ukraine could break out any moment, dragging Europe and the world along with it. What’s more, there is no motive for Brazil to take part in such a meeting, which would only serve to bring the country to its knees before Putin.

The reason for the visit is purely personal: Bolsonaro wants his picture taken with the Russian leader so he can use it in his presidential campaign and wave it in front of US President Joe Biden. It would also be a chance to personally thank Putin for the praise the latter sent his way at the 2020 virtual summit held by the BRICS group of emerging economies: Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa.

According to foreign policy experts, Bolsonaro’s visit to Moscow is just one of many rash acts that the Brazilian leader has treated his fellow Brazilians to in the recent past. But this time it’s not just the opposition but even some of his own ministers – the ones with the most political portfolios – who are trying to convince him to drop the plan.

When Bolsonaro was asked whether he would discuss the Ukraine crisis with Putin, the president responded that “if that matter comes up, it will come from the Russian president.” What Bolsonaro is trying to prove – especially to the US, where he has lost his great friend Donald Trump – is that he still has strong ties with Russia and maintains allies abroad. During his trip, he will also take the time to meet with Hungary’s far-right leader Víktor Orban, with whom he has a close relationship. At this rate, it’s going to take years for Brazil to repair the damage caused by its current diplomacy, said policy experts.

Continue reading.

[elsonambulo]

@rvspberryjvm wanted finger kink, so he gets finger kink with a little breathplay in the form of Terry/Johnny.

Tbh I'm not sure this qualifies as finger kink? Not even sure this is sexy but I tried and I felt evil and cackled writing it so that's enough for me for now :3

The thing about Terry Silver is that his hands don't seem like they should belong to him until you realize there's no other hands he could have.

Not that Johnny spends a lot of time thinking about Terry's hands. Of course not. It's just hard to not give them at least a passing thought when Terry likes putting them all over him.

"Where's your head at, pretty boy?" Fingers curl in Johnny's hair and pull his head back, and he bites his lip to keep from making a sound. He's already being fucked on all fours and clearly into it; he doesn't need to give Terry another reason to feel smug. Above and behind him, the man in question lets out an amused sound.

"You know I like it when I can hear you," he says. Johnny doesn't bother to open his mouth, because he knows what Terry also likes; a few seconds later Terry's other hand lets go of his hip and reaches forward to grasp his jaw instead, forcing it open. The moan Johnny lets out is definitely a sound he's heard from himself often since starting this thing with Terry, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.

A hoarse whisper in his ear: "That's right, there's my good boy," before his hair is let go, the fingers on his jaw tightening as if to make up for the small mercy. Their grasp loosens for just a second, but only so Terry can shove two of them in Johnny's mouth, and Johnny can't help himself: he starts sucking.

Because when Johnny had first shaken hands with Terry, he had been surprised. The man had stocky hands, not at all elegant, but his long fingers curled around Johnny's hand like they could envelop it if Terry willed it so. No calluses, but not really smooth either. Not a working man's hands, but not the prissy lotioned up things Johnny would expect from a man who dressed to the nines either.

From there he couldn't help but notice them, and Terry clearly caught on, because he took every opportunity to brush a hand on Johnny's arm, fix his collar condescendingly, even ruffle his hair once or twice while Daniel seethed somewhere behind him. 

And if he couldn't touch Johnny, Terry made sure to keep his hands front and center: twirling a pen, holding a coffee cup, patting down his ascot. It drove Johnny insane, until the day he decided to confront Terry after hours in the Cobra Kai dojo, and Terry had popped up out of the shadows and put him on his back from one second to the next. He had the gall to not even say anything, just grinned at Johnny, put a knee on his stomach, and proceeded to undo his own slacks with careful precision; fished his hard cock out and started stroking slowly with those long thick fingers while Johnny could do nothing but watch.

Terry came all over his fingers and all over Johnny's shirt, didn't even bother to clean up before standing up and tucking himself back into his slacks. "I'll be seeing you, Mr. Lawrence," he had said, grinning with all his teeth before turning away to walk into the office, his fingers still dripping with his own cum.

A primal, desperate part of Johnny thinks he's been trying to suck the taste from Terry's fingers ever since that night, begging for what he was denied even now that they've done more than just a one-sided jerk off session. 

Terry forces another finger into the O of his mouth, just for a little bit, then wrenches his hand away so he can grab both of Johnny's hips as he fucks him faster. Johnny whimpers, and at this point he doesn't know if it's more from his mouth being suddenly emptied or from being fucked so hard. It hurts almost, but Johnny breathes and moans through it. He's not a pussy.

Besides, he knows if he takes it like Terry likes him to, Terry will reward him in turn.

It isn't long before Terry comes, draping himself all over Johnny's back and bites at the back of his neck, just below the fuzz of his hair. Johnny cries out, and Terry laughs shortly, still grinding into Johnny slowly, working his release in as far as it will go.

He pulls out and flips Johnny onto his back, making sure to keep his legs spread like Johnny's some blushing maiden who's going to get shy on him all of a sudden. Johnny doesn't really care; all he cares about is the pleased smile on Terry's face, the one that means not even a drop of cum has left Johnny's hole yet. 

Terry leans over him and kisses him, soft and slow, muttering praise into his mouth while Johnny simultaneously tries not to melt under him and not hurry him along. Luckily for him, Terry must be feeling generous tonight, because he backs off after a few seconds and then slowly slides a finger into Johnny's hole, slides it out, and then slides back in with two.

Johnny throws his head back. This - this is what he likes, for Terry's fingers to reach deep inside him, stretch him out even after he's already taken dick, make him feel the bumps of his knuckles and the pads of his fingers as he gets all his cum out. A dick is almost too smooth for Johnny - something Terry picked up on fairly early into this thing of theirs, which is why they always do it like this. Terry gets to manhandle Johnny, come inside him, and then gets to move him around some more as Johnny gets what he came for.

And see, Johnny would feel ashamed, has felt ashamed, at how he wants to know that something foreign is in his body (none of that romance novel crap, where people fit their bodies together like two puzzle pieces. No. Johnny wants the uneven spread, the slight discomfort of several somethings moving within him). But it turns him on a little, to feel the slight humiliation, to know he's good for it as long as he can physically feel that it isn't supposed to be there.

Aside from that, nothing can really be more shameful than getting it on with your psycho former sensei's equally psychotic sugar daddy (benefactor, Daniel always insists, but Daniel is weirdly stuck up about anything to do with Terry Silver, though he won't explain why. Johnny gets a little thrill thinking that maybe Daniel noticed Terry's hands too, and is jealous.)

Terry's up to three fingers now, and Johnny wriggles from the oversensitivity, but clenches around him all the same. He wants to come, needs to come; a little pain is worth it. Terry laughs, at him not with him, and Johnny's face burns even before Terry slides a hand up his torso and pinches one of his nipples.

"Fuck," Johnny breathes out, then does it again, louder when Terry punches in with his spread out fingers and bites his other nipple at the same time.

He feels his cock throb, and God he's so so close, he can feel it, he just needs Terry to slide in a fourth finger, maybe even a fifth and he'll be good to go.

But of course Terry doesn't do that, because Terry's a sadistic bastard. Slowly, so Johnny knows exactly what's going to happen here, Terry slides his hand up to Johnny's throat and lets it rest there. Johnny's breath catches, and he feels tears spring into his eyes- tears he successfully withheld until now. That must be why Terry decided to do this.

The thing is, Terry likes seeing Johnny cry, and Johnny likes not giving him the satisfaction if he can help it. And in the end, Johnny can never help it, because if nothing else works, Terry will pull out his trump card.

The hand is still just there, not doing anything, even as Terry's other hand is busy between Johnny's legs. Johnny clears his throat, and still his voice comes out raspy as he whispers, "Please."

Please not this. Please do it. Please don't bring this here. Please replace his fingers with yours.

Terry licks his teeth, a predator playing with its food, and before Johnny can wonder for the millionth time how Terry Silver can make him feel like the prey animal he isn't, the hand squeezes at his throat, lightly at first and then tighter, tighter, tighter.

Johnny gasps for air, he can feel his face turning red, and he wants to claw at Terry's hand but he clenches the bedsheets instead, arching up into the hold and riding Terry's still moving fingers. No mercy, not even for yourself.

Terry laughs again, this time loud and delighted, and he pins Johnny with his gaze the way he's got his body pinned at two opposing points, and that's how Johnny comes, staring into wild eyes and sobbing from the intensity of it.

The fingers in him jab at him one last time, the fingers around his neck squeeze once more, before Terry pulls away and pats his thigh in a mockery of care, making sure to smear cum on it. "Good job, golden boy. I can always count on you for a good time." Johnny flushes, but still silently sends out thanks to whatever higher power there might be for Terry not pulling out the nickname during sex. It's happened before and Johnny always comes immediately, and that particular shame isn't one he really likes to visit. 

He lies there, catching his breath, already knowing he's about to knock out, and he thinks that maybe next time he gets fucked like this, he wants to wake up to it already happening. Terry would like that, probably.

He very carefully doesn't think about how this thing between them was never meant for planning ahead.

[prettybiching]

Teasing On Air

Warning: 18+ mature scenes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), blow job, fingering, slight dirty talking, unedited Pairing: Jake Tapper x Reader (friends with benefit) Word limit: 1.7k (this is my first reader insert fic so go easy on me y’all)

"We're back here with Y/N L/N who had spent the last couple of days in Delaware with the now President-elect and Vice President-elect," Jake's thick calculated voice spoke, going straight to her core. His face remained stoic, disguising what was happening underneath the table from other prying eyes.

"Thank you, Jake, it's good to be back here," You grinned at the camera, enjoying the way he stifled a groan. God, he was sexy.

"Now, Y/N, how are President-elect and the Vice-President elect's family preparing for the-the..." he bites back a moan, covering it with a cough and she smirks slightly in triumph, your feet inching higher up the fabric of his dress pant. 

"You okay there?" You purr, feigning concern, your hand reaching out to squeeze his. He wants to glare at you, bend you over the very desk and have his way with you. You know it too, from the way his pupils kept dilating every time his eyes scanned yours. 

He clears his throat, attempting to return to his groove and get this interview over. "Yes," he shrugs, "as I was saying, how are the families preparing for the transition, especially since the President is refusing the accept defeat?"

"Well, Jake," You began, making a show of pursing your cherry red lips. "They rest assured that the transition will take place smoothly despite the Trump Administration's denial of the results..." The words, which had been rehearsed countless times, leave your mouth with the practice of a professional and your mind drifts to the other important task at hand.

The pointed heel of your stilettos finally settles on his upper thigh, dangerously close to his groin. He tenses underneath your touch yet doesn't try to move your foot away. No, he's enjoying it, you think. He's enjoying the thrill, the risk of being caught at any second.

Your little secret, you think, that you've been hiding for two years could be out. Your heart races at the thought, your skin flushing warm as you feel Jake cold hand running up and down your ankle. He doesn't try to move it, his rough, calloused hands pressing higher and higher up your leg.

This time, you're the deer caught at headlight as his movements send a shiver down your spine. You didn't realise how much you missed his feather-like touch, his fingers dancing across your bare skin, teasing you until you're begging for him to fuck you.

God, when's this interview going to be over?

As if reading her mind, Jake thanks her for coming in and concludes the segment. If you looked closely, you could notice the stiffness of his shoulders and the slight flush of his cheeks. You'd always find him attractive, even when he's pulling at his hair in frustration, even when he's all sweaty gross after a run but this---having him all hot and flustered, because of you, he almost looks angelic.

The cameras cut, and you whimper inaudibly as his hands let go of your leg, leaving behind a wisp of cold air. You want to feel his warmth again, it's only been a few days since the two of you have been together, but you miss it terribly. 

Jake is the first one to get up from his seat, leaving you behind without saying a word. For a second, you think he's mad, had you gone too far? Perhaps he wasn't in the mood, and you'd pushed him. Before you're able to reprimand yourself for your actions, your phone chimes in the hidden pocket of your blue dress.

'My dress room. NOW.'

With those four words, the familiar tingle in your gut returned, and you wasted no time in rushing towards his dressing room, not bothering to bid anyone goodbye.

Once you find yourself in front of the white door with the words 'J.Tapper' written in bold letters, you don't bother knocking and let yourself into the room. As soon as you step inside the room, the door closes with a sharp thud, and Jake pressed you against it, his lips crashing into yours with desperation.

Moaning quietly, your arms crossed his neck, hands wandering into his styled hair.

"You left me alone for days..." He murmured his lips hovering against yours.

"and then you teased me like that, naughty girl," you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, leaving wet kisses.

"Did you miss me?" You managed to tease him before he sucked on your sweet spot, eliciting a loud moan from your lips. He continued sucking on your neck while his fingers wandered underneath your dress.

"Of course I did," He admits, his mouth moving down to leave sloppy kisses down your breasts. Meanwhile, his hands strayed to the bare skin of your inner thighs. "Missed my naughty girl, sending me all those pictures of you wearing nothing while I couldn't touch you."

Pulling away for air, the two of you looked at each other, panting. Jake's dilated pupils eyed you hungrily, his warm breath fanning over your face. Your hands travelled further up his hair, pulling on his grey locks, evoking a growl from him.

"Jake..." You moaned shakily as his hands roamed around your bare pelvis teasingly. His other hand moved up to cup your jaw, bending down to trail a few kisses down your neck, before he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

"You minx," he chuckles, his fingers running through your fold, gathering your wetness and bringing it up to massage your clit. "Have you been walking around the office with your bare wet pussy?"

You gasp around his thumb, his voice sending a bolt of electricity straight to your clit. His fingers spread your lips wide open before shoving his middle finger inside you without a warning.

"Answer me, princess," He growls against your ear. 

"Y-yes," you mewl as his thumb leaves your mouth, a string of saliva trailing down your chin. "I wanted to show you how wet you make me."

"Fuck," He groans, his index rubbing circles on your clit. Your body shook beneath him, your orgasm inching closer with every stroke of his fingers.

"I need you in me," you gasped, biting your lip as the coil in your lower abdomen threatened to snap. "Please."

Obliging, his hands left your body and led to the couch. He pushed your blue dress with his rough hands so you could spread your legs before his lips encased yours in a hungry kiss, swallowing down your moan. 

Your hands pulled at his tie before you pushed his suit jacket off of his shoulders. His lips wandered down your jaw, sucking on the skin of your exposed neck.

"Been waiting to do this for weeks," He whispered.

"Tapper, stop teasing," You whimpered, the pulsing of your pussy getting more prominent. 

He looked up at her through hooded eyes. "Now you know how I felt, princess."

"Turn around," He commanded nonetheless, and she wasted no time in obliging. 

Leaning with her elbows on the couch, she watched patiently, as he opened his belt, the sound making her bite her lip. She watched him as he pulled his cock out, giving it a few strokes before stepping closer to her. His hand reached in between her legs, making her moan as he spread her arousal through her folds.

"I haven't felt this pussy in a week," He groans, replacing his fingers with the tip of his cock.

"I missed seeing you walking around in your pretty little dresses when I know I get to fuck you,” He rubbed the tip of his cock over your clit, you threw your head back, moaning. He slapped your ass, his hand leaving an imprint on your cheek that made him growl.

“Can you take me, baby? Are you wet enough?” He teased, continuing to rub his tip over your opening.

“Tapper, fuck me already,” You groaned in frustration, the last syllable turning into a moan as he pushed into you in one deep thrust. With his hands grabbing your hips, he began to move, fucking you in slow deep movements. Extending your arms to hold on to the edge of the couch, you looked over your shoulder, finding him biting his lip, his usually perfectly styled hair hanging in stray curls on his forehead. 

“Take what you want baby, I won’t last long…” He moaned. Meeting his thrusts, you pushed yourself up from the couch. His hands pulled your dress down from your shoulders, his hand sneaking under it, finding your tits and palming them.

“God…” You whimpered, feeling your climax building inside of you.

“Come for me, baby…” Jake whispered against your ear as he pulled you against his chest, pinching one of your nipples. Holding on to the desk, you felt the pleasure swallow you, your legs trembling. Jake held you close as he fucked you through your orgasm. 

“Just like that baby…” He praised you, kissing your nape.

“Gonna come inside that tight pussy…” He groaned.

“No.” You moaned. “I want your cum in my mouth,” You said out of breath. He growled behind you as he pulled out of you. Getting off the couch you turned around, getting on your knees as your hands reached for his cock, looking up at him with big eyes, as you stroked him, kissing the tip.

“Missed your cock, so much” You grinned before you parted your lips and sucked him in between your lips, taking him as deep as you could.

“Fuck I love you mouth.” He moaned, his hands disappearing in your hair as he guided you on his cock. Bobbing your head on his cock, making sure to take him further with every stroke. You released Jake's cock with an obscene sound, your hands stroking him as you looked up at him.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He groaned. She stroked his cock faster. Moaning as she let her tongue run over his tip and tasted his precum.

“I do have an idea," You grinned as you parted your lips again, your hands grabbing his ass as he thrust into your mouth.

 You moaned around Jake's cock, looking up at him just when he hit the back of your throat and released the creamy essence of his cum down your throat.

Making sure to catch every drop you ran your tongue over your lip before you got up from your knees, letting him pull you into his arms, kissing you longingly.

"C'mon, I'm taking you out for dinner," He whispered against your lips.

"About damn time, Tapper," You grinned.

Taglist: @euphoricaaaa @gracevaleska @bertievertonghen 

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sanjana Karanth at HuffPost:

The Gold Star families who invited former President Donald Trump to Arlington National Cemetery issued a statement defending the Republican nominee’s controversial visit and claiming it is Vice President Kamala Harris, not Trump, who is politicizing fallen members of the U.S. military. On Sunday, the Trump campaign released the statement made by relatives of some of the 13 American military service members who were killed in a suicide bombing during the chaotic U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021. The statement is the latest in what has now been a weeklong spat between Trump and Harris in relation to the former president’s conduct at the cemetery.

“President Trump was invited by us, the Gold Star families, to attend the solemn ceremonies commemorating the three-year anniversary of our children’s deaths,” the statement read. “He was there to honor their sacrifice, yet Vice President Harris has disgracefully twisted this sacred moment into a political ploy.” The Republican faced public backlash on Monday after NPR reported that his campaign staff “verbally abused and pushed” a cemetery official who was trying to stop them from filming and taking photographs at the gravesite while the candidate participated in a wreath-laying ceremony at the personal invitation of some Gold Star families. The cemetery official has reportedly declined to press charges over the matter.

Harris accused Trump on Saturday of staging a “political stunt” at the cemetery that “disrespected sacred ground” where hundreds of thousands of U.S. service members, veterans and their families are buried. She also mentioned the many examples of her 2024 opponent, who himself evaded the military draft, disparaging service members, including those who are dead.

[...] Federal law prohibits “political campaign or election-related activities” within Army National Military Cemeteries, according to a statement from ANC. Defense officials also maintained that Trump’s campaign team was informed of those rules, which include no photo or video around a section specifically reserved for those recently killed. Despite those rules, Trump’s campaign still distributed photos and video from the visit, including a TikTok video of the ceremony that shows the former president making clear political statements. Trump also posted video testimonials on social media from some of the Gold Star relatives who signed the Sunday statement. “Disgusting. Donald Trump, the grave markers veterans and military families drop a knee to are not your political props,” the narrator in a fiery ad by progressive veterans group VoteVets said. “They represent the heroes we’ve served alongside, men and women you could never measure up to, friends who lived and died by the oath we all swore to uphold.” In a post on Sunday, the former president thanked the families for thanking him and wanting to “take pictures, that it was your request, not mine, but it was my Great Honor to do. I WILL NEVER FORGET!” He also inserted politics into the post by saying that the families’ service member relatives are dead because of Harris and Biden.

Some of the Gold Star Families who invited Donald Trump to Arlington National Cemetery defend him in the wake of Trump’s grotesque disrespect of the sacred ground by doing filming and photography for campaign purposes in Section 60 of the cemetery.

See Also:

The Guardian: Trump shares posts of Gold Star families praising cemetery visit and criticizing Harris

[arsnovacadenza]

Day 7- Un Paradis Perdu

Characters: Napoleon, Jean, Duke of Wellington

Words      :  2748

Ao3 Link  : Here

Made for @kissmetwicekissmedeadly‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020

fangs

"Fuck!" The emperor spat in Jean's ear. "There's no other way to go is there?"

They were leaning dangerously close over the railing of the platform. The wind whipped furiously, drowning shouts from within the passenger car.

Wellington's men were closing in.

With no weapon in hand, how were they able to fend off their captors? Napoleon was too bold, too bold!— to grab Jean by force and create a commotion on a heavily guarded train. And with the metal beast traveling at breakneck speed, it was a foregone conclusion that whatever Napoleon had in mind would fail.

Jean was too shocked to push the other man off him, instead quietly stuttering words of prayer he hadn't uttered in a very long while.

"There they are!" He could hear Wellington cry above the mayhem. "Close in on them while you can."

Jean didn't have time to flinch when Napoleon's head suddenly pressed against his own.

"Forgive me." The other man whispered, cradling Jean's skull protectively.

Napoleon threw themselves over the railing, plunging them both from the moving train and away from the roar of the engine and the clamor of Wellington's guards—

And to the river down below.

Jean had long stopped believing in miracles.

His mind was devoid of praises of gratitude as he laid on the river bank where he'd been washed ashore. The sun was crawling towards the sky, signifying that some time had passed after their fall.

Or maybe it's the day after. Jean mused. After spending so many days held captive, he couldn't find it in himself to care about the passage of time. He didn't even remember how many months it'd been since he left the mansion to answer Wellington's call, which led to his confinement.

Jean even resigned himself to the possible fate of becoming His Grace's guest for all eternity. At least there was a certainty of permanent disposal once he outlived his usefulness.

But that would also mean spending the rest of his second life with the insufferable loudmouth of a friend.

The man had once been his mentor too. The thought sent him reeling back to the unfortunate circumstances that led him to believe that the dreaded conqueror of Europe was indeed as atrocious as the stories had come.

He promised to show me the new face of France. Jean rolled onto his stomach and took in his surroundings. Well, this is a side of France I've yet to see.

With little difficulty, he rose to look for his missing companion. Although it was tempting to walk away and rid himself of the boisterous ruler's presence, Jean concluded that it would do him more harm than good to traverse this unknown area with an enemy force hot on his trail.

And then there's the fact that Napoleon was a demi-human who could very well die.

I’m not one to abandon my comrades, Jean thought as he began his search.

Jean didn't realize that he had been holding his breath when he found the emperor downstream, alive.

Warily, he checked the other man's pulse and scanned him for cuts and bruises, which thankfully weren't many. The fall ought to hurt him more than me. After all, he shielded my body when we entered the water.

A shiver ran up his spine upon considering that he might have to resuscitate the unconscious man with his mouth. He'd heard of such practices from Sebastian, but now with the opportunity presenting itself, he couldn't bear the thought of locking lips with Napoleon.

Of all the deeds I can do to repay him, and this is what fate has thrust upon me.

In the end, he opted to shake him awake. "Oi," he called.

No response.

Jean's composure was dwindling. He pressed his fingers to Napoleon's shoulder with a little more force. "Bonaparte, Napoleon Bonapa—"

He withdrew his hands as the man roused, coughing and sputtering on his side. Jean moved back to give him some space.

"I—what." Napoleon looked around dazedly until his eyes landed on the other Frenchman. "Jean, you're alive. I'm alive. We made it."

"So it seems."

"Thank the stars! But," Napoleon finally took better notice of their surroundings. "Where are we?"

"I'm just as lost as you are."

"Ah-hem! Shit, this is horrible," Napoleon coughed up some more to clear the water out of his lungs. "We're lucky to escape from Wellington's clutches, but—"

Jean kept his distance as he tore off his drenched shoes and tousled his wet hair, hacking all the while.

"You're in better shape than I am," Napoleon protested. "That's hardly fair."

Jean could go on about how different lesser vampires were in terms of strength and endurance in comparison to a demi-vampire and remind Napoleon that he was still part human. But he decided to let the question drop.

"We need to move."

The sun was high up in the air when the moon decided to sit under a tree not far from the river and let their top and outer garb dry. Jean stared at the coats and shirts Wellington lent out to them, a far cry from the extravagant attire they wore back at the mansion.

"Are you not going to take off that eye patch?"

Beside him, Napoleon leaned back on the trunk, looking the most lethargic Jean had ever seen of him. Momentarily, he took a glimpse of the aged, battle-worn commander buried underneath the boyish facade.

"No." He answered curtly and turned his attention back to the clothes laid out on the nearby fence, wishing that sleep would overcome either of them.

We haven't talked much since that night in Smolensk.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a loud growl from his companion. Napoleon grinned at him apologetically.

"Well, it looks like I'm still craving for food after all," he laughed. "At least I'm still human."

Wordlessly, Jean took to his feet and walked towards the river.

"Where are you going?"

"Looking for fish," Jean replied without turning back. "I saw plenty of them."

"You know how to catch fish with your bare hands?"

The eye patched soldier faced Napoleon with a humorless look.

"I was taught by my brother." He retorted without thinking. "In our village, we—"

Jean's words came to a halt. Napoleon sighed, smiling despite the ensuing awkwardness.

"Thank you," his voice was gentle, as it should've been. "I'll be waiting."

Napoleon offered to light them a bonfire in exchange.

The sky was clear that night. The stars above made for a romantic ambiance, but it was clear neither men had the desire to talk. The moon was nowhere in sight.

Jean hugged his knees, contemplating the flame in front of him with subdued emotion. The recent incidents had reduced his long-standing trauma of fire into nothing.

Meanwhile, Napoleon poked at the fire with the sticks he used for cooking dinner. Jean obediently gathered him enough fish to last him the entire day, without partaking in the feast.

While listening to the chirp of crickets, Napoleon quietly pondered the best way to broach the subject that was lingering on his mind without offending Jean.

"Jean, you..." he murmured.

"Yes?"

His one eye bore down heavily on Napoleon, although that didn't deter him from advancing. "There must be a way for me to thank you."

"No need." Jean promptly replied, looking away and showing Napoleon his profile, radiant against the warm glow of the fire.

"I'm saying," the emperor repeated sternly. "You haven't fed at all."

Contrary to his fears, however, Jean merely regarded him with an unreadable gaze. Then, as he did this morning, Jean rose to his feet and slowly walked away.

"Wait, Jean! I didn't mean to—" Napoleon called frantically.

"I was thinking of hunting for small animals." Jean glanced back at him. "They should suffice."

"No, that's no—" It was a sound idea, especially considering Jean's aversion to feeding on humans, but to Napoleon, it was hardly sustainable. "You can't. Assuming you're able to hunt down every animal within this area, it won't sustain you in the long run. Eventually, you'll have to return to feeding on humans."

Jean flinched at the mention of humans, but he continued listening nonetheless.

"We can't walk back to Paris and have you attack some stranger along the way out of hunger," Napoleon argued. "But I know how to prevent you from starving."

"And what do you propose we should do?"

Napoleon's chest heaved as he prepared to make his offer. "Feed on me."

"What?"

"Feed on me."

The emperor's features remained obstinate despite his daring proposal. It was a precarious bid, one that Jean would loath to refuse or accept.

Ignoring the hesitance he sensed from the man, Napoleon pressed on.

"We have no one to rely on but each other," he asserted. "Think of this as an exchange; I'll give you my blood, and you can protect me while I'm resting or help me find food."

"I can rely on you for strength," Napoleon spoke carefully. "And I can get you through any situation where we need to interact with people."

He was correct to lay down his trump card as Jean's lone eye widened in realization.

"If you think I'm hesitating," Napoleon declared once more. "Then believe me when I tell you that I'm willing to do the unspeakable. I'm not, and will never be, afraid of taking whatever lengths to ensure we overcome this."

"So we can go back home to the mansion. Together."

Napoleon watched Jean intently, convinced that he had triumphantly swayed the other man.

"I understand." Jean conceded. "How should we proceed?"

"So," Napoleon rolled his sleeves. "Where do vampires usually do it?"

"I beg your pardon."

"I mean, which parts of the body do you usually sink your teeth into?"

Jean scrutinized his companion, clad in only his pants and thin undershirt, the collar remained unbuttoned, as always.

I can't help but feel unsettled with how much his chest reminds me of a woman's. The soldier squinted. What's the point of parading them?

The man, he thought, must be very proud of this new body he was inhabiting.

"Something the matter, Jean?" Napoleon noticed that he spacing.

"Never mind."

They sat facing each other by the campfire. The proximity allowed Jean to discern the lines of exhaustion etched on Napoleon's visage. His face was no different than the marble statues of his original self, chiseled by misfortune and eroding as time passed by.

When was the last time we had been this close?

That 'last time' had become a distant memory, during their mansion days before the ensuing estrangement. Long before this entire episode with Wellington.

"How about my neck? Or my shoulder? Isn't that where vampires usually bite their victims?"

"Don't be obscene." Jean flatly rejected, imagining himself digging himself into the thick muscles around Napoleon's neck.

"Then, my wrist?" Napoleon rubbed his pulse point.

"Are you sure it won't hurt? My fangs may sink deep."

Napoleon tugged at the white tips of his hair in frustration.

"Where else can I let you feed? My leg? There's plenty of skin for you to bite —oh."

Napoleon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"How about my neck? Or my shoulder? Isn't that where vampires usually bite their victims?"

"Don't be obscene." Jean flatly rejected, imagining himself digging himself into the thick muscles around Napoleon's neck.

"Then, my wrist?" Napoleon rubbed his pulse point.

"Are you sure it won't hurt? My fangs may sink deep."

Napoleon tugged at the white tips of his hair in frustration. "Where else can I let you feed? My leg? There's plenty of skin for you to bite —oh."

He showed the inside of his forearm.

"This part should be safe, I think." He tapped on an area near the bend of his elbow.

Jean was hesitant but grabbed Napoleon's wrist anyway and examined the patch of skin which Napoleon pointed.

"Once you've offered yourself to me, there's no turning back." the lesser vampire warned. "And don't thrash when I bite you."

"I'll be fine," Napoleon reassured him. "Just do what you must."

Jean nodded and dragged Napoleon's arm closer to his mouth.

"I will have to lick you. It's only customary."

"I don't mind. Take your time."

And thus, Jean darted his tongue across that tiny bit of skin. Napoleon could handle the ticklishness, but not the other sensation that was both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

"Can I do it now?" Jean inquired one last time.

Napoleon gulped. He knew his nervousness was anything unlike those of prey animals awaiting their death in their predator's jaws. There was no relinquishment of power, and there was no question of who had been stronger and who had been weaker.

As he had done countless times in his previous lifetime, he was gambling his trust in another man. Few put his life as collateral.

"Roll your hand into a fist," Jean instructed, his voice deep and oddly tranquilizing.

Napoleon closed his eyes as he felt sharp teeth piercing his skin. The fangs pushed down further, attempting to extract more blood from his veins.

His fingers grabbed the sand underneath them as he fought not to writhe even as the initial pain receded. His body recoiled as a different sensation invaded his senses.

Heat coursed through his entire being as the lesser vampire continued to suck on broken skin. The sound of Jean slurping and drinking grew distant as he surrendered to the all-encompassing delirium.

Losing himself in the grip of passion, Napoleon let out a stifled moan that ought to reach Jean's sensitive ears. Yet he refused to let go and kept latching onto his benefactor's arm.

Napoleon became acutely aware of Jean's fingerpad pressing on his skin. It would leave bruises the next morning, he knew.

All reason left Napoleon as he imagined the bite scarring, leaving a mark from Jean and this deed that would plunge them both into certain damnation.

The implications of this sick, perverted act were entirely lost to him as his mind screamed more, more more—

Jean withdrew his fangs and loosened his grip on Napoleon.

"I've had enough of my fill," Jean breathed laboriously. The deed drained him as much as it did Napoleon.

But his victim was too deep in his frenzy to notice that he'd stopped feeding. "Napoleon," he called.

At his friend's lack of response, Jean grabbed Napoleon's shoulder and shook it. "Napoleon!"

The man finally jolted and his eyes landed on Jean's still face. It was only centimeters away from his own.

"Are you alright?" the stoic man asked him cautiously. "Your skin is feverish."

"Am I?" Napoleon started, wiping his face. He realized that he was, indeed, sweating profusely.  

"Was it too hard on you?" Jean's concerned voice was barely audible to the dazed former emperor. "The wounds will need tending. If we don't stop the bleeding, you might—"

"Jean, I'm fine!" Napoleon snapped, unintentionally shoving the other man away. "I'm a vampire too! They should heal in no time, so if you just leave them that way—"

"You're not a full vampire, unlike us." Jean pulled his arm gingerly. "At the very least, allow me to dress them."

In the end, Napoleon obeyed. The two men silently sat as Jean started to rip some of their outer clothes apart.

"There," Jean patted Napoleon's arm as he finished wrapping the makeshift bandages. "Too tight?"

"No, it's perfect." Napoleon hurriedly replied. "Thank you."

He didn't wait for Jean to respond and retreated to his spot. Napoleon knew his behavior looked strange to the soldier, but he batted such thoughts away and laid down.

Napoleon knew he couldn't urge himself to sleep, especially since the feeding left certain parts of his body excited.

Cazzo. So this is what they mean when they say vampires possess the ability to seduce both men and women, regardless of their sex.

It was made worse by the fact that Jean was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever encountered in both lifetimes.

Damnelu tuttu. How do I get this down—

"Bonne Nuit."

Jean quietly bid Napoleon good night, saving him from the panicked whirring of his mind.

"...you too." He piped.

Napoleon forcefully shut his eyes and waited for drowsiness to claim him. It had been a long day, and so will be the days ahead.

Both needed their rest before setting out on the road home, enduring the awkwardness and questions yet unspoken between them.

Uhhh thanks for sticking until the end. This long-ass fic is part of my Napoleon & Jean 1860s Tour de France AU, in which Jean kinda replaces the MC in Napoleon's route. There's a lot of kidnapping, violence, man-to-man bonding, and all that good stuff. .

Tagging @kisara-16, @thedollarstoresatan, @delicateikemenmemes, @ikesensrandomninjagirl24, @ashavazesa, @hokkaido-fox, @nuclearwinterexe, @lulu-the-hedgehog, @longingkisses, @weird-profiterole, @nafeary, @thesirenwashere (please notify me through DM if I missed anyone)

[libidomechanica]

I love us, play last to him and carefull temper angry

Or were in a room is this word?     Grew awhile, like before. Such as pea and peace for a kiss?     And aye to Nanie, O. And run, betokening slow, and entice     this very misery angels come what it is beat     again young and not

openly bedded wide, and afflicted     more. Her waist, all the arrow from the moon he by the     shining fyre: not fail’d, and harder growes glide, he ’ll be     by another rare: attempt to know by the first to prayer!     Although sword in his

art made you held in a cast-iron     pot. Quick! Or troublous fit, and though veils. To wash her,     waterway against they or marke: and feeling your force, lightly     to have I, on the plain of sea, war with past the man of     His tributaries; I

know what gods, and so the worke is     bright cannot beauty in the horne. So holy chime that hauing     shuts, a certaintiest Muse, the start eternity and a     gloue, captiued are you, i’d have; choose, for easie things and trump     shal thunder let it

lykewize. Says he, hold up your thee     ere Cuckow end, then shall get my fortune? Till night sky, a     delayed and love in the lessened in marble are the smelt     o’ the trees. On ilka grove ask, who died for admonitions.     I love us, play

last to him and carefull temper     angry! Back return him starue my blisse and left me in     the hour, when through strings, rinds are move to close away? They—     pitiful season, and Time is pride can call Thy plan, hast the     singing a tomb! And hauing

sheets. One day and baskets his pigtail     traine, find some uncertainties now my lip. Constant eyes,     pale unreturn, somewhat of this remove. The message set     on Vertues riches a’s my passive life, thou and I must     be thy forth at a stage

of the rushing lookers eyes, ere     thou my buddhist my naked as this verse, the hill, our convert;     or else forest haunt, and stoutly wil embrace! Kindled     by chance. Lies. Which, from elsewhere but he that wad beguile: tell     of clouds to switch #1 with wear,

o looke she sayes I neuer brings     add a curses thus,—not very bark ’gainst the Star-Queen’s circle-     glory has my obedience. Sail, and take deliciousness.     But enjoy such sweet cordialls passions of buried     dust. I saw Osirian

Egypt kneeling. When my wound about     to depriue remoue the slang. My Nanie, O When around that warpings     past its mind, by thing and daungers nurst; and her too, and     the rivers seem in up to simple any others false     praises dear. A fatigue

and are divided at a genius,     and sayd she, the fair. Line, to changed, ye hide, through kingdom     of my weak eies be inclynd: and dismay, shall make and our     regions warre now left our meaning low! High as then know, that     cheared, or more on the

human dressings his ivy tent,     onward bale of the grave, and spines. Knees than all is not so     fayre when you do, too, our face is immense, I feel loving     hate. It makes her, must your meets high with, Let us cry Too     late hath a smile I woo

the Amorous windows but not     the portal, and Inarculum here remayne. Men to the     gaine. This is my staff. The glowworm o’er them, but her slowly     drop his bone resigned his mortal eyes all the worlds rare, grow     where the toils a song’s

befalling me threw such heuenly are     nothing I doe both sing; sings his the arias of our     love us were made the show!—Now, which he had gives scope for     fear’d sublime beyond the way your eye with despair! They straining     loues pray. Of Netherby

gate, and went and lord of sensuall     desolate and makes my loue embrace my arms to folly     as the tombs of buried grief its Fires. I wished his shafts     should fondly laid, that, the rose, those sylvan aisles. Passing     didst conversation what

he soothe my madness! Som heuenly     feature, or die. Here each sting’s negotiable and free from     his mintage hotly pierce: whether of Earth sending, dear time     my love and deceive hell; not by Extortion, nor leave heart,     which the crew of bliss. To

pipe now ’gainst that, if your mind this     waxed tame, which vulgar mass called heau’nly plac’d to seeke to absorb     her tail, refashion me I would his priesthood moan theyr     shadowy Hours; while the Prior, turn him that wad make blush     so everywhere, I have

ebbs like what is busie archers close     against my heart, in deep discontinuall smile me dear with     thee! And al her faulty features wonder bibbers of your     immortall prosper ) I shuffle sideways willing meal?     And sick of Hazeldean.

[seachanqe]

@celsidebottom requested “ What about jonmartin adopting a dog during their time in Scotland?”

how sweet the love beneath it - jm - tooth-rotting fluff

“You didn’t.”

Martin raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “I… did?” From the purse of Martin’s lips and the steady way Martin’s eyes meet his, Jon can already tell it’s going to be nearly impossible to change Martin’s mind. “Listen, Jon, I found her in a bramble on the side of the road, it looks like it's going to rain this afternoon, and she was—was whining. Whining! Do you reasonably think there was anything else I could have done?” Martin’s tone, which had started at chiding, had become increasingly high pitched and indigent. Jon knows very well that a righteous Martin is a dangerous Martin.

“I—I don’t know, Martin. Maybe she belongs to someone nearby, who you could have given her to. There’s,” Jon halfheartedly gestures away from him, “other farmhouses down the road.”

“Well,” Martin says primly, “they should have taken better care of her. She’s ours now.”

“Do I have to remind you that we’re on the run? We can’t—can’t go adopting dogs.”

“Too late. We already did. I’ve named her--” Martin swallows, abruptly abashed and biting his lip. “Sasha,” he finishes quietly. “But! If you don’t like that we can change it, I wasn’t set on that name, it just…”

“Felt right?”

“Yeah.”

Jon sighs, resigned, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “All right, where’s Sasha?”

Martin’s whole face brightens, lit up like the sun, and Jon knows he’ll never tire of seeing Martin this happy. He can’t help instinctively smiling in response, a much softer smile compared to Martin's light, but there nevertheless.

“I have her on the front porch, come on.” And with that, Martin grabs Jon’s hand and drags him forward. It’s mostly a token protest at this point as Jon’s hand grips Martin’s tightly.

On the front porch is one of the scruffiest looking dogs Jon has ever seen, all grey-white fur, tangled with twigs and leaves. He hates how much he immediately falls in love with her.

She’s sniffing along the edge of the porch, but her head pops up the second Martin opens the front door. She appears to examine them inquisitively for all of two seconds, before continuing to sniff whatever interesting smell was on this porch. Jon tries not to think of what Daisy could have done here to leave a good smell.

Dropping Jon’s hand, Martin immediately lowers himself to his knees, and holds out his hands to the dog.

“Hey girl,” he says gently, before making a kissing noise that Jon absolutely doesn’t find adorable.  “Come here, darling. Are you hungry? Do you want a treat?” 

Jon gives him a little kick. “You call me darling,” he hisses.

“Hush,” Martin says, swatting behind him without looking back. “You’re both my darlings.”

Jon can't hold back a small, surprised, breathy laugh, and at this, Martin does turn around to gift him with a small, pleased smile. 

The moment is broken by the dog giving a short bark meant for something  she sees off in the distance, maybe a bird. As the dog was still paying Martin no mind, Martin decides to employ his trump card. After fumbling in the pocket of his cardigan, Martin gives a little "aha!" and pulls out some jerky. He holds it out and calls to the dog again. This, finally, works, and the dog runs forward, into Martin's arms to get the jerky. In a practiced motion, Martin picks up the dog (currently squirming and licking Martin's face) with a firm grip, and marches past Jon into the house.

Jon finds Martin in the bathroom, turning on the tap of the tub, and testing the temperature. The d--Sasha helplessly claws at the porcelain as Martin murmurs warm praise.

Martin makes quick work of giving Sasha a bath, and she seems to calm down once he wraps her in one of Daisy's rough grey towels. Once secure, he carries her to the small living room.

"Jon," Martin calls out, as he sets Sasha gently on the floor and starts attempting to dry her with the towel. Jon tries not to flinch as she shakes and small droplets of water splatter everywhere, including on some books he had been keeping on the coffee table. "Get your arse down here. You're saying hello."

"I can say hello from here."

Martin's eyes narrow, and Jon gives an exaggerated sigh, but as always, he is terrible at trying to hide his smile. 

"Fine, fine," he says dutifully.

Jon carefully kneels next to Martin, smoothing out his skirt,  and Martin immediately places a hand on the small of Jon's back. With just a little trepidation, Jon tentatively holds out a hand to Sasha, letting her sniff him. 

She, against all odds, deems him a Friend and moves closer, licking at his hand, arm, and finally his face. He wrinkles his nose, but allows it. She jumps on his chest unexpectedly, nearly pushing him over if it weren't for Martin's supportive hand on his back. 

Jon runs his hand over her still damp fur, before scratching the side of her neck, which she seems to particularly enjoy, leaning into his hand. She seems young to Jon, jumping between calm to playful energy like releasing a compressed spring. 

"We need to get her a collar," Jon suggests nonchalantly. 

Jon isn't looking directly at Martin, but he can see Martin's eyes get rather misty out of the corner of his eye. "That's a lovely idea, Jon," he says softly. "Maybe... tomorrow morning we can go to the store to pick one out together? And maybe get some toys, food, a bed."

"Yeah," Jon says roughly, before clearing his throat. "That's acceptable." 

Martin slides his hand from the small of Jon's back to his hip, pulling Jon closer so he was leaning against Martin. "Is this--okay?"

Jon isn't sure if he's talking about Sasha or how Martin is holding him, but it doesn't matter. Jon extricates one hand from Sasha's fur, immediately replacing it with his other hand to keep Sasha happy. Jon places his hand on Martin's before threading their fingers together. "Of course it is."

[ericdeggans]

A Tale of Two Videos: Why the Images of George Floyd Dying Broke the Nation

Why is the footage of George Floyd dying beneath a policeman’s knee the video that finally broke the nation?

I actually think the story of our current public chaos stems from two videos, brought to the public at nearly the same time, that outline both ends of a system which elevates white, moneyed people at the expense of everyone else -- especially those of us who are darker than blue.

In one, a white woman threatens a black man by telling him she will call the police and lie about him threatening her life. In another, a black man is pinned down by several police officers, pleading for help to breathe, until he dies.

One video shows the nightmare of overpolicing black bodies; losing your life because a store clerk thought you tried to pay with a counterfeit bill. The other shows a white woman well aware of the power that such overpolicing gives people like her when she calls 9-1-1. She knows – and assumes the black man she’s threatening also knows – whose interests will be defended, possibly with lethal force, when officers arrive.

Amy Cooper’s confrontation with Christian Cooper and the death of George Floyd have revealed the full scope of white supremacy non-white people live with every day in America. We have been talking about it for a long time; I wrote a book about it in 2012. But it is a reality many other Americans will not believe, until someone grabs a cellphone at a fateful moment, records it, and shows it to them. Again and again.

Because we have seen these videos before. We saw Philando Castile, a black man filmed in his last moments by his girlfriend, shot by a police officer during a traffic stop. We saw John Crawford, a black man who was going to buy a pellet gun at WalMart, shot to death by police within seconds of their arrival at the store after a 9-1-1 call. We saw 12-year-old Tamir Rice, playing with a toy gun in a park, gunned down within seconds of a police car driving on the scene.  

We saw Levar Jones, a black man who survived being shot by a cop during a traffic stop at a gas station as he was retrieving his license (the reason the cop stopped him? He was driving without a seat belt just before turning into the gas station.)

Eric Garner. Darrien Hunt. Botham Jean. The list of black people hurt or killed by police under suspicious circumstances is long and infuriating. How can a white college student suspected in the murders of two people who inspired a nationwide manhunt get taken into custody without incident, while a black man accused of passing a bad $20 bill winds up dead on a street, killed in broad daylight while cellphone cameras captured it all?

Beyond the frustration of the rising body count, there is frustration at the high price America demands before it will believe there is a problem in the first place.

People of color constantly have to rip open their wounds to prove to white America that racism is killing us. The videos are a blur of bottomless tragedy; a parade of pain where victims are often left screaming at officers: What did I do? Why won’t you help me?

And every time a new video emerges, black America asks that same question of the nation.

The challenge we face is summed up in a statistic from my book. I quoted a September 2011 study which found 46 percent of Americans believe discrimination against white people had become as big a problem as discrimination against racial minorities.

A study published in November 2017 by NPR, the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation and Harvard University’s T.H. Chan School of Public Health came up with different numbers. In that study, 55 percent of white Americans said discrimination against white people exists and 63 percent of white Americans said local police were just as likely to use unnecessary force against white people as non-white people.

This is the question at the heart of so many political and social conflicts in America: The fight over the very existence of systemic racism and prejudice.

It’s one reason conservative-oriented Fox News Channel is often so tone deaf on issues of race. Many of the channel’s pundits resist the idea that systemic racism against people of color is a serious issue. Lots of conservatives have decried George Floyd’s death; but the question of whether that death is a result of a few bad cops acting out or a result of systemic overpolicing and overpunishing people of color is the real dividing line in this crisis.

When Fox News anchor Tucker Carlson interviewed Ted Cruz on the unrest in Minneapolis, both men were careful to note they were horrified by the actions of one officer, while extolling the bravery of most police officers. But what about the notion that police officers work inside a flawed system that can shield bad cops and make it tougher for good officers, regardless of their race, to stop something terrible as it is happening?

This “one bad apple” idea – a notion expertly dismantled by comedian Chris Rock years ago – was also advanced by White House National Security Advisor Robert O’Brien Sunday on Jake Tapper’s CNN show State of the Union.

“I don’t think there’s systemic racism,” O’Brien said during one exchange with Tapper, before praising “99.9 percent” of police officers. “But you know what, there are some bad apples in there.”

Given all the videos we all have seen of black people hurt or killed unfairly by law enforcement in recent years, that sure seems like a lot of bad apples. And again the question rises: How many videos do you need to see, before you consider another possibility? How much pain leads to contemplating another explanation?  

Of course, Donald Trump has only made a volatile situation worse. I think his actions are summed up by a phrase I read or heard someone else say about him years ago: He can’t help saying the quiet part out loud.

So when Trump tweeted about the unrest in Minneapolis on Friday, he called protestors “thugs” – a word sometimes used as demeaning code for unruly black people – and dropped the phrase “when the looting starts, the shooting starts.” That’s a saying traced back to a speech by 1960s-era Miami police chief Walter Headley, often accused of racist policing tactics during the civil rights era.

In another tweet, Trump promised protestors who came close to breaching the White House fence would be “greeted with the most vicious dogs, and most ominous weapons,” invoking another terrible image from the 1960s, when segregationist police would use attack dogs to break up civil rights marches.

The quiet part. Tweeted out loud.

As cable TV news was filled with reports on looting and unrest in cities across the country, I was struck by a tweet from celebrity comic Chelsea Handler, who posted “Something for all white people to think about. Reflect on our privilege and ask ourselves if we’ve ever had to protest for the lives of our white brothers and sisters.”

With all respect, I suggested something a little different. Perhaps white people should find one element in their lives that supports or reflects white supremacy: that Fox News-loving relative, the pal who posts terrible things on Facebook or the boss/coworker who says awful things about non-white people when he thinks they aren’t listening (guess what: we usually know, anyway).

Find one element and do something to address it. Do what you can to dismantle the system where you can.

Beyond that, governmental leaders of all stripes need to learn that platitudes and the “one bad apple” philosophy will not satisfy people who feel like an endangered species in their own country.

Don’t make us rip open another wound to prove something we have been telling you for a long time. Maybe this time, when black people say they need help, you could just listen. And then help.